Thanks, Maynard

When I was first getting know jazz in high school, this man, usually referred to simply as “Maynard,” was the talk of the band. And not just the trumpet section. This man had earned the respect of everybody.

He played in Jimmy Dorsey and Stan Kenton’s big bands, released over 60 albums, and won a Grammy nomination with his recording of the theme to “Rocky.”

When in high school, we were quite aware of his jazz “cred.” There really are not many people around that played with the greats, and Maynard is, to my knowledge, the only one that was himself still touring.

I was able to see him live once while in high school with a group from the jazz band.

It was amazing.

He had recruited some real monster players to back him. He played on many of the tunes—wowing everybody with the perfectly clean pitch on the highest of high notes. What was equally amazing, however, was how he walked out into the crowd, shaking hands, obviously having a ball. I shook hands with Maynard Ferguson.

When not playing or shaking hands, he focused the attention on this group of young standouts with whom he was touring. Educating the next group of great jazz musicians was always top on his list. He was always playing at high schools ( though not my own, unfortunately) raising money for the music programs and instruments that many schools no longer choose to pay for.

He was a great player who gave back to his field and to kids. He will be missed.

A Site Not to Miss

Yeah, I know that I have had pretty much the same links on the right side of my blog for a while, but I’ve updated them now. And I want to draw your attention to one in particular:

THIS ONE

Check it out. It shows some of my brother-in-law’s own art, some art that he’s come across, and some pics of my sis and their kids. As far as I’m concerned, it just doesn’t get much better than this.

All of the art is for sell, so buy all of it. He’ll just make more, I promise. Don’t believe me? Buy it and try to prove me wrong.

My other brother-in-law is into ceramic and, when time allows, makes some really cool stuff. I’d give you a link to his site, too, but he doesn’t have one yet. (I’m calling you out, Sean)

Enjoy.

Warning…This one’s a bit political…

Ok, so in reading a recent article in The Independent, I got really frustrated. I can’t help but feel as though the whole process of keeping informed and being open-minded has, for many people, completely shut down.

Actually, I think that it is running completely backwards.

Ideally, one’s mind should be open. One should read news and historical accounts from a variety of sources, and be willing and able to determine the truth on their own. Now, I know that nobody can be completely separated from their political views. I am quite aware of my own political bias through which I read and interpret news—and I think that it is fair, acceptable, and normal to expect this of anyone. As a result of this bias, there are a number of publications and authors whom I know I can trust. I know that when I read The Independent, for example, it will be rather liberal. I don’t agree with everything that they have to say, but I am often drawn to their take on events. In the same way, I know that when I listen to or read George Will, he will be very conservative. I cannot, however, discount his knowledge of history or his perspective, though I know that I do not agree with the basic political and philosophical premises on which his comments are based.

Unfortunately, I think that many people are completely closed-minded when it comes to politics and religion. Many topics discussed within these realms are pitched as having black-and-white solutions or explanations. Hardly ever is this actually the case. The complexity of the various issues is seriously underappreciated. Talk radio hosts and television news shows make it easy for people to form opinions and buy into quick-fixes by boiling each issue down to simple problems and solutions.

This is dangerous and does their audience a serious disservice.

If, for example, people were allowed/encouraged by the media and lobbying groups to look at the current Israel/Hezbollah debacle more rationally, I think that many lives could have been spared. If mainstream media in this country were to focus on the actual devastation taking place in Lebanon, Americans would have been more likely to be upset about Condi’s feeble attempt at peace, disguised as a weekend in Rome marked by the notable absence of Iran and Syria.

Instead, Israel was painted to be the more significant (and by some, the only) victim in the ordeal, thereby justifying anything that they deemed necessary to stop the rockets from raining in from Southern Lebanon. The fact that civilian casualties in Lebanon were over seven times greater than those in Israel was not fully appreciated or reported by the American press. I would like to think that if it were, the American public would not have allowed Condi to sit on the sidelines while the situation escalated. But this is probably too idealistic.

I eagerly and willingly admit that Hezbollah is an awful organization that regularly uses terrorist tactics to achieve its unrealistic and catastrophic goals. I just think that the media’s bias in reporting Israel’s forced displacement of nearly 1,000,000 Lebanese is appalling.

It is difficult for the people to hold their government accountable if coverage of its actions and the implications of its policies are a farce.

Where are all of the self-loathing Protestants?

I often hear people say things like “I went to Catholic school….which makes me an ex-Catholic.” The feeling that one’s exit from the Catholic Church was brought about, justified, and perhaps made inevitable simply by the fact that he or she was brought up in the Catholic tradition, seems to be fairly commonplace. Obviously, not everybody who grows up Catholic leaves the fold, but it seems as though those that do leave are able to treat their departure with a great deal of levity, often using it as an intro to a funny quip about nuns or a comment about naughty priests. As someone who grew up in a Protestant church (read: Baptist), I am not generally afforded that luxury. It could very well be a product of the circles in which I run, but my non-participation in church is not something that I can mention in passing. Someone would say something or give me a look of.....judgment is definitely not the correct term here.....concern, that's it. People would look overly concerned with my decision not to participate in church. I do not underestimate the portion of the Bible-belt in which I live. I reside in the heart of Dubya-land. I went to college 20 minutes from the Western Whitehouse, and now live about 7 miles from the house he left when he sobered up, got a job, and moved to Austin. This is conservative country. Of the 8 of us that were inseparable in high school, 3 are full-time, globe-trotting missionaries. I find this remarkable. The 5 remaining friends are in varying stages of backsliding (anything short of being a missionary is considered backsliding). Clearly, I failed to live up to some pretty high standards.

Perhaps the main reason that there is a community of non-participatory Catholics, and not a Protestant equivalent, is that Catholicism requires less of its adherents. It is not unusual for devout Protestants to be present in church every time the door is open. This is a sign of a faithful believer. You feel obligated to show up on Sunday mornings, Wednesday nights, and host or attend a Bible study sometime during the week. It’s just what you do.
Catholicism doesn’t seem to work that way. I have never been Catholic, so I welcome any correction this thesis, but it seems as though only the super-devout do more than attend Mass occasionally. One can, in good faith (no pun, really), call oneself a good Catholic and only attend Mass on Easter and Christmas. Protestants who attempt this subject themselves to “Easter-Christian” specific proselytizing.

My question then, is where is the Diaspora of former Protestants? Are we so frightened by the prospect of being outed and redeemed that we keep our mouths shut? Or is the fact that we left the church such a private and personal thing that we feel as though it is nobody’s business.

I’m not a stand-up comedian, or any kind of comedian for that matter. If I were, however, I suppose that I wouldn’t really feel comfortable airing my deepest personal convictions to a bunch of strangers.
I suppose that people have been leaving the Catholic church for hundreds of years longer than people have been leaving Protestant pews. It’s just a little odd since we Protestants started this whole “leaving” thing.

I hate to admit it, but I guess we all let Martin Luther down.

An open letter to my body

Body,

Since you are always with me, you are quite aware that I occasionally make use of self-deprecating humor. Making fun of you has earned me quite a few laughs over the years. How pale you are. How graceful you aren’t. How you dance like your feet are chained together. I could go on, but I think you are all too aware of what I am talking about.

We've had some good times. It seems, however, that you enjoy this abuse a little too much and gotten the wrong idea about this arrangement. I am convinced of this, because you continue to develop characteristics that make it even easier for me (and others) to poke fun at you. Thanks, but I don't need the help.

Please stop.

Just give me the benefit of the doubt here. Even if you were Brad Pitt, I could find plenty of petty stuff to poke fun at. (Ok, maybe not. But if you were Brad Pitt, you would garner a whole different kind of attention, wouldn’t you?)

Let’s make a deal, you and me. You stop devolving and falling apart so rapidly, and I’ll try to like you more. If you would take better care of yourself, you might find yourself having more fun. Help me help you. That sounds fair.

Together, we can turn this thing around.

T

I DRIVE A DODGE STRATUS!!

It’s amazing to me how belligerent some people will allow themselves to be in public. A few days ago, during a Q & A session following remarks by Senator Dorgan and Congressman Martin Frost, a bitter old man stood up and called Frost a “fraud” and said that he was appalled that such a seasoned policymaker would endorse this particular line of reasoning.

He made this argument, however, by interrupting the congressman, shouting, and speaking out of turn in response to other respondents. At one point, he declared “I’M A PHYSICIST!” as of this would somehow change the course of the argument and justify his rant.

A friend at the event likened it to the SNL skit in which Will Ferrell shouts “I DRIVE A DODGE STRATUS” in order to remind his family what a bigshot he was.

Do people have no shame?

Don’t get me wrong, I am passionate about many things. I can see myself being pushed to a point that would cause me to be upset and perhaps even yell at a congressman. But this guy just got mad out of nowhere. His point was not entirely germane to the topic of the evening, and he was in no way provoked. Who knows how long he had been in his seat—just stewing in his anger, carefully selecting the words that would cause so many to think and say “what was that crazy guy so mad about?” Fortunately, Frost is classy and chose to calmly and expertly respond to the guy’s fit of rage.

Having observed this spectacle, I thought that I’d provide a short list of things to keep in mind when you are contemplating yelling about something in public.

· Make sure the person at whom you are yelling is not retired from congress. Don’t get mad at a former politician. He can’t do a whole lot about it.
· Make sure what you are saying makes sense. If all three experts on the panel, the discussion’s moderator, and most everybody else in the room can reasonably counter what you are saying, you might be wrong. At the very least, you haven’t explained yourself well.
· Don’t look crazy. If you have pit-stains, look disheveled, or carry a large bag full of “research” with you at all times, your level of credibility goes down quite a bit.

If you follow these three simple steps, hopefully you can avoid being the giant ass in the room. Somehow I often find myself playing that role for a number other reasons. Perhaps I should work on that.

Tom Petty is My George Washington

This weekend, watching Tom Petty play “Refugee,” singing along with 15,000 of my closest friends, I had a true patriotic moment. Some people get all warm and fuzzy when they see a bald eagle flying overhead. Some when they see the iconic painting of George Washington crossing the Delaware, and some when they watch the Blue Angels perform meticulously choreographed stunts overhead.

For me, hearing Mike Campbell, lead guitarist for the Heartbreakers, wail away as thousands of strangers watch in amazement represents everything that is great about America.

I grew up listening to Tom Petty, so I am more than familiar with the words to most of his hits. I do not own a Tom Petty album, nor would I rank him in my top 50 musicians/artists/performers of all time, even if such a list did exist. I did not even plan on going to the concert until a friend invited me and gave me the ticket.

What is so great about Tom Petty, and numerous artists like him that I could easily include in the same category, is that they are part of the American narrative. When Stevie Nicks made a guest appearance at the show and the duo sang a few covers from their heyday, the number of people singing along did not decrease at all. The crowd had come to see Petty, but sang just as loudly to hits by the Yardbirds and pre-Nicks Fleetwood Mac. These people knew their music. People from all over the state (and who knows where else) had converged on that place, and they all had something in common: they knew the words to the same songs. And this made them happy.

The kind of happiness that Tom Petty induces is an innocent and simple happiness. It has no caveats. Unlike other, more traditional sources of patriotism, it doesn’t have to remind me of the millions that have given their lives so that I might enjoy my freedom. No happiness with a side of guilt. I can be happy just because this song is cool.

Other things have this effect on me, too. Train engineers that wave back. A freshly paved farm-to-market road with a bright yellow line, miles from the closest city. Certified organic produce. Building permits and city inspectors, especially health inspectors. The ACLU. The ACLJ. Gun shows and hip hop clubs.

None of these things just happen. Countries that are rife with corruption and full of people who are either disinterested or scared to take action don’t have such luxuries. When a relatively mild earthquake hits Turkey, and all of the shabbily constructed homes and other buildings collapse, it’s horrible. It’s horrible and tragic and unnecessary. If their government had the means and the willingness to enforce the appropriate building codes, such devastation wouldn’t seal the fate of so many thousands of poor people. When such a thing happens, I am reminded of why I love this country so much.

There are many things about this country that are shitty, too. And many of them involve the same government that enforce the various permits that I just finished praising. What gives me hope, a hope that makes the shit almost bearable, is that we are willing to change. We have the means to change. Americans seem determined not to let the political entropy that paralyzes much of the world establish a firm hold on their country. Yes, it is hard to tell this at times, but I can’t help but think that this country is bound for better times.

At least that’s what I think when I listen to Tom Petty.

I’m not sorry. Pink was in my crayon box, too.

Why is it that every time I wear a pink shirt (which is not often, since I only have two in rotation), I cannot go the day without hearing “hey, nice pink shirt?” These comments inevitably come from people with which I work. With the exception of one person (the second oldest and third-highest paid), everyone with whom I work has been to college. They are, presumably, educated people living the uncloistered examined life in Dallas. Why is it then that these same people find it noteworthy that a man would wear a pink shirt, and continue to find it noteworthy, even though I regularly wear pink?

I am not an effeminate man, so perhaps they don’t expect to see me in pink. Perhaps if I were effeminate, they would be less likely to say something, afraid that they might offend me in some way. Following this line of reasoning, I suppose that I should take it as confirmation that no one suspects my appreciation of the aesthetic (this is what I call my attention to detail, when my finances permit, in fashion and food) as anything effeminate.

I am glad that this is the case, because I find it incredibly infuriating and repulsive that cleanliness, personal hygiene, and fashion sense are all ascribed effeminate properties. If a guy has a clean, well appointed apartment, he must be gay. If a man appreciates a professional manicure/pedicure, he must be gay.

This line of reasoning was used recently by the Army to discover a translator’s sexual preference. Apparently, because of “don’t ask, don’t tell” policies, it’s not ok to ask someone whether or not they are gay, but you can use tricky questions such as “are you involved with community theatre?” to ascertain one’s sexual orientation.

No, I’m not kidding.

Never mind that the training the replacements for the nearly 11,000 gay soldiers dismissed since 1994’s “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy has cost the military nearly $329 million (or the amount we spend every two weeks in Iraq.

I’m not sure how this blog turned into an anti-homophobe, anti-war rant, but there you go.

I wear pink. The color was in my crayon box, so I figured it was fair game.