Mechanized

When you come to a bump in the road, how do you react? Mechanically? You can, but you better make sure your mechanics are good. Sure, a wave of panic comes, but it never lasts. It shouldn't last long. Then you can start to recover. Your foundation is solid, you know where to turn and how to start the process of recovery. It always seems daunting at first. And it's a long road back. But you can come back. Really, you can.

Failure is an option

We tend to cast a cold eye on people who fail. They weren't up to the task, they had not business being there, they were in over their heads. We sometimes welcome them back, but only after they've paid some penance. Sometimes, they don't come back at all.

But Rick Ankiel did. A couple of years ago, he left St. Louis unable to pitch for the Cardinals. He couldn't get the ball over the plate. It's one thing to fail, but to do so on such a public stage can wreck one's confidence. Injury further stalled any comeback. Add that his father was sent to federal prison for a drug conviction, and you might want to just give up. But he didn't. He returned to the minor leagues, converted to the outfield, and started the long road back. The Cardinals never gave up on him, and last night, he started for the big-league team. And hit a three-run homer. Nobody ever since the journey would be easy.

The man on the corner

Several years ago, I used to live in Jersey City, and to get to New York, I would have to take the Path train in. Some nights I'd get home late, and occasionally I'd see this guy riding the train. He would be wearing the same thing--darks pants, white shirt (sometimes with a tie), a Members Only-type jacket. And he'd be carrying all these plastic bags inside a larger plastic bag. The expression on his face was either one of sadness or vacancy. Was he homeless? Why did I see him late at night? What were the bags all about?

Jump to last night. I get off the Path train and head toward my train home. I walk down a ramp--and there he is. Same attire, same bags. After all these years, has anything changed for him? Maybe he works late. Maybe he really is homeless. How can one man set off so many questions. After all this time.

Addendum

Back to yesterday: people understand what they're going to going to get with Keith Jarrett concert: virtuosity and vinegar. But there has to be a point where you stop being a masochist and demand better. Umbria should be a point of reflection for him.

But considering what happened in Montreal last night, who knows.

And from Umbria, video!

The secret to life

When generals plan battles, they try to plan for every contingency. Every bump in the road. They want to be ready for any curve the enemy throws at them.

But you can't place for dumb luck. Or serendipity.

Let's take an example. You're from, say, Queens, New York, and you're on your way to Australia. You stop in San Francisco for a long layover, and need something to do. Hey, there's a baseball game, and hey, Barry Bonds is going for the all-time home run record. You score a ducat, maybe thinking you'll witness history from the bleachers. The game rolls on, then, in the fifth inning, it happens. 3-2 pitch, and Bonds cranks it. 756. But wait, the ball's heading your way. And it leads near you, setting off a scrum that would frighten sharks. And there in you are, in the pile, scrambling for history, and a payday. Moments later, as the police sort out the mass of humanity, they pull you out. With the ball. They escort you away to safely. And toward 15 minutes of fame.

Think it can't happen? Ask Matt Murphy. When he gets back from Australia.

As much as you plan, you better be ready for serendipity when it falls out of the sky.

Try a little tenderness

Keith Jarrett is one of the world's best jazz pianists. He's lyrical, passionate, highly improvisational. His solo concerts are landmarks. So are his outbursts towards his audiences. He's admonished crowds for coughing, ringing cellphones, flashing cameras. Yes, all those things during a jazz concert aren't cool, but the vitriol he's spewed toward crowds isn't necessary either. He's refused to do encores after an audience has failed to heed his demands. In other words, he's an ogre. Brilliant, but an ogre. (I went to a concert of his a few years ago--he warned the crowd about his, ahem, idiosyncracies. No incidents were reported).

Someone, however, had enough. Last month, in Italy, he played a jazz festival, and proceeded to berate the crowd about cameras, ripping the host city, dropping f-bombs along the way. And this was before playing a note. I'm sure the crowd was wondering what the deal was, and whether the concert would be any good. By most reports it was. The concert ends, and a couple of folks snapped photos. Big mistake, as Jarrett announces that the trio won't play an encore, and storms off the stage. The festival's director, rightfully hurt by the insults, bans Jarrett for life.

Lessons? How hard is it, really, to treat people with some amount of humanity? People pay big bucks to see you, and all you bring to them is contempt? We understand you're an artist, and we'll give you space to work your magic. But could you check the sullenness at the door? The insufferable artist schtick can only go so far.

Never forget to pack your humanity, and a little humility.

The tao of head shaving

Every so often I shave my head. I like the look, and it saves me from going to the barber shop. I started recently, about the time I started this blog. It's a very deliberate act. Once you commit, there's no turning back. The first bits of hair on the razor mean you have to go forward, unless you have a thing for bald spots. Then, it becomes a matter of patience. I have to shave against the grain, so the strokes are slow and deliberate and conscious. If I don't pay attention, I get cut. Cuts on a bald pate aren't cute. Eventually, I go from short hair to no hair at all--the transformation is complete. I feel like I renew myself a little by shaving my head. Getting a fresh start, a chance to try again. I feel lighter, a burden being shorn away. A renewal every so often is good for the spirit.

Some housekeeping

Not much to riff on today, so I'm playing catch-up and adding some things to the tumblelog, including...

Beating procrastination
Breaking the chains of debt
How to shop for food once a week

That done, I'm playing with this. A chance to dream a little bit.

After the storm

Walk outside, and you're amazed. Just a little while ago, you cowered in a corner, hoping, praying the storm wouldn't do too much damage to you. You tried to prepare as best you could, with provisions handy, secured the house, made sure everything was tied down. Still, you weren't ready for the ferocity the storm unleashed. It shook the house so hard, you thought this was it--the end. And it refused to let up. A descent into hell couldn't be worse than this. Then, steadily, it grew more quiet, and finally, the storm relented, its fury moved on, diminished. Now you move outside. There's damage, bad in some spots, just ok in others. But nothing that can't be repaired. You look up and the last vestiges of clouds race away, and blue sky drifting in. You breathe deeply, thankful for relief. The last few hours shook you, but you survived. You were as ready as you could be. You're still here. Ready to start again. Ready for the next storm.

Under the Milky Way tonight

I just took a quick walk outside, and I had the feeling come over me that it would be great to sleep outside tonight. I haven't been camping in 10 years, and toyed with the idea of going out somewhere this summer. All you hear are the crickets chirping, the odd rustling of leaves and the stillness of the night. You'd look up and see nothing but stars, and the odd blinking lights of an airplane (though tonight, it's all clouds). I miss being out, hiking, cooking, sleeping in a tent. Or maybe I miss the days when I was a kid.

The soul cages

A few years ago, I saw a legendary jazz pianist, Tommy Flanagan, play at a club in New York. He was getting on years, and as he moved toward the bandstand, his gait was slow, a bit frail. Not too spritely. Then he sat at the piano. And it was as if time had never moved for him. He played with the same verve and intensity as he had in his younger days, back in the 50s and 60s. The soul is capable of things the body can't always complete. It's important to keep the soul open and ready to receive gifts known and unknown, and be ready to give them out.

If wishes were horses...

I took a little ride tonight. Open windows, open sunroof. It was hot today, and summer re-established itself. One of those days that when you move a little, you sweat. Which leads to one of those nights you long for a convertible. Moving down the road, the wind felt just right, just so perfect. It was the type of drive, and type of night, to make the world seem a little less harrowing. One of those times you want to bottle it. But you you a night like this will come again.

Perspective

Today was ok. I'm fine, the car's in one piece, and I still have my sanity. My day was fine. Now, this guy was lucky. Flying up a quarterpipe and realizing your skateboard isn't where you are--and you're 45 feet in the air, flailing--yep, that landing's gonna hurt. He'll be fine, but it was scary to watch. He landed so hard, his shoes flew off. But he's alive. And so am I.

An extravagance of laughter

So there I am, in the car, hustling to the train station, trying to catch a train south to see my best friend. I look at the dashboard, and the temp gauge is rocketing up. Not now, mother of Moses, not now. Then that sound--"bing bing bing", then an angry red little from the engine--"I'm too hot." So close, yet so far. My car nearly overheats and I miss the train. So, tail between my legs, I wait 30 minutes for the thing to cool. I have to play hopscotch back, praying I don't do damage to the beast. There's a Wal-Mart and a Borders on the way back. I stop, get anitfreeze, and a book, and wait some more. I then limp home, stopping off at a McDonald's. When I hit the door, all I can do is laugh at the absurdity of it all. And hope my best friend forgives me.

I need a nap.

Getaway day

Anticipation is a double-edged sword. You can be giddy, excited about the adventure that awaits. Or, in your giddiness, you can wake up an hour earlier than you want, leaving you groggy for your train trip later today. The later has happened to me. I love to travel, but this early-wake-up jazz stinks. I'm stepping away from my locale, and this corner, for a little while. My eyes need to see another environment. I should be here back tomorrow night.

And no, I haven't packed yet.

Routine maintenance

The sight of a bridge lying crumpled over a river is a horrifying sight. The shock of what happened Wednesday night in Minneapolis hasn't worn off. While I was at work yesterday, it seemed like all I did was watch CNN or look at the websites of the two papers in the Twin Cities. That really could have happened anytime, anywhere. Your heart sinks when you hear such terrible news.

And while the recovery continues, and the investigation begins, the recriminations start in earnest. It's always the way--tragedy occurs, we're transfixed, blame gets apportioned. It didn't take 24 hours for that to happen. On a smaller scale, there's some similarity to Katrina--everyone blaming everyone else and not taking their own share of the responsibility. The buck gets passed, token effort is thrown at the problem, and we haven't really moved forward.

I remember back in 1983 when a chunk of a bridge fell in Connecticut. And I remember the debate it set off about this country's failing infrastructure. And still...deja vu all over again. The percentage of bad bridges is embarrassingly high. There was a steam explosion in New York a few weeks ago. We know we have problems with the bones that hold us up. We know we need to make serious repairs. But where is the will and the courage to do what we know we need to do? To make the hard choices about what needs to be done?

Part of this is about neglect. Bridges take a lot of stress, and get utterly pounded every day. They are almost human--they have to be looked after and cared for. It's a constant process that can go a long way to prevent catastrophe. Sound familiar?

The heart of the matter

Warrior of the Light is a wonderful website run by author Paulo Coelho. He's a writer with a wonderful touch who knows how to reach the heart. Every couple of weeks he sends out a newsletter that's a joy to read. In yesterday's installment, there's a story at the end that speaks to me in a professional and personal manner. Basically, you have to know what's in a person heart and how to speak to it. A simple lesson that's hard to execute.

Stars

I just walked outside, looking in my car for a book (of course it was in my apartment). I notice how still the air is, and hear only crickets and assorted other animals making the usual night noises. I look up at notice the stars. Where I call home, it's far enough from the cities to see some stars. But not like back home, in the country. Years ago, when I came home, I would drive out to this semi-deserted road, stop the car, get out, and stare up at a canvas of stars. No matter how cold it was, I'd go out. Or, I'd just step outside of my grandmother's house. Looking up, and seeing the vastness, always put me in my true place.

The tao of adaptability

One of the wonderful things about jazz is its adaptability. Take most any song, say Freddie Freeloader, and depending on your style, knowledge, mood, you can make it yours. ITunes lists more than 40 versions of the song. It can be molded, shaped, into the form you need or want. Life around us is the same. We need to be open to the tools around us, and what we want to accomplish. And make sure it's harmonious with the surrounding environment. The how is up to you.

Seize the day

One of my Achilles' heel is procrastination. Though I've gotten better at that, it nearly bit me in the butt yesterday. But I recovered, had a backup plan and will be ok. And there are some lessons here. When the moment comes, take it. I'm hemming and hawing less, but there's always room for improvement. I can't always sit back and ponder and wonder. Another thing--I recovered well. After a few moments of panic, I hatched a plan and took action to make things happen. I didn't wallow, I didn't whine...much. I kept moving. Good lessons, good foundations.