Party Time

Last weekend was a great party weekend. It all started on a Friday evening. My brother Chris and I got in the car and drove over to the party. We got there as the sun was going down, and the first lightning bugs were just getting started in and around the sparkling forest.

The party started that night, which was when the great cooking mission began. There was keg beer, colas, sodas, and water to drink. People set up tents in the backyard. I started with beer, but then switched to coffee. I had to stay up all night and help watch the pig, which cooked all night. Around four o'clock or so, with everyone else sleeping, I did some writing with the paper and pen in my pocket. I had to. You see, I'm engaged in this big writing project and I had to keep the wordflow going. Even if I just touch pen to paper for a few minutes, that counts.

And on Saturday, the pig came off and the guests arrived. A bluegrass band came and played music for everyone. This was a beautiful thing: to be in the backyard, with the summer green of Maryland woods all around, and friends nearby, eating and drinking and talking. Chris and I created a vegetarian bean dish, and I ate those garlic/cheese beans out of an empty bean can. And it was about this time that Chris reached for my camera so that he could take this photo:



And I was feeling happy in my green shirt in the summer sun with the music playing. The U.S. soccer team was playing Ghana. People were hopeful, happy, the party was going strong and the music sounded great.


One of our friends couldn't be there. But we had a piece of paper with a likeness of his face, and people went around with the paper photograph, keeping his great party spirit alive. In addition to the paper likeness, there were crayfish and green trees. This photograph shows these things:

The Oil Is Still Spilling

President Obama spoke tonight. I watched him on TV, on one of the basic stations, totally free, with our special digital antenna picking up the signal. He talked about the problems in the gulf, the problems with offshore drilling, and the oil spill that has become known as The Deepwater Horizon Oil Spill.

This Deepwater spill is a sad and ugly thing, as all the oil spills are. Nothing good comes from polluting the world we live in, this planet we call home. But this kind of dirty business goes on. Oil companies have their greedy drill bits buried deep into the modern world and the American way of life. The U.S. is the country which consumes--by far--the most oil. Using 2008 numbers from U.S. Energy Information Administration, the U.S. drinks down about 19 million barrels of oil per day. (China is the second place consumer, guzzling about 7 million barrels per day.) We use a lot of oil, which means we have to manage a lot of oil: physically get it, refine it, move it, ship it, import it, pump it, pour it, and so on.

Looking at the Wikipedia page for "oil spills," and then the page for "list of oil spills", I see that this most recent Deepwater Horizon spill is only one on a long list of oil spills. Billions of barrels of oil have been spilled and burned and wasted over the years--hundreds of spills--and Deepwater looks like it'll go down as one of the big ones.

Oil spills keep happening. Why is this? Well I am not an oil spill expert, but my ponderings have me pointing my finger at: gravity, entropy, carelessness, flaws in containment, and accidental occurrences. And there doesn't appear to be any end in sight with respect to oil spills. Perhaps we'll have to wait until we burn it all up and there is no more oil left to spill.

As I write these words, the toxic black gold keeps leaking out into the gulf waters. We've all seen the photos. Animals covered in black goo. People in clean-up suits doing the slow work of cleaning. Nature takes a lot of abuse. And it seems that a good bit of such abuse stems form the species with the name tag: Homo sapiens (or Homo sapiens sapiens if you want to get more technical). Our numbers keep growing and our problems never seem to end. But the good people are trying.

I think about New York City, the biggest city in our fair country, and yet it's a place where approximately 54% of people don't own cars and public transportation is widely used. I think about a friend I know, buying big bags of organic grains and riding his bike around all the time. I think about other friends I know, keeping their homes cool in the winter and warm in the summer because it's better for the environment and their wallets. A bunch of little things can add up and help. Of course a bunch of other little things can add up to do some harm. But the good people of the world know deep down what they have to do.

And all this Deepwater ugliness will be fixed, although it looks as if the spill has the potential to drag on for some time. And I hope that in this country, and in this world, people will move toward fuels and energies and machines and that are safer, more efficient, and less harmful to the environment. As for right now, I think I'll raise the thermostat a little higher, sweat a little more, and then go out for a bike ride, a little nighttime road meditation to cleanse my mind of oily thoughts and to ease the weight of the world.

Into the Sparkling Forest

I just got back from the sparkling forest. It's a special place. I know this and I feel it too. Man, it's the kind of place that sticks with you until the end of time. Let me tell you a little about this place.

The forest is a real place, and I know exactly where it is. It's actually here in Maryland. But the Sparkling Forest is also a state of mind, a combination of the right things at the right time--everything is perfect on a perfect night. And I've been there before, when it wasn't sparkling. You'll see what I mean.

It all started when I drove over to my friend's home. There was work to be done that night, and fun to be had. We had to bury a jug of wine for a party that was coming up. It was this tradition that was started a while ago, and we had to keep the tradition going. So anyway, I got in the car and headed over to my friend's home. And when I got there, everyone was drinking beer on the back porch and getting ready for the mission. The big jug of Carlo Rossi was sitting there on the deck.

Then, after talking and more beers and some snacks, it was time to go: out through the screen door, down the wooden stairs of the deck, then down the green grass hill in the backyard, (but I didn't feel the grass because I was wearing pants for this mission--worried about ticks and ivy). And on the edge of the yard is where the forest began.

We went into the woods, my two friends ahead of me, with headlamps and flashlights to see the way. The journey into the woods was part of the fun. Moving into the night. Tall tulip poplars all around, these huge trees. And the fireflies were blinking. "Watch out for all the shit," said someone. We had crossed over the fence at this point and were now in a forested part of a pasture. But the cow pies were easy to spot, and the poison ivy was not very prevalent, and so the walking was good.

This was a forest wonderland that I knew and loved. But that night was fresh and new. And the risks were real. There were rumors of a bull, a big beast we did not want to meet, especially because we had crossed under the electric fence and so a quick get-a-way might be hard. So we keep listening and looking around. A crazy screech came down from the forest darkness up on the hill. A fox? A cat? A new breed of East Coast jackleope? We didn't know. But we aimed our lights and saw two glowing eyes. It was far away, but I still felt the fine twinge of fear. The stick I was holding in my hands felt good.

But the screeching beast went away. And I knew we'd soon be gone too, after the work was done. But we were in no hurry. Some things can not be hurried. We walked on, until we found the right spot for the wine jug. Then we dug. We had brought shovels. We dug it deep and tied a rope to the glass loop on the jug so that would help with the unearthing.

Then we keep walking, back under the fence, across a small stream--still moving away from our home base. We left the forest and walked out into a huge grassy hillside. And up on the peaceful flanks of this hillside, we all paused to rest and listen and enjoy the night. The reserve beers were opened and we toasted the wine jug mission and the night. And it was on this hillside, looking back at the forest, that I came to see and know the sparkling forest. The long curving wall of trees down in front of us was sparking with the light of thousands of fireflies. The luminous creatures seemed fond of gathering near the outside of the forest, so their light was easy to see, especially against the black backdrop of the forest. And even though the night sky of Maryland was full of city light pollution, which obscured many of the stars, I didn't really mind. We had the sparkling forest.

United We Watch

I watched some World Cup soccer today. I watched my home country play against England. I heard some nasty things being said about the English team (I was in a bar). It made me sad. It's just a game. The beautiful game, after all, which is something to remember. The players play because they love to play (and it's how they make their money). And people watch, all over the world. And people say things. And suddenly, millions of people are experts when it comes to soccer, or football as it's often called.

And so I drank my two-dollar beers and tuned out some of the more stupid comments. And I enjoyed the powerful quiet--perhaps even some milliseconds of silence--because there were actually quiet moments in the bar, moments which tended to happen in between the Big Plays, which were the ones that often required cheering.

There's really something interesting that happens when fans watch a game. It's a home team love and focused sporting excitement that drives many a fan (and some people even have money riding on the games, which adds another level). But for me, most of the time, I don't really get into the game like those around me. And so this makes it easier for me to observe everyone else. I like to watch the people watching the games. They get so into it. It's amazing. If they could only see themselves, and hear the things they are saying. Some people take the games very seriously--with their crazy eye TV screen watching, and their trash talking, and wild cheering, and cell phone score checking (because there's so many games to keep track of). The Serious Fans have really demonstrated just how deep the obsession goes. I'm not saying it's good or bad. I'm just saying that after watching some World Cup soccer in a Maryland bar, it's safe to say that fans can really get into the games.

Now people in the stadiums love to cheer. I knew this. You can hear it in the background of certain televised games: an almost constant cheering drone that lasts for most of the game. And cheering at a game kind of makes sense. You cheer for the team you want to win, and hope the cheering drives them into athletic brilliance and then victory. But what about the fans who scream at the TV screens? It's hard to say what their goals are. Probably just a energy release or outlet, a demonstration of what's on their minds. And as I was watching the people around me yell, I found myself thinking: the TV is not a microphone, no matter how loud you try to yell.

But who am I to say that their yelling has no power? Has such a thing ever been studied? Energy is a powerful thing with mysterious connotations. And maybe someday every bar room and living room will have a microphone and a direct line into the stadium or arena of the fan's own choosing. And in the ceilings of stadiums, there will be thousands of little speakers, high quality/high power speakers, so that when the dedicated fans yell, the players will actually hear and receive the energy. Players will of course have to wear special high-tech thousand-dollar ear plugs so they can block some of the tremendous noise that will be hitting them at every angle, vibrating their athletic bodies like some sort of strange exercise machine from the future. Stadiums will also have to be built with very high standards to handle the sonic bombardment. And fans will have to sign wavers so they can't sue over hearing loss. And every stadium will have to install a giant soundproof shield over the stadium, otherwise the noise of a game would disturb every home within ten miles. And for those roofless stadiums, the Sound Shield would be the roof, as well as being a fixture where all the speakers could be mounted.

And when such systems are implemented, and I get my financial cut for inventing the True Voice Fan Intercom, you might find me in some famous bar in America, buying a round for the house. And then I'll get up on the bar and give speech, instructing the screaming fans to maybe just take a break. And for a minute or so, we'll pump a round of pure quiet into whatever stadium speaker that bar is broadcasting to, and that little pocket of silence will rain down onto the field, and maybe, just maybe, for one glorious moment, some sweaty player who's chock full of exhaustion will be able to zero in on that one speaker and hear the quiet hum of a silent bar which is the stuff that angels sing of.

Local Libraries and Free Music

If you love an artist's work, by all means, give him or her your money and/or support. If you're not sure about your love, then it might be a good idea to go to your local library and see what you can see. And even if you are sure of your love, it's still a good idea to head on over to your local library.

I love my local library. I go there all the time. I know the librarians and they know me. I've memorized my fourteen-digit library card number--I did that years ago. Sometimes I even let my items go overdue, just so I can give the library a few dollars. They need my money. They need my support. You've gotta pay for these privileges, and tax dollars alone might not enough these days. Budgets are tight and places are closing.

Libraries are a great thing, a tremendous tool that our country has brought into being for the betterment of all. Don't forget them. And don't forget what they stand for: knowledge and freedom and learning for all.

On our library's website, they say: "opening the door to discovery and diversion." This line really makes me smile. I also like how they used the singular version of door. They could have said "doors," which would have meant something a little different. But they wrote "door" which means that diversion and discovery are accessed through the same portal, which makes for an interesting thought. The beauty is in the truth. Sometimes it's about learning, and sometimes it's about relaxing and having fun. But both learning and fun are connected.

As for the free music, I'd like to mention the awesome website known as: archive.org

You can go there and access many different things, freely and legally. I usually go there to get Grateful Dead shows, but I also discovered that there are many Warren Zevon shows as well. And for this we must thank Warren's son Jordan.

A direct quote from archive.org:

"On April 7, 2005, we received permission for Warren Zevon shows to be hosted at the Archive:

Subject: Warren Zevon

Please allow the exchange of unreleased live material from Warren Zevon on your website.

Sincerely,

Jordan Zevon"

I've downloaded about fifteen Zevon shows, and there are many more out there, and this brings me joy.

Let the music play! And long live the libraries!

Fondly,
Jeff

Doing Good

Zevon lyrics blaze on with poetic power in my mind: "Everybody's your best friend when you're doing well, I mean good."

Yes, thank you Warren Zevon, wherever you are.

It's no secret that I enjoy listening to the music and words of Warren Zevon, the late great American songwriter. I listen and I enjoy. And even when I'm not listening, I'm enjoying. His words come back to me, in my mind, when I'm "doing simple things around the house," as Warren said it so perfectly.

Tonight I was in the kitchen, making another sandwich--enjoying another sandwich--when the words I mentioned above hit me. I had just left a phone message for my friend Whitney. And I was making some food: one of my crazy sandwiches, with humus, peanut butter, raw garlic, and sriracha, spread on bread and corn tortillas. I'm always mixing up flavors. Pizza sushi is one creation I'm very proud of. But that's enough weird bragging for one day. I must stay on topic: I was in the kitchen, mixing, eating, and thinking about Warren, and really just feeling good.

The lyric above is from the song "Genius." And, as a fellow writer, I love the way Warren works with his words. Now, there are some people that love to rub in the grammatical correctness of "doing well" and the incorrectness of "doing good." But writing (just like speaking and living) is way more than just following the rules. Writing is about freedom, and saying what you want to say, and doing it your way, day after day. Sure, the background rules of writing are necessary. They help us writers tell our stories, and make it easier for readers to follow along. But the writer gets final judgment. And hearing Warren sing, "doing well, I mean good," just makes me smile like crazy, because I know he knew the rules, and that line is such a nice calm slap in the face to all the grammar-crazed people who are missing the point and getting way too bogged down by the rules.

Now I don't want you to worry here. If you go around saying "doing well," that doesn't mean I'm going to feel opposed to you. I say "doing well" sometimes. But if you're a Zevon fan, and if you say, "doing good," well then it's very easy for us to be on the same page. In the world of art, there is no right and wrong. Only different preferences and different perspectives.

Tonight, the work is going well. And, as all you fellow workers out there know: that's not always the case. But when it's good, that's something to enjoy, just like the hardness. I dig the blues. Maybe I'm happy because I'm getting to the end of another draft, and that's always a nice moment. I don't want to speculate too much here. I'm just setting down some words in the midst of some other words. The writing will go on, on into the night, on into the years of my life. . . . And along the way I keep living, and I keep thinking of my family and friends, far and near.

And summer is coming soon, time for more sweating. Sweaty shirts at backyard parties. A little more body odor in the air. Are you ready to sweat? Yes, I've made my peace with the heat and humidity. It's getting warmer. The earth, still circling, still tilted. It's all about the angles.

Well Marley just came upstairs to get me, which means he wants water and he wants to go out. So I might as well sign off here. Have fun, safe travels, and I hope you're doing good.

The Power of Thunder

It's raining now, a thunderstorm. I'm sitting in my room, writing, working on my laptop which makes me feel good because even if we loose power, I can keep going. That's one of the nice things about laptops, the automatic power backup that comes built in. But I don't want to dwell on such trivial things as laptops and computers. No, the power of this storm is what prompted me to log on and add to this blog.

The rain is coming down hard. Tons of water--those little drops really add up. I look out and see the rain coming down sideways, just for a time. Now it's falling mostly straight down. Marley doesn't mind at all. I hear him drinking downstairs. Noisy laps from his bowl of water. We're lucky he's not the kind of dog that freaks out when it storms. We're lucky for many reasons.

It's nice to be able to write in the rain. A home gives protection, something we all need at some point. I guess I could still write in the rain if I was outside in a tent. Tents are good portable shelter, and I've spent many hundreds of evenings and nights curled up in a tent. I've written hundreds of journal pages during my tent time. Tents are good for writing because you're outside, hearing and smelling and seeing, but you're still protected. Although tent walls don't really stop the sound waves. Thunder is much louder when you're in a tent.

And now, if you'll excuse me, I need to step away from the computer for a few minutes . . .

. . . Well okay, I'm back in my writing room with a wet head and back. I had to help my mother bring some young seedlings inside. They were on the back porch, getting some sun, but the rain was too hard for them. Why punish when you can protect?

Philip called me this morning (this is turning into a journal entry here) and I was thankful for the call because he was just in Yosemite--and so we talked about that--and I mentioned how I was just polishing up some Yosemite writing myself. It's good to be connected.

Well, that's enough for this post. I must channel some of this storm energy and keep the wordflow going.

Peaches in the Summertime

Aloha.

June is here. Twenty-some days and it will be summer. You can always count on the seasons. As long as the earth stays tilted and keeps going around the sun, summer will come. Then fall and winter and spring. In the Southern Hemisphere, they are gearing up for winter, but the order is still the same: winter, spring, summer, and fall.

It's transition time, getting away from the gentle greenness of spring and into the humid wonders of summer--at least that's what it'll be like around here. This year I'll be experiencing summer East-Coast-style, with plenty of heat and humidity, things I've come to know and enjoy.

And there's music too. Many songs and lyrics have touched on the splendid season of summer. But right now I'm thinking of words from the old folk song, "Shady Grove," which goes: "Peaches in the summertime, apples in the fall, if I can't have the girl I want, I won't have none at all."

Yes, summertime, the season of peaches and other fruits and vegetables, juicy edibles that come from the earth. Summer is also the season of Sweat. And it's a good thing that I like to sweat. I'm sweating right now, sweat dripping down off my face. I just got back from a walk with Marley. It's warm and humid out, hot enough to draw sweat after about fifteen minutes of walking.

Today I did my normal walk, and I saw the cherry tree on the edge of the forest, and the small red cherries that are just beginning to grow. And I smelled the air--it was slightly cooler--the air of the forest, so good and so right. And I was happy to have a little neighborhood side street so I could walk in peace and breath some decent air. There was this one little place on my walk, where the smell reminded me of Yosemite. There were some white pines there and also some eastern red cedar, and perhaps it was those trees, and the dried leaves on the ground, baking under the hot sun, that helped to concoct a wonderful, warm, and spicy aroma that took me right back to Yosemite. For summer in Yosemite carries a fine smell that I know and love.

And now, with Yosemite on my mind, I will move away from this blog, and get busy with some other writing. Thanks for reading, and don't forget to hydrate on the hot days that are ahead.