Movin' On Up

This blog no longer exists here! Check it out at:

www.warmevenings.com

Updates

In case there are those who still prefer to get things via Warm Evenings:

The New Man

Musical Map:

Part 3: Sublime

Part 4: Gram Parsons


Part 5: Doug Sahm

Part 6: Outkast

Wonderful Wednesday:

Tina!

Kentucky!

Texas Livin'


Sugary Sweet


Boozin' Duets

Just smiles and says, "I'll see you around"

More gooodies via HBH:

Pageant Judge:
Oh, what a beautiful thing

Musical Map of America:
Part I

Part II

Wonderful Wednesday:
To Willie

He smiles as he waves goodbye...

I've sort of given up regularly posting on Warm Evenings and am instead focusing on my work with The City Wire, Half Broke Hotel, and of course that silly book. I'll periodically be updating this site with links to posts that would otherwise have made it up here but instead are being posted on HBH.

Here are a few to get you started:


Dragon Chasing

Oh but it's fantasy baby


Accept it all bravely

Kiss Me. I'm Irish?

"Do you not get it, lads? The Irish are the blacks of Europe. And Dubliners are the blacks of Ireland. And the Northside Dubliners are the blacks of Dublin. So say it once, say it loud: I'm black and I'm proud."

Though I'm sure there are residual traces of it somewhere deep in the depths of my genetic make up, I'm not Irish. However, like every one else in this nation--heritage be damned--I'll be celebrating that hallowed saint. We've all appropriated the holiday to our own whims (much like the Welsh born St. Patrick was appropriated by the Irish themselves). An excuse to let loose has emerged.

As many might be able to deduce from the opening quote, my own little homage to the snake eradicator is one of film. Though I don't really hold a candle to my cinematic friend Bjorn Schey over at HBH, I'm going to give a small run down of my favorite Irish movies. My criterion is minimal. First, the film must have a plot line that in some way centers around Irish identity. Second, and in many respects the most important factor, the film must be great.

Though they are vastly different, there are five films that loom largest for me. Without further ado, here is my top 5:

There is, in my mind, one director that stands above any other in the annals of Irish cinema--Jim Sheridan. Perhaps it shows my shortsighted and uninformed nature to state this but his oeuvre does more to convince than my words could. He's been nominated for six Academy Awards. I'm not so simple to think that that alone is convincing enough but I would suggest any of his "Irish" movies to anyone and feel confident they would come back a believer. However, there are two that stick out above the others for me. 5) My Left Foot--powerhouse performance by Daniel Day-Lewis and 4)In America--an endearing tale of a family of Irish immigrants trying to make it in America.

Nestling itself in the middle of the pack at number 3 is Bloody Sunday. No issue is as attached to Ireland as much as the long fight for independence in Northern Ireland. This particular movie depicts a famously gruesome page in the long, strife filled history of that struggle. Like I mentioned at an earlier date to some folks who know of my disdain for the front man of U2, "even with Bono wailing over the ending credits, this film packs a serious punch." This Paul Greengrass directed film uses a documentary style to bring the viewer into the film, to authenticate the material to the viewer, and thus elicit every last ounce of emotion out of the audience. It works.

At a very close second is The Wind That Shakes the Barley. A Ken Loach directed film dealing with the Irish War of Independence and subsequent Irish Civil War, it won the Palm d'Or at Cannes in 2006. Known for his socialist views, Loach, for many, is as much a social and cultural commentator as he is a filmmaker (Raining Stones, A Fond Kiss, etc). Though he had never done a "historical" film, Mr. Loach certainly did not shy away from the sensitive material. His unflinching honesty imbues the movie with both gritty realism and transcendent beauty. In short, it mimics life in all it's brutal and sobering glory.

While most of the above movies deal with serious topics, my favorite Irish movie of all time is a humorous one. Though it is easy to dismiss humorous movies, it would be unwise to do so with this particular film. So often humor is created at the expense of realism. This phenomenon seems to have only grown in recent memory with the onslaught of absurdist humor at the box office. However, The Commitments achieves both social realism and genuine laughter.

Unemployment Official: Mr. Rabbitte, you've been collecting unemployment benefit for two years. Are you trying to tell me you can't get a job?
Jimmy Rabbitte: We're a third world country - what can you do?

This award winning film from the early 90s was directed by Alan Parker. It shows the harsh realities of Irish life (i.e., low living standards,unemployment) with acerbic wit. It's rife with some of the most intelligently hilarious quotes to grace a cinema (for those that didn't know, the opening quote is from the film). It's protagonist is Jimmy Rabbitte, an aspiring (and unemployed) young man seeking to create a soul band out of a rag tag group of Dublin misfits. Despite the great music they create, the end result wasn't what Jimmy Rabbitte wanted but like The Lips reminded him, "This way it's poetry."

And like the movie itself, there is a sense of that "poetry" attached to our perception of the Emerald Isle. Jimmy encapsulated Ireland. Despite the oppression, despite the economy, despite whatever ills might be tossed their way, the Irish are able to lift themselves "above the shite." With all that goes on in this world, an elevating disposition is a nice asset...So go ahead and kiss me. Damn straight I'm Irish.

Just Look What Thoughts Will Do

I've always been amazed at how much dedication people have for certain things. Whether it is fighting poverty in Appalachia, defending human rights in repressive lands, obsessively rooting for a team, planning parties, or simple participation in a church, there is always someone deeply involved. I'm not amazed at what they are dedicated to, just the dedication itself.

My amazement at this dedication stems from my own self-consciousness. Ironically, I think it also has a correlation to my previously stated issues with bumper stickers. Though I didn't exactly get deep into an explanation, a large (and perhaps silly) issue I have with bumper stickers is the perception it creates in others. I don't mean the perception having bumper stickers creates, but the statements they make. Perhaps it is ridiculous, but I feel that having a bumper sticker inadequately defines me as a person. And that people would incorrectly reach assumptions about me because of a bumper sticker I may display.

Of course I see the absurdity in worrying about what other people think or assume. Assumptions will be made no matter what. Refusing to display a bumper sticker isn't going to change that fact. It's my own neurosis rearing its mighty head once again.

The correlation with dedication is my own reluctance to be "involved" in things. Going even deeper, I worry that perhaps I'm afraid to invest myself too much...to open myself up to something outside my personal sanctuary. I'm not sure where or why, though. It certainly hasn't always been like this.

Involvement is a comfort. Fervent devotion to something larger than yourself, no matter the forum--religious, sporting, or political--is reassuring. We sense our own inadequacy, which is why we derive a sense of worth by putting so much into things we see as larger than ourselves.

Though I doubt I'll be slapping any bumper stickers on Golden Boy any time soon, I'm slowly figuring out how to allow myself to be involved. I'm slowly learning how to differentiate between things of consequence and those that are petty and inconsequential, particularly those good for nothing self-conscious thoughts. Like the Red-headed Stranger said, "watch those thoughts, they'll get you down."

Rambling Post About WWII Movies and Living Life

I have a predilection for World War II movies. I don't believe this was born of any innate penchant for violence. By and large I would consider myself a passive man. While I don't shun conflicts or violence, I certainly do not seek them out.

My own theory as to why I have a proclivity for WWII movies dates back to my sickly nature as a child. Home with a sore throat or ear infection, those days were largely spent on the couch in front of a television. Beyond Bugs Bunny, I wasn't really into cartoons. As a result I watched more episodes of Designing Women, Matlock, and Murder She Wrote than I should admit. Which, I guess goes quite a ways in explaining a lot about me. My television was glued to such stations as TBS or AMC on days there were (war) movies showing. I continue to regard many of these movies as some of my favorite of all time.

Confined to the couch, it wasn't the war that attracted me. It was the adventure. It was the camaraderie. The fighting underdog spirit that was imbued in each film. Two particular movies especially epitomize these characteristics. The Dirty Dozen (starring Lee Marvin, Telly Savalas, Jim Brown, Donald Sutherland, Charles Bronson, and John Cassavetes) was the film that manifested itself first. However, it was Kelly's Heroes, somewhat later in my childhood, that truly came to pass as a passionately revered film. It's a simple tale. A group of men advance behind enemy lines to steal $16 million in gold bullion from the "Krauts." It is a journey of self-interest and adventure above all.

This will probably always remain my favorite Clint Eastwood film. His taciturn role is comically offset by the supporting cast. It is, in my eyes, one of the most quotable films of all time ("To a New Yorker like you, a hero is some type of weird sandwich, not some nut who takes on three Tigers"). This is thanks largely to the supporting efforts of actors like Donald Sutherland, the very antithesis of truculence, as perhaps the first hippie in the history of man. His philosophical outbursts ("Always with the negative waves Moriarty, always with the negative waves") pepper the movie with a necessary comic edge. The cast is filled out with notable actors like Don Rickles & Telly Savalas who further the movie in their own ways. Rickles with his usual acerbic wit, and Telly Savalas as the somewhat reluctant and stern conscious of the rag tag outfit (having Uncle Leo himself, Len Lester, is just a nice cherry on top).

Burning Bridges, a song performed by the Mike Curb Congregation, is one of my favorite of all time. It is the theme song for Kelly's Heroes. Not only was hearing it on my way home from work the impetus for this post, but I also feel it goes a long way in explaining why I enjoy these WWII movies so much. The lyrics, in a way, mirror the driving force behind the plot in the film. The narrator details how his "friends all tried to warn" him but he passed them by. It is ultimately a song about forging your own path in the face of those who doubt you. The upbeat, almost cavalier song has a deceivingly tragic ending though. You are given the impression that this person will succeed. That despite the warnings of friends, he will over come and be victorious. But the last verse belies this sentiment--"Years have passed and I keep thinking what a fool I've been/I look back into the past and think of way back then/I know that I lost everything I thought I that could win/I guess I should have listened to my friends"

I don't think it's always advisable to toss away the advice of friends. They are often the people with the best perspective on the problems and issues in your life. But, for me, the song is truly the best way to live life. Perhaps it is irresponsibly cavalier to live life without concern for the possible repercussions. For me, however, it is worse to live life with a glaze of fear tinting your decisions. I can live with the repercussions of my mistakes. I don't think I could live with the profound regrets of a fainthearted and truncated existence.

The Path

My posting frequency has been unacceptably low of late. Of course, I have plausible reasons for this. Not matter the situation, there are always excuses.

With a somewhat "normal" forty hour a week job, writing six columns a month, fumbling my way through writing a "book", learning Spanish, and maintaining a somewhat functional social life, it often seems that Warm Evenings has been squeezed from it's natural spot at the top of my list of priorities.

I seem to have the exact opposite problem of Hugh Grant in About A Boy. His entire life was one of leisure. Now, granted, I just got back from an amazing trip to Hawaii so I suppose there are parts of my existence that could be construed as "leisurely." The difference, I like to think, between myself and Will is rather large. While his daily plan is to simply take up chunks of time during the day until it is over, I seem to run out of those chunks. He visits the record store or the movies for something to do. I've begun to feel as if I have too much to do. Anytime I get to sneak off for a movie is a treat.

All of this is such a stark contrast to my life at this time last year...in truth it's in stark contrast to the majority of my life. Not much ever got in the way of me doing as I pleased, very much similar to the way Will lives in the film. In the past I was too content to "float on," like the song implores. It's a mindset that in many ways I still think I have. I can all too easily shut out the problems of the world around me. It is both a gift and a curse. It's hard to push yourself to accomplish something when you possess a general sense of ambivalence towards life.

So it is all very odd for me to truly care about something outside myself--to generally and openly seek to become something. My past was consumed with finding something to do to finance the things I wanted to do. After spending almost a year here, I have finally realized the futility in this sort of behavior. Without actively seeking the life you want for yourself, you'll never attain a sense of pleasure in your life. I'm not there yet but I feel I'm at least on the path. And that is certainly better than wandering aimlessly in the woods.

Dark is the Night

(This is a rough excerpt from One Good Year, a book about life, love, and traveling that I'm trying to finish)

It's harder at night to keep a rein on my mind. Lying their in darkness I can almost feel her next to me. Her head resting against my chest, a leg strung across my thigh, as she lay tightly against me. It's the night--the pure and unalterable emptiness of the night--that is the most difficult.

When the sun is up it's not as much of a challenge. Your life is in effect, there is activity, there is work. These distractions can only momentarily be broken—by a day dream or an inquisitive friend. Life takes hold again and you are forced from the lonely thought. In the darkness there is no one to distract you from your own mind. You're forced to bear what weighs on your heart.

I fought against this emptiness. I sought comfort in the companionship of others. I distracted myself to the point of exhaustion trying to avoid any chance of dealing with the devil of the darkness.

The irony is that the more we seek to distract ourselves from something, the more we encounter it. It's an endless struggle, one that is constantly fought. Inevitably this silly battle of distractions will fail and the more fully we'll experience it as a result.

Now my life is spent feeling the emptiness beside me. Often I return home secretly hoping she might be there, another sly surprise like the one so long ago. A flood of happiness overtakes me when I see that she has sent me an email. These little naïve hopes are manageable. Though despairingly embarrassing, they are minor. Just small bumps patiently waiting to be smoothed in time. It's the night—the reality of the longing, the void born from our separation—that seems unmanageable.

Night after night, each evening was traded for morning next to my love. A constancy was created. Now this expected certainty has vanished. My only companion in the darkness are those long ago memories of tender nights.

The Leisure in Our Days

It occurred to me at some point within the past few weeks how far we as a society have progressed. Though there have undoubtedly been major advancements in a variety of areas,I'm speaking specifically about our survival (when I refer to "our" survival, I'm speaking of the idea of the "first world").

Leisure was a grand contribution of the 19th Century. For the first time, people could forget about merely surviving and expect free time in their daily life. As technology improved, the idea of "leisure" expanded. What was once the exclusive right of the well to do, began to seep into all levels of society.

With this expansion (and continued scientific advancement), the conceptualization of "leisure" began to shift. Leisure time had always been about seeking out entertainment. This goal slowly morphed. With the emergence of personal entertainment, from phonographs down to computers, the onus of entertainment shifted from something sought to something received. Catered enjoyment is the expectation. Life has become nothing more than a series of distractions. Our needs are largely solved so we strive against boredom. Mr. Cobain said it best in his cultural anthem of the early 90s, "here we are now, entertain us."

The Morning View

There are countless millions of people who wear disposable contact lenses. The guidelines state that you should replace them every two weeks. It seems everyone chooses to forgo the protocol, myself included. And while you are supposed to take them out every night for cleaning, there are some who even eschew this procedure and can go months without cleaning. I'm not in this second group. Even at the height of inebriation I always seem to remember to take out my contacts before bed. As for replacement, I have no set schedule. Tonight, however, was an exception. I tossed away my contacts on purpose. I want a new pair to put in tomorrow morning.

Tomorrow is an important day. I've lived a relatively short life. I have, however, witnessed numerous events that affected the globe in some form. Somehow I remember Kirk Gibson's home run in the 1988 World Series. I remember the bay series earthquake in 1989 and yet have no recollection of the fall of the Berlin Wall. I remember the 1st Gulf War, Clinton's win in 92, the OJ chase, Princess Diana's crash, and the Lewinsky fiasco. As a semi-adult I experienced the elections of 2000 & 2004, the Patriot Act, the invasion of Iraq, and the Red Sox's break the curse. None of these events can compare to January 20th in importance. It is, without a doubt, the second most important event that has occurred during my lifetime. When viewed in terms of possibility or positivity, it has to be the single most important event that has transpired in my short life.

The impact of Obama's election can't be calculated in statistics. It is felt in the emotions of the people. And even though the affect of tomorrow isn't personal for me,per say, it is enormously personal to millions upon millions of others. No matter the politics, January 20th is an event without comparison. A day that surely deserves a new pair of lenses. The world will never look the same.

Mercurial Goals for the New Year

1-3-09 (it took me awhile to get this up)

Another year is here. One year seems to just blend into the next and the most noticeable effect on my life is how often I have to scratch out "08" and scribble in "09" when I'm writing dates. I'm certain it will take a month before I'm able to correctly write those dates with any regularity.

There are many who disdain the New Year. For instance, a close friend hates the first months of the year because the gym parking lot is always so crowded. The irony of his discontent is palpable.

I've never been quite so negative about the first of the year. Despite this, it's hard for me to be excited about the passing of time. Perhaps I too easily see the morbid reality of the new year. The dire inevitability of our existence.

Putting me at further odds, I've never been much of a New Year's resolution man. It mayn't be the best book by which to live one's life but, at least in a way, I abide by Calvin's system of resolutions. While Calvin's noticeable egotism is on full display throughout the Calvin & Hobbes series, it is truly crystallized in strips dealing with New Year resolutions. In his eyes resolutions are meant for everyone else. Unfortunately, I'm not that self-centered. While Calvin rejects the idea of resolutions for himself, I instead reject the confining structural limits of New Year's resolutions. My own trite outlook, be the change you want to see, is not meant to be dictated by the calendar.

Though he is, like us all, a flawed individual, I've always envied Calvin. Not for his imagination, or his astute feline friend, or even for the adventure he sees in every day life; instead I envy him for his clarity. That's the one truly attractive benefit of living a self-centered life. Everything in the world makes sense when you are at its center (which is of course why most struggle to find it).

So, if I was pressed to provide a resolution for this new year, it would be a simple one. It is of course my deepest desire, the one that forever seems just out of my reach. In 2009, just like the years that came before it, my resolution is finding clarity, the elusive goal for all of humanity.