And My Oscar Goes To...

Best Movie of 2009: Bright Star



If Hollywood wants to both make a lot of money and the world a better place I desperately suggest adapting the following books:
1. The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky
2. A Soldier of the Great War by Mark Helprin
3. Memoir From Antproof Case by Mark Helprin
4. Freddy and Frederika by Mark Helprin
5. Any of the short stories by Mark Helprin found in The Pacific
6. A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson

When Perfection Comes

"But where there are prophcies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away...and now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love."

- From Saint Paul's first letter to the Church in Corinth, Greece.

Today

This morning it was very windy, cold and rainy up in North Texas. I work outside most of the time and this morning I forgot my underarmour turtleneck so I was a bit chilly and miserable until I noticed that the grass looked a lot like lichen and the clanging of the conveyor belt running rock up out of the quarry sounded a lot like the slap of the block against the mast on a boat rocking in the waves. This of course could only mean one thing - I was Torgie, a Norwegian miner working in the granite mines on the windswept North Sea coast. And if I was indeed Torgie, a Norwegian miner on the windswept North Sea coast then that could mean one thing, and one thing only - a ferry ride across the fjord at the end of my shift would drop me off a few short blocks from my IKEA furnished flat where I would put on a turtleneck and wool cap before eating a bowl of chowder and a plate of lingonberries! Yesssss!

Three Quotes

Ran across the three of these this week:

"If I knew for certain that a man was coming to my house with the conscious design of doing me good, I should run for my life." - Thoreau

"How long can you hate yourself for the weakness you can feel?" - Bob Dylan

"FDR [also] surrounded himself with highly intelligent people; that is no guarantee of anything except brilliant rationalizations of failure." - Thomas Sowell

Estate Sale

I woke up yesterday to cars lined up and down the block. I finally saw the sign on the corner last night that said "Estate Sale - Fri & Sat." They were out in full force again today. I was doing yard work thinking about how sad it was that I didn't even know the person who died when I noticed the second or third pickup truck in a row driving past loaded down with furniture and at that moment I felt the full reality and weight of the saying, "you can't take it with you.." You live and you die and strangers come in and haul off your stuff, ecstatic about the great deals they got. How bout them apples?

"Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when the perfect comes, the imperfect dissapears...And now these three remain; faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love." - Paul the Apostle

A Brief Musical Interlude

Patty Griffin @ Gruene Hall
The Ballerina and I went to see the Queen of the Known Musical Universe back in late April at legendary Gruene Hall. It was a great Father/Daughter date. We saw the show from several different angles and at one point even wandered outside where the Ballerina danced on a picnic table under the colored lights strung across the courtyard. Magic.



Brandi Carlile @ Gruene Hall
One month later I was back at Gruene Hall to see Brandi Carlile and The Twins strut their stuff. I'm not a huge concert-goer, nor do I stray too far off my personal beaten path (in the past 17 years, I've seen 6 shows - U2 and Patty Griffin three times each) so I felt just a little dangerous. Two shows in one month. Oh my! The video below was shot the same week as the Gruene Hall show but it is from Birmingham. This song was the highlight. The twins (the one on the left looked exactly like my friend Scott Carow) unplugged their guitars and she stepped out in front of the microphones, so the whole thing was acoustic. At the show I was at you could have heard a pin drop, everybody was leaned forward and straining to soak it all in, and when the song was over the place just exploded. It was interesting to watch my two favorite female singers back to back like that. Patty Griffin makes you want to lie back in a gondola on a darkened waterway in Venice and look up at the stars as God's grace falls upon you. Brandi Carlile made me want to smash beer bottles and dance a jig on the picnic tables.



Steve Earle @ Austin City Limits, 1986
As long as I am posting music videos, I've got to throw this one in here too. I have watched all 3 of these videos so many times, my kids probably know the words to all these songs. Steve Earle is amazing, this is not even close to his greatest song, but it is a riveting performance. I love the bass player in the background. Probably one of the greatest sad songs of all time and my favorite from Steve Earle is "Goodbye" If you've got 99 cents burning a hole in your pocket - you can't go wrong with that one on iTunes.

Amusing Ourselves to Death

I ran across a great cartoon illustrating the foreward of the Neil Postman book "Amusing Ourselves to Death". You can see it here.

The Nepali Response

Sorry that it's been a while. May was a busy month at work. I've got a few that I'm hoping to post here in June. First off comes this long overdue post. After I wrote about Indian Call Centers, my brother who lives in Nepal sent me a long e-mail response. Jen and I enjoyed it so much that I asked him if I could post it here. Below are two photos taken from his balcony. Enjoy...and thanks Josh for entertaining us.

I step through the door to the balcony of my flat, a cool breeze carries the scent of imminent rain and hits my face. I can’t help but smile. My belly is full from dinner just 40 minutes earlier and my kids, by some miracle, play soccer quite nicely together within my view, making for the perfect moment to wind down. Relax. I gingerly dodge across the terrace and manage to block an attempted goal into the guest room door before climbing the black iron spiral staircase to the rooftop. As I ascend, the kids’ laughter fades and my gaze shifts to the city, my city, sprawled out before me. The setting sun is now faintly lighting the bustling streets below which results in one last rush of errands before darkness takes over and the electricity is shut off for the day. The man who sells potatoes and garlic from his bicycle yells out trying to make some final sales as he pushes his bike home. I watch the exchange as a young girl from a house across the street races out and buys a half kilo or so of potatoes. He pulls out his handheld scale and rummages through his inventory knowing the exact size and number of potatoes needed to make the scale balance. She pays him what must be 50 or so rupees and scurries back to her house calling out to her mother who is waiting by the gate and watching the whole transaction. As the potato man walks out of sight, I can only imagine he is off to the butcher shop to surprise his family with a little bit of meat that he can now purchase with the money from his last sale of the day. I look to my left to the patch of road near the brick pile and smile as seven children play a little game of cricket. A boy is wielding the bat shouting out a mile a minute, pointing this way and that most likely giving a little coaching, or perhaps explaining to Sangita, the new girl, about how ghost runners work.

I set my Sony Digital SW-33 pocket radio down on the ledge and tune it to 103.1 FM, the BBC World Service just as Gareth Mitchell wraps up his live report from Mexico City on the economic toll of the swine flu pandemic. I shift the radio to the right, then a little more, forward a little, just to get the reception clear enough.......oh, there it went, back left a little.... perfect. "And now a world sport update. The Bayern-Munich Football Club has just sacked its head coach after only 10 months at the job."

I didn't know Bayern-Munich had fired the last coach.

The sky quickly changes from orange to peach to light blue to purple as night settles in. Slowly the lights of those lucky enough to have battery back-ups pop on and light up the valley as though I am looking down on the starry sky. The scent of rain becomes overpowered by the smell of smoke from a fire in the field just to the south of our gate. Not that plastic smell of a trash fire, but the woodsy smell of a brush pile burning. The neighbors have been clearing that field and tilling it for days getting it ready for planting corn as well as preparing for the monsoons that are just around the corner. Three men are working diligently to get all the brush they had cleared that day into the fire. As one man deposits another handful of dead branches and grass into the fire, their tall shadows cast by the sudden flare of firelight dance on the walls surrounding several of the nearby houses.

I take a long sip of my iced-mocha and savor the scene. Now this is no Starbucks Cappuccino by any means. One-and-a-half packets of Cappa Roma's Mocha Cappuccino powder mix and a spoonful of sugar stirred together and left in the fridge for 14 hours. Not perfect, but it beats that Sanka crap the guys are drinking on their breaks at Indian Call Centers.

The sound of the city is quickly overpowered by the roar of a Beechcraft 1900DS turboprop, operated by Buddha Airlines, on its final approach to Tribhuvan International Airport located approximately 1 mile directly southeast of our flat. I follow the plane and watch it until it sinks out of sight below the horizon of shanty shacks and crumbling buildings just before touchdown. Moments later I catch glimpses of it between buildings as it taxies to the domestic hangar. The sounds of the city return. The faint horn of a taxi honking, the chatter of people, cows mooing, and from a nearby house the din and racket of dinner being prepared as a pressure cooker lets off a spray of steam for the third time.

A cigarette. Well, I don’t smoke, but if I did, this would be a perfect time to smoke it. Something about Nepal just makes one want to smoke. Maybe it is the fact that literally everybody is doing it, even kids. After reading statistics about how the air quality in Kathmandu is equivalent to smoking 2 packs of cigarettes a day, I can't help but think, "Hey, what’s one more cigarette?" I am not a smoker and I do consider myself somewhat health conscious, nevertheless, I do see how a cigarette has the potential to elevate good moments into great ones.

The cricket game by the brick pile has just about run out of light and run out of steam. The streets are all but empty and the hush of evening that falls like dew on the valley is beginning to settle, broken only by the occasional bark of a dog on the street excited about a discovery he made in a trash pile: a shoe, a bone, a discarded apple, a scrap of meat. All the while, not a soul has noticed me above the scene watching it all like an unseen deity. I can't help but to put myself in their shoes for a moment. To imagine what they have done today, or will do tomorrow. To imagine what they might be doing in those houses where I hear the sounds through open windows, but see nothing through the curtains. The boy getting yelled at for not doing his homework. The wife asking her husband how his day was, and his half-hearted response. The family dinner. The brother and sister arguing. The wind rustling the tr.......oh wait, those are my kids arguing. The pleasant aforementioned terrace soccer game has turned into something more akin to a bar room brawl and....uh huh, just as I thought the ball just got thrown off the roof.

So also the scene wraps up below me. My moment of relaxation has passed. I turn off my radio, take the last sip of my now luke-warm mocha, descend from my sanctuary and think, "Some poor schmuck on the other side of the world is just now beginning his Thursday sitting down with his morning paper and getting ready to wash down the bad news to a breakfast of 2 eggs over-easy, 2 sausage links, 2 buttermilk pancakes with extra syrup, a tall glass of OJ and a cup of coffee - cream, no sugar."

"Americans."

No automated sprinkler system are seen from my perch. No manicured lawns or shiny new business parks anywhere in sight. But this is my life, my paradise.

-Joshua Wilson, Kathmandu, Nepal May 2009

I Don't Mind Losing

The following is one of my favorite excerpts from Mark Helprin. It is from the short story, "Monday" which can be found in his outstanding collection of short stories, The Pacific. The entire story resonated with me and as soon as I read the following exchange I knew that I would carry it with me for a long time. (There is a lot of Helprin that I'm carrying around with me.)

Backstory: Fitch is a contractor in New York City and he is taking on a renovation for a recently widowed woman. They have met at a restaurant for lunch to discuss the final terms of the contract which Fitch has tilted extremely generously towards the woman's favor. As we pick up the story at the midpoint, Lilly (the woman) is speaking-

"It sound so disadvantageous to you. It makes me nervous. Do you understand?"

"Of course I do. Look, I don't know what happened to the country, but everybody tries to screw everybody else. More so than in my father's day, more so than when I was a child, more so than when I was a young man, more so than ten years ago...more so than last year. Everybody lies, cheats, manipulates, and steals. It's as if the world is a game, and all you're supposed to do is try for maximum advantage. Even if you don't want to do it that way, when you find yourself attacked from all sides in such fashion, you begin to do it anyway. Because, if you don't, you lose. And no one these days can tolerate losing."

"Can you?" Lilly asked.

"Yes," he said.

"Tell me."

He hesitated, listening to the clink of glasses and the oceanlike roar of conversation magnified and remagnified under the vaulted ceilings of the dining rooms off to the side, "I can tolerate losing," he said, "if that's the price I pay, if it's what's required, for honor."

"Honor," she repeated.

"Honor. I often go into things-I almost always go into things-with no calculation but for honor, which I find far more attractive and alluring, and satisfying in every way, than winning. I find it deeply, incomparably satisfying."

Mark Helprin is the greatest writer in the world and I have excerpted him on these pages often. He wrote A Soldier of the Great War, Memoir from Antproof Case, Refiner's Fire, and Freddy and Fredericka, among others. His latest book, Digital Barbarism: A Writer's Manifesto, was just released.

High Seas - Soothing Videos

There is something about this video that I find so calming. I hope that you do too. I've been on a deep sea fishing boat in waves that were 1/10th of these and I hurled for four hours, and yet, even with that experience, I still can't stop watching this video and the one below it.


If you watch this entire video, you will see some beautiful cliffs as they near land, towards the end of the video. I also like the sounds in this one. I think that one of the reasons I like these videos so much is because I can't stop thinking about the big ol' bowl of chowder waiting for these boys back home. You sail seas like that and you have earned a big warm steaming bowl of clam chowder with butter soaked corn bread alongside it.

Blue: Storm over the Pacific

Sunshine and Haze - Charles Courtney Curran

I am so grateful to my mother for filling the home we grew up in with paintings. I can remember sitting at the dining room table, in the living room, or (in the case of the above painting) in the bathroom, staring at and absorbing all these wonderful pictures. There was no modern art, all the paintings that my mom had were the sort that set fire to the imagination, made you ask all sorts of questions. Mostly natural scenes, they were full of life and light. They were of places that I just had to see. As a teenager I was half in love with the woman in this painting (the sweep of her hair, her flushed cheeks, and that dress!) but more than that, I was desperate to sit on that cliff, or one just like it. And since that time, I have; and I appreciated it all the more because of the desire that was born in me so many years ago by this painting.

Indian Call Centers

In a perfect world, my family would live in a tiny, self-contained little town in the mountains. We would buy meat at the butcher shop, our shoes at the cobbler, our cobbler at the bakers', and singing chimney sweeps with English accents would periodically clean our fireplace. Julie Andrews would visit from the local nunnery to home school the kids and if we ever got lost in the mountains on one of our many day trips, we would just hunker down and sing songs about our favorite things until we were rescued by a group of St. Bernards wearing giant flasks filled with Irish Coffee. For reasons unbeknownst to me, this is not the world I find myself in. The world that I do find myself in, however, although far from perfect does have some neat little perks. One such perk is that I can have a problem with a product that I bought at a local store here in Texas and in my quest to solve the problem with said product, end up having a conversation with a gentleman in India. Apparently, I am one of the few Americans who enjoy this neat little facet of globalism.

Exhibit A: from the April 18th edition of the Wall Street Journal,

"Delta Air Lines Inc. said Friday it has stopped using Indian-based call centers to handle sales and reservations, making it the latest U.S. company to decide the cost benefits of directing calls offshore are outweighed by the backlash from customers.

Delta said it stopped routing calls to India-based call centers over the first three months of the year. Customers had complained they had trouble communicating with Indian agents, the airline said. Last month, Chrysler LLC said it would move its customer-service center back from India."

Now I am as opposed to globalism as the next guy but it does have several positive side effects: 1) cargo ships (the coolest things besides trains) 2) the growing Indian and Chinese middle class (both nonexistent 20 years ago) and 3) the fact that I, Johnny Six-Pack can have a conversation with a guy in India. Why does this not blow our minds? "Honey, you'll never believe it - I talked to a guy from Bangalore today!" I was pretty excited to end up talking to a lady out of Vegas when we were having problems with our Internet so I can only imagine how cool that it would be to get to talk to a guy from India. The main thing I would want to know is what he had for breakfast. The likelihood that I will ever get to make one of these calls is pretty slim as I tend to avoid the phone as if it were the source of the swine flu. But if I did, I think I would imagine my global counterpart taking a break for tea and a cigarette shortly after our call. I imagine him out on the terrace of a shiny new building overlooking the lights of the city under a waxing moon. As a dog barks in the distance, there is the sound of a horn honking and a man shouting (without anger). The heavy air is occasionally cooled by a breeze freighted with the scent of hundreds of wood burning fires, diesel, feces and spices. In the foreground an in ground sprinkler pops up and begins to water the manicured lawn of the business complex. He smiles as he drinks his tea, it is his favorite time of the day, quiet... He tilts his head back and exhales, stubs out his cigarette and prepares himself to go in and talk to more rude Americans. "That last guy was funny, wanted to know what I had for breakfast", he thinks. He laughs and shakes his head, "Americans..." he mumbles as he walks back into the air conditioned complex.

This is why I love Indian call centers.

Simple Pleasures: Redbird

It comes as grace, this flit of red amongst the green. An undeserved moment of beauty that reminds me of the One who sees me. No matter what is going on in my life, how down I am, the gift of the redbird never fails to lift my spirit. Everything falls away, and for those brief moments, it is just me, the bird, and the Maker.

Drawing by Heather Ward

Crunchy Cons

While trying to find some Sowell or Helprin in the bookstore today I ran across a book called Crunchy Cons by Rod Dreher. The book jacket caught my attention so I looked him up when I got home and found the following on Mr. Drehers' blog at National Review Online. Some of these I really agree with and some not so much. I have put my thoughts in parenthesis after his.

A Crunchy Con Manifesto
By Rod Dreher
(hijacked by the Ditchdigger)

1. We are conservatives who stand outside the conservative mainstream; therefore, we can see things that matter more clearly. (I'm automatically suspicious of anyone who can see more clearly than others so this one rubs me the wrong way. How bout: 1. We are conservatives who believe in the freedoms and responsibilities espoused by the founding fathers well over two hundred years ago; therefore, we would like to peel back the manifold layers of "progress" that have buried the simple beauty of their original vision.)

2. Modern conservatism has become too focused on money, power, and the accumulation of stuff, and insufficiently concerned with the content of our individual and social character. (If he had said Modern Americans (accumulation of stuff) or Modern Republicans (power.) instead of Modern conservatism then I would have to agree. However modern conservatism to me consists of a pretty small group who is far more concerned with the content of our character than either power or money. I'm thinking specifically of the Big 3 that I listen to, Bill Bennett, Dennis Prager (especially Prager), and Glenn Beck. Or of the greatest living mind on the right, Thomas Sowell who has taught me that economic and human liberty go hand in hand.

3. Big business deserves as much skepticism as big government. (Nine months ago it would have been a lot easier to instantly agree with this one. The slight pause I now feel is probably just a reaction to the current hostilities (French Revolution Part Deux). Yes, I do agree that big business deserves as much skepticism as big government, however the one thing that big business has that big government will never have is - competition. I believe in competition because in the long run it keeps you, me, and them honest. Having said that, I'll never forget what the old farmer said to me, "more money has been stolen at the end of the pen than at the end of the sword." True for both big business and big government, although as we are witnessing now with the differing response to the AIG and Fannie and Freddie bonuses - only the private sector ends up paying for their sins (which again proves the point that ultimately big business, although deserving of skepticism, is still far superior to big government). Might I add one sentence to #3? - And may the unions meet the fate of pirates.

4. Culture is more important than politics and economics. (Sounds sweet but I disagree. Just ask the dude in Bamiyan, Afghanistan who watched the Taliban blow up a couple of 1,500 year old statues back in March of 2001, or the nature loving Chinese guy who used to love paddling his boat along the Yangtze River in the Three Gorges area before the government destroyed it with the Three Gorges Dam. No, culture is elevated by sound politics and economics and destroyed by the lack of. The principles of personal, political, and economic freedom that this country were founded on explain the difference today between the United States and Russia, or Haiti, Cuba, Somalia, North Korea, Venezuela, Libya, Iran, Afghanistan et cetera, et cetera...) Switch the politics and economics for the last two hundred fifty years or so and we not they would be the ones living in fear, poverty, corruption, and repression. Ideas matter and ideas have consequences, something that we have had the luxury of being able to forget. I would amend this one to say 4. Sound politics and economic principles based on individual liberty will create a common culture of excellence that binds many diverse people together in a harmony seen nowhere else.

5. A conservatism that does not practice restraint, humility, and good stewardship—especially of the natural world—is not fundamentally conservative. (Finally, I agree 100%.) (p.s. - global warming is still a hoax.)

6. Small, Local, Old, and Particular are almost always better than Big, Global, New, and Abstract. (I am not alone, I am not alone! Oh, I just want to read this one over and over again. Perfect. And the inclusion of the words "almost always" covers me on the apparent conflict with this statement and my upcoming blog post about my love of Indian call centers.)

7. Beauty is more important than efficiency. (Yes, yes, yes!!! A thousand times yes!)

8. The relentlessness of media-driven pop culture deadens our senses to authentic truth, beauty, and wisdom. (You had me at #6 and yet, they keep coming! I was actually thinking about this yesterday morning; Jennifer Aniston could kill Angelina Jolie with a roadside IED and then kidnap all of her adopted children and run off to Mexico and live in the desert like a bandito with her clan of kidnapped children, get caught by Dog the Bounty Hunter and sentenced to die in the electric chair, request a last meal of chicken fried steak, rhubarb pie and Dr. Pepper and then get fried herself in a Texas state prison as Brad Pitt, Sean Penn and Tim Robbins lay chained together weeping and shouting in protest at the prison gates before they immolated themselves and I still wouldn't care anymore than I do that this is the mother of all run on sentences.)

9. We share Russell Kirk’s conviction that “the institution most essential to conserve is the family.” (Yessiree, small and local, uh huh.)

10. Politics and economics won’t save us; if our culture is to be saved at all, it will be by faithfully living by the Permanent Things, conserving these ancient moral truths in the choices we make in our everyday lives. (I am going to ignore the first five words because technically they are correct and the rest of this is wonderful.)

And although Rod Dreher ducks down and hides everytime I say it; "I'm a Crunchy Con! I'm a Crunchy Con!"