Book 'em Danno

Steve and Danno - Production still

Actor James MacArthur died yesterday.  He was best known for his role as Danny Williams on the original Hawaii 5-0.  I have two strong memories related to Mr. MacArthur.  The first is the divisiveness Hawaii 5-0 caused in my childhood home and the second is a family member's fracas with the late actor.

MacArthur's Danno never had the dark brooding sexiness of Jack Lord's Steve McGarret.  His character was McGarret's right hand man.  The original Danno (I will write about the newest iteration of the show another time) was quiet, reflective and tough as hell.  He did not flash emotions and seemed almost creepy at times.  While most women were infatuated with McGarret, my mom had the hots for Danno (along with Robert F. Kennedy and Leonard Bernstein, both of whom she met.)

My mom, brother and I watched the show religiously every week.  Being a psychiatric nurse, she would use her analytic mind and try to get into the science and logic of the show.  We would discuss motives, characters, and what was realistic and what was fake.  I enjoyed those evenings and still get excited when I hear the timpani drum roll that kicks off (arguably) the best tv theme song ever.  Even though this show was shared time with mom, it caused a lot of tension in our home.

Intro to Hawaii 5-0


It was not my mom's crush on Danno that bothered my dad.  He had his crushes as well and both knew that was normal.  My dad refuses to watch dramatic television, especially shows with violence.  He always has been that way.  He grew up a Quaker in eastern Pennsylvania and has a strong pacifist nature in him.  He hates seeing murder being used as entertainment.   At the time, Hawaii 5-0 showed more murders than any other television show.  It greatly bothered him that mom would encourage us to watch the show.  He believed these shows lead to more violence by teaching violence.

Neither my brother, nor I, have become murderers... yet.  We watched Steve, Danno, Chin Ho, and Kono kill off lots of baddies.  I think it was by discussing the show we were able to analyze the darkness and morality of the issues as well as acknowledge that it was fiction.   I don't know if my dad understands or appreciates the enlightened way we watched the show.  My mom taught us more about the dark side of human nature while keeping us safe than any other authoritative figure in our lives.  I thank my dad though for trying to keep us safe and our minds clear of this dangerous knowledge.  He was trying to raise us to be conscientious men.

Even though my mom, brother and I spent many hours with Steve and Danno, it is my dad, and his brother Carl, that makes us connected to the late Mr. MacArthur.  It all happened in the 1950's in a bar in western New Jersey.

My dad was home on break from college.  He and my uncle Carl, just graduated from high school, snuck out and went to a bar to meet a few friends.  The rest of the story varies a bit, depending if it is my dad or my uncle telling it and I will share only the common bits.

While drinking with the group, they noticed another group hanging out in the bar.  That group included James MacArthur.  According to both sources, certain members in both groups were trying to stir up some drama by telling Carl that MacArthur was insulting his (mom, girlfriend or car - depending who is telling the story).  MacArthur's friends were doing the same with him.

At one point, the two met up and all the friends formed a circle.  My dad had his brother's back if needed, but knew Carl could handle it on his own.  MacArthur and my uncle got in close and started talking in heated terms.  At one point, when tensions were getting really high and the first swing was imenant, one asked the other something like, "Is it true you said...?"  The other responded, "No, I didn't say that."  They both started asking more clarifying questions and soon discovered they had been set up to fight.  After the discovery, they both went to the bar and got drunk together.

So, I want to raise a glass and salute James MacArthur for being a rich part of my family's life in two very different ways.   I am glad my uncle didn't kick your ass.  I am thankful you went onto a successful acting career.  Your blue eyes will be missed, especially by mom.

Below are three parts to the episode string when officer Chin was killed.  You even get to see Steve cry.




Part 3 Link
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tcm91wmFm4Q&feature=related

New version opening.

Culling the Herd and Montana Moments

The Front Yard I Spent Every Childhood Summer In

I had time to cull the blog herd a bit while waiting for my airplane in Salt Lake City.  I follow 43 blogs according to my blogger dashboard,   Many of these have gone TU or private.  It is time to let those go and reduce down to only the blogs I care about and are truly active.

Among the blogs I stopped following is one that the creator writes almost daily.  Sadly though, this writer/photographer's ego and opinions are getting too big and barbed for me to enjoy.  His photos are great, but just not worth the words surrounding them.

Some of the blogs I wiped away were great, but stopped months ago.  I hope the authors are well, but I need to move on.  Good bye and good luck.

I know some of my readers dropped me over the 16 months I've been writing this pap.  Like all things, we fall in love, we grow close, then we slowly drift apart.  Don't worry, I will not heed my friend's advice,  "When in doubt, take it personally. "  It is OK if you stopped following me.  Maybe my writings and images were as annoying as those of some of the blogs I stopped following.

Montana Trip -
I am back home in California now.  Last weekend I left here to drive to my parents house in a car I was giving them.  They need it more than we do and I am happy it has a good home.  Along the way I photographed four towns  in depth (over 800 photos) for my project.  I published a few of the pics from Wells, Nevada last Saturday. 

I am still unpacking both my luggage and my experiences and emotions.  Visiting my parents is both rewarding and takes an emotional and mental toll. I do not want to write more about those parts of the trip, but the photo project parts will appear as warranted.

The Big Sky State

Evening in Lavina, MT

Alpha

I was not born there, but I grew up there not far from where this photo was taken.

I've been in correspondence with Joe from What We Saw Today.  We both shared some memories of Montana and places we both visited.  It got me to thinking of the Big Sky State.

I have just about every emotion and feeling for that state.  I love it, hate it, fear it, miss it, adore it, envy it, lust for it, and have been hurt by it.  These feelings are for both the people and the land.

I am in love with Montana . . . Montana seems to me to be what a small boy would think Texas is like from hearing Texans."    Norman Maclean - A River Runs Through It

Here are a few of my photos of it. 

Top of the World

My Life
Duck Lake Road - Rocky Mountain Front - Montana

Evening at Many Glacier - Glacier National Park

 

Sunset on the Cold Yellowstone

Dusk and Seeley Swan Range

Bear Grass - Glacier National Park

Logan Pass - Glacier National Park

A Little Too Comfortable with People - Marmot

 

Glacial Grandeur

  

Evening in Lavina Fading to Black

Omega

Four Inches into Space

Being Small

Technically, space begins at 100 km (about 62 miles) above the earth's surface. There are other measurements that define barriers as well. Two thousand pounds is a ton. The distance from the earth to the sun is an astronomical unit (1 au = 93 million miles). For human males, I think the height barrier measurement for being tall is six feet.

Last month I was walking out of my class and Mollee and Andrea were chatting in the parking lot. As I got my car keys out, Mollee asked, "Karl, how tall are you?" I replied with my standard 6'4"-unless-I-am-wearing-heels answer. Mollee's only response was, "Damn. You are tall." I hadn't heard that one before.

When you are over 6', you are tall. It is curious how people have to tell me the obvious. It seems a bit absurd. They don't tell me, "Karl, you are white!" That is just about as obvious as my being four inches into space.

I do not complain about being tall. It is just how it is. I can reach objects on the top shelf and see the dust on top of the refrigerator. I've learned to either bend with my knees or squat when I have to do low-down work. My back is healthy and I need to keep it that way.

While I try to respect the people I meet, I do look down on them... literally, not figuratively. I have no choice. Sadly, most tall people compensate by slouching, which looks bad and is very harmful to our backs. After someone once told me to stand tall and be proud, I thought about how silly it is to slouch. There is no reason. I am tall, you are shorter. It doesn't mean anything except the obvious physical differences.

On rare occasions I meet people taller than me. It is odd to look up and see someone. On a few very rare occasions (only twice that I can think of) I've met women taller than me. One was my date to prom. It was awkward at first dancing with someone a half inch taller than me. It felt good. We both commented on how it was to be with someone similar. Nothing became of that relationship, but our prom pics are still unique for both of us. Here is an interesting article at the blog, The Other Tall Girl. It is good to read it from the woman's perspective.

Interestingly, all my girlfriends have been under 5'1". It is not that I seek out women that are over a foot shorter than me, but it is what I am unconsciously drawn to and that seem drawn to me.

A few years ago, my hair stylist told me my hair was thinning up top. I was getting "too tall for my hair." She said, "Don't worry, you are tall. No one will see it." I had to remind her that when I was sitting in her barber's chair, she could see it. So, when sitting, tall does not mean much

Another interesting place where tall does not matter much is in bed. Since both of our heads are on the pillows, we are the same height. So when sleeping, I am not tall. Sex though is another story. Being tall opens certain possibilities and rules out others. I've learned what works.

It is funny, there aren't too many tall jokes other than comments about the weather up there. I've heard short jokes though and wonder why short people get teased for that. Being tall does not make me a better person than others. Tall people get teased about having big feet. I have size 13 shoes. My dad, who is two inches taller than me and wears 15s, was nicknamed "acre foot" by his coworkers. I have to admit, that one is funny. I am sometimes called the "gentle giant." When I hear that I think about the song Behind Blue Eyes by The Who and wonder if those who call me that truly know me.

Speaking of "Gentle Giant" and other tall names and stereotypes, here are a few more.

• Tall people are natural leaders. Untrue. I am not a great leader. I can lead when needed, but I am not better at it because I am tall. I've been lead by short people and followed them because I believe in them. It is the charisma and intellect, not the vertical measurements.
• Tall guys are good at basketball and football. There is a reason I threw shot put and discus and did not play basketball or football. I am lousy at those team sports.
• Tall people are physically awkward. Sort of true. I think we are no more clumsy or awkward than anyone else, especially growing up. The awkward part though is having to fit into small chairs, hit our heads on things, and deal with a world that is not designed for our height. I would not be surprised if short people have the same issues, just in the opposite direction. Where I can not set my car seat back far enough, they can't get it forward enough.
• Tall men, or those with big feet, are generously endowed. I like that one and will neither confirm nor deny it.
  

I used to be a math and science teacher. I now teach science and federal compliance stuff at my job. Whenever I am debuting a new course, I always wear my black cowboy boots (my version of high heels) for good luck and also because they are my most comfortable shoes. Once, a coworker noticed this trend and asked me about it. I told him I did that to feel taller and to have more of a presence in the room. He did not know I was joking and stammered out, "But Karl, you are already tall." I had to laugh at that one.

As a photographer, I've noticed many of my photos are taken at my eye level. If the subject is a person, you will see what I see. At the conference I attended last month, I showed two photos of Candace where I am above her. Some of the viewers took a feminist reading of my message of male dominance over the subject. I am not consciously trying to show a dominance in these photos, just sharing what I see. Too be honest, the subjects or models in my photos often have just as much power as I do in the moment. I wonder if shorter photographers are told their work shows a submissiveness message because they are looking up?

At times, I would rather be shorter. Clothes would be easier to find. My knees would be comfortable when sitting in chairs. I would have more choices in the cars I could drive. I wouldn't bump my head on the overhead luggage bins every fucking time I stand up in an airplane. While these are huge inconveniences, I am not about to have six inches cut out of my legs to fit better.

So, what is the point of all this tall talk. Not much. I just saw Avatar, and after seeing the tall blue main characters, I got to thinking about height. To paraphrase a saying from an old post of mine, "It is okay to be recognized as tall or short by those who notice it, just please don't stare."

Hi... My Name is Karl and I Photograph Nudes

She Runs My Life
Photo by Karl

I am tired of the SB (Side B) name. I took on a nom de plume to keep my anonymity. If they want to dig far enough, they will find my work anyway. I'll keep my last name private though.

Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) has been a part of my family for over three decades. I am very familiar with the anonymous part of stating, "Hi, my name is (insert first name here) and I am am alcoholic." Where upon every one replies, "Hi (first name)." I find it interesting that I am seeing parallels between admitting an addiction and owning this blog by saying I photograph nudes. Is creating art that scares puritanical fucks a disease? (Maybe I am overstating my work's value calling it "art", but I've seen worse.)

Maybe this admission is related to where I live. Living in the San Francisco area has to influence my perceptions of "living in truth." A person very close to me came out to her friends last year and to her ultra-conservative Catholic family last month. Her friends accepted it and most supported her. Her family reacted... like shit. By being her friend, they informed her that she, I, and all others who support her are marching in "Satan's Legion." I hope I am in the marching band, I did that back in high school and college.

So I guess I am slowly coming out of the closet to admit, "My name is Karl and I am an artist." My latent self-identification issues are boiling up. I wonder if I will share my fondness for fondue next. Why should being an artist and photographing nudes have any more stigma than my penchant for sticking food items into melted cheese.

Above and below are a few self portraits I did for my photography class. We could decide whether the intent was commercial or artistic. I went artistic. You may recognize my little ceramic lady from another photo series I put up here.

So, tomorrow I will return with a photo of a woman or two to help balance out all these male photos here today. Whenever quoting or referring to my blog, feel free to use "Karl," unless you feel you need to use "SB."

You Want Some of This?
Photo by Karl

The Real Me
The Who

I went back to the doctor
To get another shrink.
I sit and tell him about my weekend,
But he never betrays what he thinks.

Can you see the real me, doctor?

I went back to my mother
I said, "I'm crazy ma, help me."
She said, "I know how it feels son,
'Cause it runs in the family."

Can you see the real me, mother?

The cracks between the paving stones
Look like rivers of flowing veins.
Strange people who know me
Peeping from behind every window pane.
The girl I used to love
Lives in this yellow house.
Yesterday she passed me by,
She doesn't want to know me now.

Can you see the real me, can you?

I ended up with the preacher,
Full of lies and hate,
I seemed to scare him a little
So he showed me to the golden gate.

Can you see the real me preacher?
Can you see the real me doctor?
Can you see the real me mother?
Can you see the real me?

Two Kennedys

The Kennedy Brothers
Photo: The John F. Kennedy Presidential Library, Boston

Edward Kennedy

I admit not knowing too much about Edward Kennedy prior to his cancer diagnosis. I knew and supported some of his politics, and knew about his dark history as well. I respect him because he was a flawed person who tried to do better.

The day after his death, NPR was eulogizing him and told a story of when President Reagan nominated Robert Bork to the Supreme Court. Immediately following the announcement of Bork's nomination on July 1, 1987, Senator Kennedy took to the floor of the Senate to say:

Robert Bork's America is a land in which women would be forced into back-alley abortions, blacks would sit at segregated lunch counters, rogue police could break down citizens' doors in midnight raids, schoolchildren could not be taught about evolution, writers and artists could be censored at the whim of the Government, and the doors of the Federal courts would be shut on the fingers of millions of citizens for whom the judiciary is -- and is often the only -- protector of the individual rights that are the heart of our democracy.... (highlighted for emphasis)

It has been a while since I heard a politician defend artists from censorship.

Robert Kennedy

I am two degrees separated from Robert Kennedy. In the late spring of 1968, my mom met him after a campaign speech in Pocatello, ID. She said she shook his hand, introduced herself and told him she was a public health nurse. He gave her the Kennedy smile and started to talk about nurses and.... she did not hear a word he said because she was instantly infatuated with him. She said she was a gushing school girl with a big crush. Mom also said that if he had asked, she would have ran off with him to elope.

As an epilogue to that little story: Kennedy was killed less than couple of weeks later. I was born nine months later. I know I am not an illegitimate Kennedy, but I bet my mom was in a loving mindset from meeting him.

Yet Another Hypocrite

Need to get a photo about hypocrisy... maybe next time.

I don't judge him for having the affair. I hold him accountable to his "pro-family" platform and ultra-conservative agenda. At least he is resigning, unlike Sen. Craig from Idaho who did not have the balls to do so. (STORY HERE)

Like I said, I am not judging him for the sex, it is his hypocritical stances he preached to us all is the damning part for me.

Moments after submitting his resignation letter, Stanley went on a talk radio show in Memphis to say that his actions did not shake his moral ideals.

In nearly a decade in the Legislature, he repeatedly cited his belief in abstinence outside marriage as he opposed gay marriage, adoption by gay couples and family planning funding for Planned Parenthood.

"Whatever I stood for and advocated, I still believe to be true," he said last week. "And just because I fell far short of what God's standard was for me and my wife it doesn't mean that that standard is reduced in the least bit." Emphasis by me, not original news story.

This was the party that impeached President Clinton. Enough said.

Looking for a Lost Photo and Other Bits

Calm and Dark
Photo by SB

A few years ago I saw a photo Ansel Adams took of Edward Weston's wife, Charis, up in the Sierras. I can easily find Weston's photo of her from the same trip, but not Adams'. I've tried every search combination on Google and Bing to no avail.

I think I am going to have to do this the old fashioned way and go to SF MOMA to research it. I hope they have something. I may also call the Ansel Adams gallery to see if they have anything.

At first I was miffed at not finding it. Now it is a fun photo-detective challenge... for a while at least.

Nude in Box
Ruth Bernhard

On other news. I finished my photography class. I feel I did very well. In the last week I may have discovered some deep personal things about my artistic voice. I am still trying to figure all that out and will write about it at some length in the near future. All I can say for now is I love Edward and Brett Weston's and Ruth Bernhard's work, but that is probably not my direction.

Nude, 1920
Edward Weston

I've been reflecting on the 40th anniversary of Neil Armstrong's stroll on the moon. I was a little over four months old and have no recollection of it. In my mind though, it was the greatest thing to happen in 1969.

My first memory of astronauts and the moon was getting a little moon buggy replica in a container of Tang. I played with that little toy forever and vaguely remember my parents telling me the astronauts had driven it on the moon. They even pointed to the moon for emphasis. I don't think I had a clue what they were talking about, but that is my earliest Apollo memory.

Like most kids, I wanted to be an astronaut. My parents said that it was too difficult to get the job and I should make astronomy a hobby and not have my hopes crushed by NASA's fickle choices. They said that about being a musician, artist, photographer, archeologist, paleontologist, fighter pilot and many other now-dead aspirations.... not all of them are dead. Someday I will forgive them for that, but not today.

Nude 175
Brett Weston

Ok, this blog post kind of got heavy at the end. I am always amazed how the rambling ones take unplanned trips to unexpected personal places.

Calm and Bright
Photo by SB

PHOTO NOTE - another from my projected word series. I am playing with exposure on this one. This is not a great photo, but it is fun to play with.

Family Traits

Waiting
Photo by SB

I was going to write about the power of the comma, or some other minor topic until I read Dr. L's amazing post on acknowledging sexuality in her family. Please take a moment to read it before continuing on with my post. I will wait.

Here is the link.
Beautiful, wasn't it?

While reading it I remembered similar snippets of my family experiences and wanted to share my own story. As humans we all can trace part of what we have become to those who proceeded us in our families. This is true of our good and bad qualities. One of these parts I contribute to my lineage is that I enjoy an erotic, sensual existence.

"Moral" people disgust me with their living lies. Look at all the recent "moral" elected officials who have been caught dallying with mistresses, gay lovers, and interns. I don't judge their desires, I judge their hypocritical lives of judging me and then doing the same things. I am sure they were raised to be "moral" and "true." They were taught their way was the "true" way and to help save others who can be saved and throw the unsaved and "unsaveable" into repression and hell.

Like you, and every other human, I come from the result of sex (OK fellow Christians, I am sure someone will say there was one virgin birth, but I am not to going argue Jesus' birth status here). My parents have issues and faults that I am still working through, but a great positive thing that I got from them was to enjoy sex. They never preached on the morality of sex, but taught me the responsibilities that go with it.

When I was in second grade, I had a huge existential quandary. My parents never hid the fact that babies come from their mothers. I know I am my mother's son, but how am I my father's son? I asked my mom that same question after school.

My mom is a nurse and has seen it all. When I asked that question of her she was around 42 and was pretty damn wise. Her nursing persona took over and she told me about sex. She gave me the clinical description of everything from erections, sperm, eggs, penis, vagina, ...the whole medical textbook of it. After hearing the technical talk, I asked her something like, "Why would anyone want to do that?"

Her persona changed and she smiled, "It is fun. You'll figure that part out someday."

Every year during childhood I had a physical. One year the doctor noticed I had started puberty. He told my mom in private about it. After dinner my mom and dad wanted to talk to me alone and assured me nothing was wrong.

My dad started off by telling me I was becoming a man. My mom then told me that I was becoming sexually aware and that at times this could be awkward, emotional, and life changing. I already had started having those feelings, so I knew what they were saying. At this point, they gave me the responsibility talk. It was not a guilt talk though. They emphasized how important love was and that sex was a deep part of it.

Back then STDs were not a major concern with teens, but pregnancy was. They told me about condoms and said that if I was going to have sex, use them. They also told me about wet dreams and masturbation (I had already discovered that one, but did not tell them). All of this was done in an affirming, awkward (naturally so) and positive way.

Those memories came back to my consciousness by reading Dr. L's post. At the end of it, a deep set of memories congealed into a truth about the sexual side of my family beyond my parents.

My dad's dad was an artist. He manly painted landscapes of pastoral beauty. When he died, all of his paintings were distributed though the family.

One of the paintings we got was the one nude (that we know of) painting he created. The tall brunette is a classic beauty in a pose similar to Maxfield Parrish's, Ecstasy, but nude. Innocent yet very erotic. The skin tones, expression, and curves of the body were unmistakeably erotically tinged. You could tell it was not the usual stuff my grandfather painted because the "quality" of the finished product was not there as it was with his other works. Nudes were not his forte.

When I was in college, I was going through an old photo album of my grandparents. In one photo, there was the woman in the painting wearing a swim suit. She was so beautiful, so young, ... and so much my grandmother.

As I read Dr. L's post, I thought of that painting and it made me very happy and proud of my family by connecting that erotic love is a cherished part of it. My grandparents painted that nude during the Depression. By the looks of it, they weren't too depressed. That alone shows the power and beauty of our erotic selves to overcome the ugliness that "moral" humans bring upon humanity.

Waiting
Photo by SB

Photo note... I love working with these images of Candace and I love working with Candace.

The Sadist and the Masochist

Being Small
Photo by SB

The masochist was begging, "Please, PLEASE, hurt me. Beat me. Hit me. Degrade me. Use me. I need the pain to feel fulfillment! PLEEEASSSE. I only feel pleasure from your hurting me."

The sadist looked smugly and dismissively down on the masochist and simply replied, "No."

I never really understood the mind sets of these two sides of relationships until I heard that joke. I wonder in myself if I desire the pain and the desire to inflict it. Do we all have unconscious or even conscious needs and desires to feel and give pain? Many may feel they don't, but I wonder.

A few years ago I was very mad for months at a person close to me who had hurt me. I kept waiting and waiting for her to mention something about it and I had a response to it that would be devastating. I rehearsed it in my mind and crafted each word with the greatest delicacy and determination so it would not only hurt, but do both blunt and acute damage. One day, almost a year later, she asked why I no longer did a certain thing. At that moment I let go with my stored response. Her reaction was as pained as I had desired. The rush from the moment of it flowed through me filling me with righteous delight in the moment. She cried and went silent. I suddenly felt vindicated, but also an abuser. As time passed that moment, I've felt no pride in what I did. Our relationship was permanently hurt by it.

My family has a deep and dark history of sarcasm, judgment, and belittling. We are the masters of the passive-aggressive insult and attack. Any one statement is not a major issue, but the toll of absorbing (and giving) them is tearing the family apart. Last night I was chatting online with my 18 year old niece who was staying with my parents for a week. She was upset by the vitriolic dislike they have toward each other and the rest of the family. I hope she realizes now how much poison is in the family and finds a way to protect herself from becoming the werewolves we are after suffering the numerous bites of a lifetime.

In the Closet

The Wind Becomes You
Photo by SB

Yesterday I read a post by Josh at Monkey Metal Photography. In it he asks:

How many of you are in the closet? No, not sexually, photographically. Have you told your friends, neighbors, family, that you’re a photographer or model? More specifically your nudes, your sexually themed images. How many of you hide it? Don’t talk about it except with other photographers or models?

I raise my hand. I am semi-closeted photographically. My real name obviously is not SB. If you perform a search on my real name, you will find my non-photographic professional work . You will not find any of the nudes I've published on this blog.

Who knows my truth? My wife pretty much knows it, maybe not the depth, but the overall story. My parents know I've photographed nudes, but we don't talk about it. There are many issues that I am not ready to deal with concerning them. As for other members of my family and friends, we enter a gray area. Some know everything, others know nothing. My coworkers know nothing about my nude photography.

Why am I keeping it quiet? My money making job may be at risk if I was open, especially when applying for new positions.

Do I feel shame about what I do? I don't think I do. I might though and have not really dealt with those issues yet. I think part of it is I get tired answering the same questions over and over again. Another passion of mine is restoring old vehicles. I don't share that interest with everyone either. Not everyone gets it and it easier to keep my involvement within a community of like-minded friends.

Will I ever come out fully? My intent is to answer, "Yes." I am hoping and planning that in the next year or two I will be able to leave my current money-making profession to enter photography as a career. At that time, I don't think I will care so much about my public persona.

The last sentences in Josh's final paragraph is a lesson I need to learn and use as a rallying cry to support our art.

We have to stop hiding our work, and ourselves, in order to change peoples attitudes.

PS - I recommend you take a look at Monkey Metal Blog. The writing is unique and the photos are fantastic.

Shut Out the Lights

Photo untitled and unattributed

As we are starting to see some of our troops come home, I wonder how they are doing. I know one soldier who went to Iraq twice and his transitions home have been very difficult. On this Independence Day, I want to reflect on the woman and men returning from horrors we can not imagine. I probably cant comprehend what they saw and what they may have had to do while over there. So sad.

I heard the song, Shut Out the Lights, by Bruce Springsteen on the way home from the mountains. Listening to the lyrics about pain of the main character of the song is hard. Listening to the words about the awkward pain of the family makes it even harder. No one knows how to be with him, including himself.

Shut Out the Lights
Bruce Springsteen

The runway rushed up at him as he felt the wheels touch down
He stood out on the blacktop and took a taxi into town
He got out down on Main Street and went into a local bar
He bought a drink and found a seat in a corner off the dark
Well she called up her mama to make sure the kids were out of the house
She checked herself out in the dining room mirror
And undid an extra button on her blouse
He felt her lying next to him, the clock said 4:00 am
He was staring at the ceiling
He couldn't move his hands

CHORUS
Oh mama mama mama come quick
I've got the shakes and I'm gonna be sick
Throw your arms around me in the cold dark night
Hey now mama don't shut out the light
Don't you shut out the light
Don't you shut out the light
Don't you shut out the light
Don't you shut out the light

Well on his porch they stretched a banner that said "Johnny Welcome Home"
Bobby pulled his Ford out of the garage and they polished up the chrome
His mama said "Johnny oh Johnny, I'm so glad to have you back with me"
His pa said he was sure they'd give him his job back down at the factory

CHORUS

Well deep in a dark forest, a forest filled with rain
Beyond a stretch of Maryland pines there's a river without a name
In the cold black water Johnson Lineir stands
He stares across the lights of the city and dreams of where he's been

Returning Coffins at Dover
Defense Department Photo

Oh My God...

ZINC, Ark.—A child of members of the Knights Party, 2009

Photo by Bruce Gilden - Magnum Photos

...what people do in Your name.

I saw this photo essay. The first photo made me wonder where it was taken in the 1950s. It was taken in 2009.

This scares me more than 2257. I think 2257 and PROP8 are parts of the mentality shared by these "people" - intolerance, hate, and violence. There are shades of those characteristics all about in our culture and are growing like a slow malignancy, easy to ignore until you notice the lump.

Please view this Magnum Photo Essay - The Resurgence of Hate Groups in the United States.

Boycott My State, Or At Least Parts of It

County Vote Tallies - LA Times

As you probably heard, the California Supreme Court upheld the constitutional amendment to ban same-sex marriages (PROP 8) that passed in the 2008 general election. They also ruled the ~18,000 gay marriages performed last year are valid.

I heard a lot of commentary on the decision. In ways the court was right because Prop 8 was passed and did not conflict, in its process, with the state's constitution. While the actual action of it is discriminatory, the way it was proposed and voted on was legal.

In the past few months, I wrote about my personal boycott of Utah because of the Mormon Church's heavy-handed influence on the PROP 8 issue. While I am still boycotting Utah, especially the Salt Lake City area, I must look inward to my own state.

I am going to boycott spending money (as much as possible) in any county that had a majority of "yes" votes for PROP 8. Here is how I plan to boycott it.

I will not do the following in these counties:

• Shop in stores or buy online from
  
• Buy gas
• Eat in restaurants
• Stay in hotels ( I will camp in them because the money goes to the state or the federal forest service. I will bring my own food.)

Since most of the food I eat comes from the central valley, I will have to buy eats from the "Yes" counties. My goal though will be to go to farmer's markets and buy from the farmers that produce in the "No" counties as much as possible.

In addition to my actions, I am going to write the appropriate chambers of commerce to tell them of my decisions. I doubt my few thousand dollars per year will mean much to them, but at least I can make sure my money is going into communities that did not support hate.

Here is a link from The LA Times that shows vote tallies for each county. If you support gay marriage and social liberty, please join me in my boycott. I would support your avoiding the "Yes" counties, or even avoiding the state. If you do participate in the boycott, please write to the appropriate chambers of commerce to tell them why.

I am thankful most of the great wine producing counties voted "NO."

World Hurt

Daisy
Photo by Dries Knapen

I've been behind in reading my friends' blogs. So many are feeling overwhelmed by life. Some are feeling marginalized, others are reflecting on their dreams. Some are looking for new opportunities. All feel some anguish and pain.

The first time I read The Hotel New Hampshire by John Irving, one German word from the whole book stood out to me; Weltschmerz. Here is a quote from the book.

Lilly's Weltschmerz, as Frank would come to call it. "The rest of us have anguish," Frank would say. "The rest of us merely suffer. But Lilly, "Frank would say, "Lilly has true Weltschmerz. It shouldn't be translated as 'world-weariness,'" Frank would lecture us, "that's much too mild for what Lilly's got. Lilly's Weltschmerz is like 'world-hurt,'" Frank would say "Literally 'world' - that the Welt part - and 'hurt,' because that's what the Schmerz part really is: pain, real ache. Lilly's got a case of world-hurt," Frank concluded proudly.

The weltschmerz my friends are living saddens me. Some feel it through the discrimination they are living, as they grow older than what culture deems as appropriate for their interests. Others are wondering if their lives are as fulfilled as they could have made it.

I think many are feeling the weltschmerz. The global economy is in the toilet as is the environment. We are barely getting by a pandemic by luck. American health care costs are growing faster than we can match with our decreasing salaries. Fundamentalism is growing both outside the US as well as next door.

There is a growing cultural divide that could tear our country apart. Civility is almost dead, replaced by fear, ignorance, and oppression. This entire calamity makes me wonder if the religious zealots are right with their predictions that we are approaching the end times… the apocalypse.

My parents were born during the depression. My mom was born and raised in Baltimore. Her mom went blind when my mom turned seven. Her dad left them soon after. Imagine being a blind, single mom trying to raise two children, seven and two.

My dad grew up in rural Pennsylvania, not far from Washington’s crossing. Like my mom, he has only one sibling. My grandfather was an artist. During the depression he took up woodworking and scratched out a living making cabinets and teaching art.

Neither of my parents talk much about the poor times or the war. They said though that it was a gradual day-to-day improvement over many years. Neither family became wealthy, but they recovered.

During those hard times, the government sponsored many important public works. These works included infrastructure construction, arts, music, education, and many other pursuits that are still helping us during our current rough times. I am hoping President Obama, and our nations public, private, academic, scientific, artistic, and theological leaders can help us do this again.

I may be an optimist, but I feel we are on the edge of a global renaissance. We are slowly learning how humanity has sullied the earth. How our greed has blinded us to core values of importance. How we have forgotten to help each other, even though we may be different. How beautiful the simple elegance of our creativity can open up our hearts, develop sciences that we never dreamed, and create art that will communicate both the pain and suffering and the beauty of our existence.

I may be a naïve idealist, but I must believe this or I will go mad. My hope and beliefs in the goodness of humanity are one of the few things I still have faith in. The thought of my faith being for naught makes me feel true weltschmerz.

We are going to continue to have suffering, hunger, war, poverty, censorship, environmental destruction, and other human-made disasters. This bright future will not happen tomorrow, next year, or maybe in the remainder of my days, but as my parents witnessed, through gradual, purposeful growth toward a new reality.

Road Weary...

View from the Rims

... or should I say, travel/family weary. I just got back from a weekend in Billings with my family. I really enjoyed seeing my niece graduate. She is in that awkward phase between adolescent and young adult. She is ready for college and really needs it. College will teach her the academics as well as important adult life lessons. She has a great soul and is smart.

The weariness came from spending lots of time with my parents. I plan to write more about them in the near future. You ever see an accident or catastrophe coming and you can't look away, swerve away, or do anything to avert? I feel that way as I watch my parents age and grow apart.

With any trip to the Big Sky State, you have to eat beef and other meats that are grilled, smoked, and/or flamed in any other way. I really like and miss that part of living there, but my heart and body are appreciating the healthier diet I can live in California. The temptation of good food is so similar to sexual temptation. They are strong yearnings for something filling, tasty, of good quality, and the brief moments of euphoria and satisfaction both bring. It would be hard for me to choose between the two (food is great, but does not look as good as a person naked).

Each time I go to Billings, I am shocked at how my perceptions of it have changed. It is the biggest city in Montana with a bit over 100,000 citizens. Growing up, I thought it was the big city. I went to college in a liberal Montana city (Missoula) with about 80,000 people and thought it was the cultural mecca of the state. In 1997 I moved to a "small" city of 140,000 inhabitants near San Francisco. Billings is so damn small. The traffic is laughable. The conservative bend is not.
Maybe I am spoiled by being accustomed to seeing two out three cars with Obama stickers on them. In Billings, I saw a only a couple. I heard so many Christian music stations there. I saw so many anti-liberal propaganda that I doubt I could ever live there ever again. Pretty place to visit, but that is about it.

Enough rambling. I will write something of substance soon. I hope you had a great weekend.
SB

"My own blood is much too dangerous"

Lines and Designs
Photo by SB

As Neko Case sings in her song, "Hold On, Hold On"

The most tender place in my heart is for strangers
I know it's unkind but my own blood is much too dangerous

I am heading to New York this weekend for a wedding... a family wedding. It is funny how I rather be with friends than most of my family.

On the upside, I am going to NYC for the first time. I plan to go to the MOMA on Monday.

So, to all my readers, I will try to write from the road, but no promises.

SB

Enjoy Neko's song. I never tire of it's haunting sound.