Stark. Contrast. Black and White. Maybe by going simpler on the design, I can focus more on the content. If only my lazy mind could awake from its slumber. There have been far too many days recently when I’ve felt oblivious to the world around me, and it’s a very large world.
The change of name is an homage to Zach Lind of FindingRhythm.com and, possibly more noticeably, the band Jimmy Eat World. It’s a recent blog find that I enjoy, for the twin facts of his drumming skills and Christian worldview. And he posts some killer drum videos.
And, not that I need to tell you O Learned Reader, but the rest of the name change is an homage to the late, great Douglas Adams. If you’re unfamiliar with the man’s work, do yourself a favor and start reading.
Alright, if you actually get that reference and know the Dave Matthews song, I’m not actually referring to the same thing Dave is referring to when he calls it a Jimi thing. Although, given the actual subject of this post, it’s not that far off. Some might say apropos…at least those that know what apropos means.
I’m reading Room Full of Mirrors, a biography on Jimi Hendrix. I know his music, at least to the degree that most people do, but I knew nothing about the man. I found the book at a used book store for cheap, and I was interested.
Although I’m not quite to the part where he breaks into worldwide fame, I’m close. It’s a very interesting read, especially considering that I’ve had the chance to visit Seattle, where he grew up (and the Experience Music Project, which started because Paul Allen needed a place to store all of his Jimi Hendrix memorabilia), and New York City, where he started to become the musician and the entertainer the world would be enthralled by.
What most surprises me are the names, the people, that come in and out of Jimi’s life, that are recognizable, even famous. Even from an early age, because of a fairly hip music scene in downtown Seattle, Jimi met Little Richard, and later played backup for him. In New York, he befriended the girlfriend of Keith Richards. That girlfriend shared a fascination with Jimi for Bob Dylan, who was himself making his name known in Greenwich Village, New York City. Dylan wrote that he knew Jimi before he became big.
It seems that, even with the poverty he endured as a child, and even into his early adulthood, he somehow managed to ingratiate himself into these inner sanctums of holy musicianship. According to the book, it was part dogged determination mixed with equal parts naivete about the ways of the world, an off-stage shyness that always belied his on-stage antics, and an ever-noted sensuality in the way he carried himself and the way he caressed his guitar and made it sing.
The moral of the story thus far? Don’t be afraid to look ignorant when you’re learning from masters.
Thankfully, according to my wife and my waist, I’ve taken up (resumed? after a few years hiatus…) biking. Not road cycling or mountain biking, but just biking. Georgetown is blessed with an incredible trail system around our glorious San Ganbriel. So glorious that we even saw a few locals (had to be) in inner tubes floating down the river, attempting to make it a poor, poor man’s New Braunfels. I rode last week before my trip to Chicago and did O.K., but the ride today, which was shorter, but roughly the same route, kicked my butt. We had to stop at least three times. But we made it, then the Woman made delicious Indian tacos. This exercise stuff is truly refreshing after staring at a screen all day long. (Maybe I need more Dell Memory).
Also refreshing – the Willow Creek Arts Conference. I’m sure my notes don’t make too much sense to those that weren’t there, but there are some nuggets to be found. I was anxious to go in order to learn – what I didn’t expect was how much it would energize me for my job, even my life. Or, better put, how timely God was in using it to renew my spirit. I love my job, really, but sometimes it can get monotonous, just like any job. What’s funny is that my job is "church." So, in some ways, I’m also saying that "church" is monotonous. And, while this is my opinion and mine alone, church lately has been somewhat monotonous, despite our various speakers every Sunday. Then again, we’re minus a Senior Pastor (still on the hunt). I also know that I have a skewed view of the life of FBCgT – I’m too much in the background to feel more a part of the family. Part of that is voluntarily chosen, part vocationally necessary. I’m looking for ways to change that, but, in somewhat the same vein, looking for ways to get outside my Christian bubble.
Have you ever had a day or week where God seems to be repeating himself ever more loudly with the same imperative statement specifically pointed to you? There’s no hiding, crawling, crying, whining, or running that can get away from it. Last week was that way for me. It can be summed up in two words: Be Courageous. In can be explained in many more words. Be Courageous in your work, in your personality, in your opinions, in your creativity, in your uniqueness, in your words, and in your relationships. Every speaker (really, did they all talk to each other before?) said the same thing…at least it seemed that way to me. So I’ve been challenged, and I’m interested to see what will happen.
Finally, my reading has refreshed me. I fall more in love with my library every day. Not just because it’s new, but because they let me have books for free. It’s madness I tell you. I just finished The Man Who Fell to Earth, and I’m not quite sure what I feel about it. It’s a sci-fi passion play. I read half and skimmed half of a short autobiography/keepsake book about Jack Nicklaus (the golfer, not the actor, as the Woman always thinks). It was funny to me that he was as keen on breaking Bobby Jones’ records as Tiger Woods is bent on breaking Jack’s. Lastly, I just started a biography on Pistol Pete called The Pistol. I’ve never seen the movie (which is surprising given my high school enamorment with basketball), so the bio is new to me. This sentence hooked me:
Maravich wasn’t an archetype; he was several: child prodigy, prodigal son, his father’s ransom in a Faustian bargain. He was a creature of contradictions, ever alone: the white hope of a black sport, a virtuoso stuck in an ensemble, an exuberant showman who couldn’t look you in the eye, a vegetarian boozer, the athlete who lived like a rock star, a profilgate, suicidal genius saved by Jesus Christ. – Pistol: The Life of Pete Maravich by Mark Kriegel, pgs. 1-2
If that doesn’t draw you in, well, you need help.
Also, it did not hurt that Kriegel opens the book with a quote from Bob Dylan. And, with that, I leave you with this: my friend Daniel’s band, Rhodes, covering Bob Dylan’s Highway 61. Their take is renewing and their music is refreshing.
There is only one feeling better than finishing a book – finishing a great book. Next to that is finishing a book before it’s due back at the library. The Zero, while a good story that keeps the reader guessing throughout, belongs in the latter category.
The Zero is a fictional rumination on grief, memory, trust, politics, patriotism, and national tragedy. Written with oblique yet transparent references to the fall of the World Trade Center and the ensuing aftermath, Walter creates a story that may well have been true. Described as Helleresque, this part political satire starts out well, delivering dark laughs in a gray world of dust and tragedy. Unfortunately, yet maybe necessarily, the humor lessens as the plot increases, racing you (against time) towards a tragic end. The narrator is seldom trustworthy, even denying his own point of view. Gaps, zeroes, and negative space repeat themselves throughout the work: 0 x 0 x 0 x 0 = 0. It’s a stark metaphorical reminder of the void created in NYC, what memory does with tragedy, and the seeming meaningless of it all.
Sponsored by ellijay real estate. Buy and sell homes in Georgia, North Carolina, or Tennessee. Featuring 27 quick and easy fix up tips to sell your home quickly.
I’m not much of a mystery reader, and that’s what Death of a Writer is at its core, so that could account for my mediocre feelings towards the work. I picked it up for the title, kept reading it for the setting and the characters, then finished it, well, because it’s a mystery and I had to know whodunit. In my opinion, it’s a little uneven, with abrupt turns to dark scenes; necessary for a mystery, yes, but very abrupt and seemingly out of place. If it’s your cup of tea, drink it. I would have needed two lumps. Of sugar.
I’ve started these reviews over at Shelfari. It’s a nifty booklovers site, with cool shelves. I’ll probably post the reviews there and here. I mean, why not? Everyone needs to know what I think about their work…right?
Also, it seems like most of the people in the book could have benefited from Death insurance. It’s the opposite of life insurance, so it only pays as long as you keep living. Then they take it all back when you bite the big one.
Recent Comments