Back Home

Just west of Tuscaloosa on 82 I start to pick up 99.9 The Fox (North Mississippi’s Rock Station).  Ted Nugent, Pre One-Armed-Drummer Def Leppard, G n R, Zeppelin in heavy rotation – same as it always was.  The soundtrack of my misspent youth, seemingly frozen in time forever guiding the wayward back to the Magnolia.  Surely they’ve added tracks but the primary catalog remains unchanged for at least the last (10) + years.  When I switch off the iPod and dial in to hear that first staticy Fox transmission – my eternal welcoming committee – I know that I’m almost there.  Yes it’s ridiculous, but all I do is smile when it comes in clearly for the first time.  And so it’s been since I left.

The cool thing about driving back to Mississippi is that culture shock sets in incrementally.  Driving west the roads get more and more narrow and deserted.  What traffic is on these squiggly little roads moves slower and slower and a helluva lot less intentioned than I’m used to.  Successfully, safely operating the automobile is the secondary activity it seems.  Primary is driving slowly.  Turn signals?  Who needs ‘em?  Long before crossing the state line into Mississippi you travel through the epicenter of nowhere.  West Alabama is about as far away as you can be.  From anywhere.  These little towns – Reform, Coal Fire, Gordo – have a certain Children of the Corn quaintness to them.  No matter where I fill up prior to, I invariably have to pit stop here for gas. 

Wednesday night I was paying the attendant (pay-at-the-pump is apparently a bit liberal for these parts!) and he said to me, “ ‘em deerunnin’? “  Excuse me?  I’m not sure what about me made him think that I might know if the “deer were running” (whatever the hell that means).  It could be that he saw that I was from out of town – when he CARDED me to buy gas.  I didn’t know how to respond, so I said nothing and walked out.  He mumbled some inaudible garble as I did.  Back in the truck, I imagined him calling up his banjo-pickin’ buddies to come down here and get all Deliverance on me or something so I got the hell out of dodge.  (My imagination sometimes gets the better of me.)  Between Reform and the state line there is literally nothing but darkness.  Thick, black, night that headlights barely cut – horror movie darkness.  But thanks to The Fox I had Foghat and Alice in Chains watching my back. 

Upon my arrival at the Top, I met my folks at Moore’s where I promptly ordered the chicken-fried steak.  Only in the south would someone think to take not one, but two huge pieces of beef, batter them and throw them in the fryer. Outstantding! “You want gravy and onions on that?”  As a matter of fact I do.  What else do you have back there that will shorten my life further?  Maybe throw a cup of lard or a fried pie on there – I might as well go out with a bang!  I can certainly think of worse fates than face down in a plateful of this beautiful gravy.  (Just an aside here, but this might be why Mississippi is one of the fattest states in these United.)  I will say that after (6) hours in the car with Maynard and my over-active imagination that big plate of home was exactly what I needed.  Besides, we all get a pass from sensible eating habits the last week of November, right? Right.

Maynard didn’t sleep well that night and was up and down like a teething baby (as if I know what that might be like.)  At or about 4:00 AM I found myself sitting near the edge of the woods on a stump watching May navigate the twigs and thistle.  Peaceful moment back at the crib notwithstanding, I could not help how overpowered I felt by the silence – so dark and so quiet that I felt like I should whisper.  I felt like if I allowed myself to think, someone would overhear.  That’s an unsettling, a very uncomfortable feeling for me.  I need noise.  I need the hustle…the sirens, the sounds, the shouting, the sweet serenade of the city.  I felt suffocated.  And scared.  I succumbed to the silence for a split second and scooped up the little man and scurried back to the safety of my solace.  As Maynard was twittering around the leaves I think I saw him being an appetizer for a werewolf or a jack-a-lope or whatever weird ass shit they have in Mississippi.  I prefer spotlights from police helicopters (ghetto birds) over darkness: the numbing hum of wheels on asphalt over silence.  I slept for (2) hours Wednesday – did I mention how freakishly quiet it is?  Back safe in the bed my mind sped faster into the imagined.  Perhaps I’ve read In Cold Blood too many times but to be honest I’ve not had a good night’s sleep in my parent’s house since high school.

Thursday I went to my brother’s house where I had a Thanksgiving dinner that couldn’t be beat and spent some much needed time with my family.  I’d told some friends I would look them up but I didn’t.  It’s not the first time, and it probably won’t be the last.  Whatever disregard you might feel; it’s not intentional.

Driving there and around and just letting my mind wander, I recall these landscapes well. 

Even at night, I can still see the ghosts of Confederate soldiers charging through the smoke, the Chickasaw on a hunt, and even a shadow of my former self traipsing around the way.  I grew up here.  This was home for a lot of years.  Phrases I say, even thoughts I think are a product of growing up here.  I learned how to politely tell someone to go to hell without them even knowing.  I gained a strange appreciation for John Anderson songs.  I made memories that I still go back to almost daily.  But every time I physically come back it seems more and more foreign to me.  I find it harder and harder to see that long-haired teenager stumbling through.  I think everybody misses where they grew up and I’d give at least a pinky finger to have one more lap around the square back in the day.  It's only memories now.

It’s not Mississippi that has changed.  Nothing changes in the ‘Sip but the seasons and that's the way it should be.  It’s me.  This was the first trip that I’ve made by myself in a number of years and I had a lot of time to think – coming and going.  On the way back to Atlanta it finally hit me, like a ton of whatever.  On all other trips back to the A, I’ve started counting miles as soon as I’m east of Birmingham.  I never really knew why – I thought it was just a compulsion.  Ready to be back or whatever.  I’ve always subconsciously counted miles ‘til Exit 46.  When I top that hill just before Six Flags and I see that beautiful, amazing Atlanta skyline unfold – downtown first, then mid-town and finally Buckhead off to my left  – that’s when I feel like I’m back home.  That’s where I’ve found as close to my perfect self as I ever have.  When I’m not here I miss it.  I haven’t missed Mississippi in…maybe ever.  Yes, I miss my family.  I miss my old friends.  But I don’t miss living there.  I don’t miss being there.  I don’t miss the person I was there.  There’s no back home there for me.  “Back home” nearly sucked the life right out of me.  As much as I wish there were, there is just no “there” left for me there.

When I drove through the village tonight on my way home, I saw that crazy dude reading the phone book at the bus stop.  When he finished a page, he tore it out and threw it down.  When he threw it down he yelled something that nobody but he understood.  The only thing that I found odd about this is that he hasn’t been there the last few weeks. 

I missed him.  

I was happy to see him tonight. 

It made me feel like I was back home.

The Confluence of Music and Design

Monday, my boss randomly asked why I had never combined music and Architecture.  “I can’t believe, as much as you write about it that you haven’t incorporated music into your designs.”  I don’t recall what I said exactly, but I’m pretty sure it was a stupid answer.  I’ve thought about it since and I’m still not sure how to respond.

There are multiple obvious reasons. 

Architects unfortunately exist in a business environment.  They always have but more so now than probably ever before. The pressures we feel now are different than even at the beginning of my short career.  The budget rules the day followed closely behind by the schedule (invariably driven by the budget).  How would my clients feel if at the kick-off meeting I began to wax eloquent about my views on the confluence of music and design?  If I let them know that I was going to spend an extra few weeks exploring that relationship?  Interpreting the unspoken beauty of the Ramones through the vehicle of their building?  I’d be broke in a week.  However sad that is, it’s a fact. 

More and more often we are asked to produce more with less in smaller and smaller windows of time.  We are almost always burdened with an unreasonable client who doesn’t even really understand why we are there, what it is that we do and certainly not what we have to offer to the project.  As architects that is partly our fault.  We’ve been telling each other for years that unless we start “adding value” to the project our profession will suffer.  So what did we do?  We made you all start saying the word “green”.  Congratulations!  We’ve taken a design concept that should be second nature if we are true to our craft and made it irrelevant, a catch phrase.   The USGBC is one of the most dangerous organizations in Architecture today.  I’m a member, you have to be, but the USGBC and moreover the whole shell game that is LEED will not save us.  One should not get a blue ribbon because he didn’t trip the retarded kid on the way to the bus, and architects should not get a feather in their cap because they designed a “sustainable” building.  We’re supposed to do that.  There is no extra credit for doing the right thing.  We have a cultural, moral obligation to be more.  The “green” movement isn’t all bad by any stretch of even my uber-fatalistic imagination – I just doubt the motivation behind it.

It really starts with educating our clients. That’s a hard sell, I know.  We’ve taken the power that we should wield like a bloody, fiery sword and surrendered it to the developer, the code official, the budget, the GC, the holding company.  The fear of losing the deal has us all by the throat.  We can’t afford to let that be an excuse any longer.

Architects take the whims and fantasy of the client’s desire and transform them into reality.  That can only happen with an open dialogue that has become less and less common in this “market”.  Too often, we give them what they want – not what they need.  In every construction project, the architect should lead the team.  More often than not, we are simply a player and that is unacceptable.  There’s absolutely zero arrogance in what I’m saying.  We are not smarter than anybody.  But we do, or at least we should, bring a certain amount of measured skill and precision understanding to the table. 

I don’t take backseats. 

I’m not a role player. 

I score touchdowns. 

I demand that I occupy my rightful place at the head of the table.     

Though obvious, these “reasons” are part of why architects are becoming more and more marginalized and why architecture as a whole continues to lose favor with the general public.  Capital “A” Architecture certainly exists.  Fewer and fewer of us practice it though.  That’s not actually entirely a bad thing.  The “feeling” my designs give the user may never be published in Architectural Record.  That doesn’t make me less of an architect.  If anything that makes me more of an architect.  Our profession is based in the knowledge that we are charged with affecting the quality of human life.  I don’t need to be recognized to recognize that I’ve done my job well. 

The last 700 words have nothing to do with what I started talking about.  (Maybe I shouldn’t be at the head of the table after all!)

Music re-purposed as architecture: Daniel Libeskind speaks to this concept in his work at the Jewish Museum in Berlin.  He sees that design as the completion of an Arnold Schoenberg opera, the unfinished 3^rd act. I’ve never experienced this incredibly interesting design first-hand so I can’t say that he got it right.  I have heard him lecture on the theoretical underpinnings of his design process.  It’s fascinating to hear him talk about it but at least from the hundreds of images I’ve seen it remains just that, a theoretical expression.  Maybe that’s okay. Who really knows what he’s even talking about anyway?   It’s imperative that we have rock-star architects but that’s not everyman. That’s not Tuesday. What would my father think of that space, of that façade, of that texture?  Would he even notice?  Does anyone who isn’t an architect actually recognize the character of the space they inhabit? 

I do agree with Libeskind in that all buildings are, at least in some respects musical instruments.  A building, a space has an inherent resonance based on volume and form and materiality and a hundred other qualities.  As an architect, it certainly is my duty to corral or at the very least influence how those characteristics of space are perceived, experienced and remembered by the inhabitant.  That in of itself is one hell of a directive, no?  Why would I complicate what is already a near impossible task by adding the musical variable?  There are certainly elements of music that translate.  Rhythm is a necessary quality of the work I do – to a lesser, but as vital degree tone.  That doesn’t make it musical though.  Architecture is its own beautiful music.

So to answer your question AP, there is no way to answer your question.  Music and Architecture exist in equal standing on the same level playing field and never the ‘tween shall meet.  One, for me, can’t be placed above the other and to combine the two devalues them both. If I don’t keep them separate, I may never become the master of either.  It’s an interesting concept but one that finds a more appropriate home in academia – not the real world.  Good design stands on its own legs and not only doesn’t need a partner but invariably falls apart if it has one.  I would be foolish to say that music doesn’t influence my Architecture and vice versa but that should be the end of the sentence.  I need them both.  Separately. 

In college I was fond of saying “Don’t sell your soul to fill your belly.”  I lost that creative subversive fire for a while and it pisses me off. 

I can feel the heat of that fire again.

The Upside

Her name is Sam.  I’ve been on her flights before but haven’t spoken to her.  As it turns out, her ex-husband is a Marine on his 3^rd tour of Afghanistan and her mom is taking her place tonight at her daughter’s soccer game.  She lives in Detroit.  Her day started in Detroit, then ATL, IAD, JFK back to IAD, back to ATL and back to Detroit.  I thought I had a long day – it must really suck to be a flight attendant.  She’s cute.  Nice.  I’m her “friend” now.

I told her I was an architect and she apparently thought that meant something.  “You must be good at math.” No, math is stupid. (myth #1).  “I bet you have a really cool house.” (myth #2).  “Well at least you’re rich.” (myth #3).  But who am I to tell her otherwise?  If being an architect makes me interesting to her then so be it.  I’m not really.  I’m absolutely fascinating for about (5) minutes then I even start to lose interest in what I’m saying.  I did though once convince a flight attendant that I was Jon Bon Jovi from LA to Dallas and we all know that’s ridiculous.  (Interesting, but ridiculous.)

I’m on the same flights all the time.  I see the same people all the time.  ATL-IAD is effectively a commuter flight so I see the same pilots, flight attendants, passengers, janitors, etc, etc ad nauseum.  It’s boring.  “Travel” was the one perk that I believed in.  Northern Virginia doesn’t constitute travel in my opinion.  I’m up early, I’m home late.  Nobody on-site really gives a shit about what the architect thinks.  The GC couldn’t possibly be bothered with building from my drawings.  I could continue to piss and moan for hours but I won’t.  My job could certainly be worse.

So yeah, these “travel” days suck.  The upside is that for no apparent reason pretty girls think I’m cool and I rarely have to pay for my nightcap.  When we are all “friends” we help each other out.  All I do is show up.  By the time I sit down at M+E’s, Sophia has a drink in front of me.  I can sit in the back of the plane and I get served first because we are “friends”.  I show up and listen.  The men in their lives must really be assholes.  I pretend to care and get whatever I want for free. 

I think that makes me an asshole.  The upside is…maybe there’s not an upside based on what I just said.

The upside is that I for once actually listened to the other person tonight.  (That’s a start, no?)  There is hope for me yet!

Sam was cool.  Of course I will probably never be on one of her flights again now.  The downside is that I didn’t ask her how she felt about not being there for her kid’s soccer game.  The upside is that I talked to her long enough to know how she would answer.  And that makes her a rock star in my opinion. 

The upside is the elusive obvious that we fail to see even though it kicks us in the face on the daily.

Ladies Night in Buffalo

I thought that when I started writing this blog that I would have important things to say a lot more often than I actually do.  As it turns out I rarely, if ever, actually cobble together a coherent thought. And when I do I usually forget it or confuse it with something else that I was thinking about at the time before I sit down to write.  I’m not being graded on this so who cares, right?

I felt like I was going somewhere with that open, but alas I forgot.

Whatever it is that I put down when I do write, it is what populates my brain on the ride home.  I live in the city, but I work in the suburbs. Yes, that is bizarre but that’s what it is.  I have a reverse commute.  Last night one of my co-workers enquired about said commute and how I “deal” with that everyday.   I go to my Zen place.  I’ve always said that when they ask, but they don’t get it.  For the record, it’s a figure of speech – I’m not a Zen master (whatever that means).  It’s not even ‘my’ figure of speech (I stole it from David Nilsson). Regardless, my ‘Zen’ means my music.  It’s not something that I have to deal with…it actually keeps me sane.  That (45) minute drive gets me back to my center.  I can put away the bullshit of today, inventory what I have to do tomorrow and transition into night.  I think I would be a raving lunatic without my reverse commute.  And I would probably be “a person of interest” if I had to live in the suburbs.  It boggles my mind that human beings actually consciously choose to live there.  That’s a rant for another day though, I guess.  What was I talking about?  Oh yeah.

Ladies Night in Buffalo rotated into position (1) on the iPod tonight.  That’s a great song.  I seriously doubt that you remember it. David Lee Roth, possibly the best rock ‘n’ roll front man ever went solo and recruited the next best thing to Eddie Van Halen in the person of Steve Vai.  That guy is a freak of a guitar player, but it’s technical – EVH was a rock star.  Vai is an incredible talent and I’m a big fan: it just wasn’t Van Halen.  I guess that was the point.  Helluva song though…it’s like he solos all the way through.  The video is purposely not a video so that you listen to the song. 

I’ve written a couple of “(10) song” blogs…this DLR song tonight led me down a different path.  In my mind, there is an incredible lack of female talent in music today.  Understand that when I say ‘music’ I mean music.  I don’t mean the BS you let your kids listen to.  There was a time when ladies grabbed the mic and had a voice…with balls.  These are a few of the songs that live rent free in my mind on the regular.

I’m Only Happy When It Rains  – Garbage

Shirley Manson.  That chick had it.  There’s never been a red head in a pink dress sexier – plus she freaking rocked!  Not really sure why she was hanging out with her old ass band though.  Not that it is relevant as it pertains to her musical abilities, but I would straight lay down in front of a train for Shirley Manson's affection.

Hot Night Crash – Sahara Hotnights

These Swedish ladies understood the game.  They certainly wrote songs by a formula, but they were good nevertheless.  They saw a window and jumped right through.  It was awesome and it was rock ‘n’ roll.  It was based a bit much on the “hot Swedish girl” factor but still.  If I ever stumble into the bass player in a bar, that won’t suck. 

Cherry Bomb – The Runaways

The original rock chicks, right?  Kim Fowley (one creepy S.O.B.) might have invented that term by putting this band together.  They were a complete fantasy driven fabrication, but most of them went on to greater heights after this experiment.  Lita Ford didn’t so much, but Joan Jett was, and is still a ballsy rock chick.  So ballsy, in fact, that when I saw her open for Robert Plant in the 80’s she took her shirt off at the end of her set and nobody really seemed to notice.  There was a movie about The Runaways recently.  Not bad, but I think Cherie Currie would kick the shit out of Dakota Fanning – it’s really an insult that she was cast in that roll.

Cannonball – The Breeders

I’ve never hidden my undying affection for Kim Deal.  When your resume includes founding member of The Pixies you jump to the top of the list in my opinion.  Brilliant artist.  She reappeared with the Breeders during the height of the Grunge cluster and didn’t get overshadowed – one of my favorite ‘90s bands.  Her twin sister and lead guitarist Kelley was “the deal” as well (pun intended).

Volcano Girls – Veruca Salt

Another fantastic early ‘90s band.  It seems a little “poppy” when I listen to it now but this was a jam in ’93-’94.  I get the same feeling when I hear it today.  Great freaking song.  It’s been a staple on my iPod since I’ve had one.

Gepetto – Belly    

Holy midriff Batman!!  The memory of Gail Greenwood on bass continues to rock my world.  This wasn’t even their best song.  It’s a great song, but Feed the Tree was brilliant.  And besides, holy shit, Gail Greenwood on bass.

Don’t Speak – No Doubt

Speaking of midriffs, Gwen Stefani pretty much invented that phenomenon, no?  Sure she took her cues from 90210 and Melrose Place but this girl had mad skills, outside of the obvious.  I’ve always been fascinated by the fact that this song is about her break up with the bass player.  How do you stay in the band with your ex?  I guess if your making bank you deal with it.  Beautiful song on top of. 

Sweet Hands – Grace Potter and The Nocturnals

I hesitate to include this song.  There’s a personal history here that I’ve not quite dealt with and have designs to write about sometime.  But how can a blog about female musicians not include Grace?  I was at this show.  I’m not sure that I’ve missed a show when she was in town the past couple of years. I was blown away this night as I always am.  She is an incredible talent.  There’s a story here...I’ll tell you later.

Take it Off  – The Donnas                 

I don’t know where you went to high school but these chicks did not exist where I did.  Brett Anderson…oi!  They played themselves as the female Ramones.  I always felt like the drummer might have an amphetamine problem (I’m okay with that.)  My personal opinion is that this was by far their best album, but who am I to say?  They were also quite formulaic with their writing.  This song always reminds me that rock ‘n’ roll doesn’t have to be important – hell it doesn’t need to have any meaning, or even be that good.  As such, this is a perfect rock song.

Angry Johnny – Poe

Call me whatever, but this song has always seemed a bit too near my heart. Her voice freaks me out.  Her lyrics are dead-on exactly what she is thinking.  Maybe that’s the freak me out part…I’ve always thought that this is the song that my every ex would write if they had the voice.   Incredible vocals…never heard a Poe song I didn’t love.  She crystallized my "understanding" of the manner in which women process emotion (or at least how I perceive their emotional process.)  And that continues to baffle me, whether it is real or perceived.

Pretend We’re Dead – L7

I have to admit that these girls scared the hell out of me when I first heard them.  They still do in fact.  They have skills, they certainly have chops.  They were a pure rock ‘n’ roll band but they never really made it to where they should have been.  Oddly, the market was crowded with girl bands at the time.

All of Me – Billie Holiday

Do you hear it?  That magical tragedy?  She was / is the absolute.  Her voice makes me want to cry…for no reason.  She is that good.  (44) years wasn’t enough.  I identify with Billie on many levels.  I get it, right?  She drank.  She made bad choices in her relationships. She drank some more.  But she gave the world the purest vocal we could ever hope to hear.  I wish that I would have been alive when she was…just so that I could say that I breathed the same air.  Every song that she ever sang was the total embodiment of her life experience and she left nothing to the imagination.  She died with 70 cents in the bank, under indictment.  A couple of years after she passed this was written by a man who was with her in the end:

“Billie Holiday died in the Metropolitan Hospital, New York, on Friday, July 17, 1959, in the bed in which she had been arrested for illegal possession of narcotics a little more than a month before, as she lay mortally ill; in the room from which a police guard had been removed – by court order – only a few hours before her death, which, like her life, was disorderly and pitiful. She had been strikingly beautiful, but she was wasted physically to a small, grotesque caricature of herself. The worms of every kind of excess – drugs were only one – had eaten her ... The likelihood exists that among the last thoughts of this cynical, sentimental, profane, generous and greatly talented woman of 44 was the belief that she was to be arraigned the following morning. She would have been, eventually, although possibly not that quickly. In any case, she removed herself finally from the jurisdiction of any court here below.”

Disorderly, pitiful, beautiful, sentimental, profane, generous?  Certainly.  A legend and a supreme talent as well.  An icon, in spite of her life.

What a rip-off. Yes, I get that it’s a cliché for dudes to be into her, but that’s what’s what.  It would be pretty cool to be her point / counter point though, right?  She has stood since forever (for me) as the standard to which all women are tested.  That's not really fair, is it?

Maybe that’s been the problem in my relationships…I’ve settled for less than Billie Holiday.  Not of consequence at the moment I guess.

This was Friday night's soundtrack and that’s what I’ve been thinking about tonight.

Caught in a Mosh

Have you ever had one of those days where just felt like running around in a circle, slamming into 5,000 of your closest friends; kicking up a cloud of dust in an expressive fit of chaotic abandon for about (3) minutes?  That’s the kind of day I’ve had.  Man I miss that.  Does anyone remember those days?

 

”Moshing is a dance in which participants push and/or slam into each other. They also flail their limbs to breakdowns of hardcore punk and its sub-genres. It is most associated with aggressive music, such as hardcore punk and heavy metal.”

So says Wikipedia. Back in the day, we called it slam dancing.  And it was a beautiful, careless, violent spectacle.  Outstanding!

It never received positive publicity; whenever you saw anything in the media it was always unnecessarily negative.  In fact, you never heard about it at all until somebody got hurt or worse.  That was the best part though: it was our thing!  Violence certainly happened, but that’s not what slamming was all about.  Usually the guys who didn’t get it were the problem.   

In every pit, just like in life, 99% of the people are there for the right reason.  It’s the 1% that screws it up for everybody.  In my experience, these blokes usually fell into (1) of (2) categories – meathead, ‘roid-rage jocks or the military (no offense to those who serve(d).  This is most likely colored by the geography I found myself in at the time.  Let’s be honest, North Mississippi is not exactly a hotbed of progressive thought and/or tolerance.  When I graduated high school I weighed about 150 pounds and had hair down to my ass – I should have just painted a freaking target on my back!

Apparently, it still exists…but I’m damn near (40) and guessing that window has closed.  I have often thought of starting a Slam Club. Think Fight Club but with a bunch of dudes like me.  Of course this could never happen but I still like to think about it.  It’s one of those deals you can’t recreate though.  You were either there or you were not.  If you were there, you surely know how I feel.  (If you were not, you are probably further convinced I’ve lost my mind.)  Either way, I remember that magical camaraderie with perfect strangers – literally bouncing off the walls and each other.  Bloodied, bruised, ecstatic. 

In 2005, The Voodoo Music Experience happened in Memphis.  It was just after Katrina and New Orleans obviously couldn’t support it.  I spent that weekend with some dear old friends in Memphis and saw some great bands – New York Dolls, The Secret Machines, Cowboy Mouth.  Nine Inch Nails closed the 2^nd night.  Not exactly a slamming crowd but I pushed and shoved as best I could.   I didn’t mention, but you are probably aware, that stage diving is an integral aspect of the mosh.

I was certainly old enough to know better at the time but when remembered teenage adrenaline takes over what do you do?  I fought my way to the front, timed my move perfectly and was on stage with Trent Reznor before even I knew what I was doing.  This is a (5) second occurrence!  The first (2) seconds are evading the cops and climbing onto the stage, the third second is looking at Reznor and trying to decipher the perplexed look on his face / realizing you have to get off the stage before security intervenes and the last (2) seconds are the dive.   

Pure bliss.   

The last (2) seconds are my lifeless body in mid-air, sadly enslaved by gravity – falling backwards into the crowd. Seeing the whole of my life in stop-frame artistic black and white vignettes.  The past and the present colliding and exploding in perfect unspoken harmony. That brief free-fall was as pure and as peaceful a moment as I have known in the last (10) years of my life.  Total silence.  It was just me and the stillness that I felt.  Absolute perfection.  The crowd passed me around, sat my feet back down on the ground and went back to the show and forgot about it.

I walked away victorious.

That’s as close to a slam as I will probably ever be again.  And that’s probably a good thing.  At some point you have to put away the past.  That sucks.  But I’m hopeful that I will once again find myself Caught in a Mosh at some point in my future. 

And that won’t suck!

NO on 26, Mississippi

On 8 November, the people of the great state of Mississippi will be tasked with the incredible responsibility of deciding whether or not to amend their Constitution with regards to the definition of a “person”.  Amendment 26, the so-called “personhood” amendment reads as follows:

Section 33.  Person Defined.   As used in this Article III of the state constitution, "The term 'person' or 'persons' shall include every human being from the moment of fertilization, cloning, or the functional equivalent thereof."

WTF?  Think for a moment about what this statement is actually saying and more importantly what it is not saying.

On the surface this seems little more than a “pro-life” initiative.  It certainly is that but has the dangerous possibility to be much more.  In simple terms it is an effort to outlaw abortion in the state and therefore gain a foothold in Personhood USA’s ultimate goal of overthrowing Roe v. Wade.  Whichever side of the fence you fall on the abortion debate, one has to be troubled by the ambiguous wording of this proposition. 

At stake is much more than one’s perception of their own ideological or philosophical stance. This isn’t a Republican / Democrat issue. If passed, not only would this amendment outlaw abortion – regardless of the circumstances leading to the pregnancy I might add, but also do away with the birth control pill, most if not all assisted fertility techniques including in vitro fertilization.  It could, one can only assume make it a criminally prosecutable offense to endure the misfortune of a miscarriage!  A state with the highest teenage pregnancy rate in the country couldn’t possibly make it illegal to obtain a birth control prescription, right? 

We don’t know if that would happen.  In fact, we have no idea of how or even if this new verbiage would or could be enforced.  Does it automatically become law once the election is certified?  The presence of this initiative on the ballot possibly violates the underlying principles of the very Constitution it hopes to amend.  Herein lies the problem with 26 – it begs a helluva lot more questions than it addresses.

I don’t know all of the facts and I’m certainly not writing this to prove that I do.  There are certainly more eloquent and compelling and educated voices on either side of this debate than mine.  If you are a registered Mississippi voter then it is your civic obligation to seek out those voices and educate yourself on this issue so that you are armed with enough knowledge to truly cast a vote of conscience.  (And if you’re not a registered voter, why are you not?) In doing so, I urge you to be objective.  Don’t look for answers in only one source. 

I tend to fall on the left most times politically.  I certainly have migrated closer to the middle as I’ve gotten older but still see myself as a progressive.  That said I find it imperative to gather news from as many outlets as possibly.  I actually watch Hannity (though it pains me) as much as I watch Bill Maher, The O’Reily Factor as much as the Daily Show.  That isn’t news by the way – that is a far right and a far left perception and opinion of the news – it’s entertainment.  CNN as much as Fox, Mother Jones as much as The National Review.  Once you see the issues from all sides it is easier to apply critical thought and form your own opinion.  That is the significant component of this – applying critical thought.  Most Americans want / need their own opinions spoon-fed to them.  Don’t fall in to that trap.

Further, ask yourself this question, “Why Mississippi?”  “Why did this organization choose Mississippi as the ground upon which to wage their war?”  This is primarily why I write on this subject at all.  I grew up in Mississippi.  I have family and friends there still.  I don’t want them to be painted, once again, in a negative light by the national media.  Do not think that the eyes of the country are not upon you because they are.  Parenthood USA came to Mississippi, not only because it is a historically conservative state but primarily because of the national perception of the people of Mississippi as a backward, uneducated populace.  What better place to make this stand than in a state where if you yell ‘abortion’ or ‘family values’ loud enough you can make most people agree with almost anything that you are saying.  This isn’t a personal opinion but it is a prevalent opinion outside the magnolia borders.  

Don’t be the pawns they expect you to be.  Voting ‘no’ on 26 does not make you less pro-life.  Voting ‘no’ does not mean that you suddenly believe in abortion.  Voting ‘no’ simply means that you have exercised the gray matter between your ears and have realized that the amendment is incomplete.   If you are anti-abortion, fight that battle – that is your inexorable American right to do so.  If that is what you are compelled to do then you should explore every reasonable means available to you to make your philosophical viewpoint heard and bring into being that which you believe to be right and just.  This is not the place for that battle.  Amendment 26 does not give you that platform. 

Make your voices heard.  Vote NO on 26, Mississippi !  Let the world know that the people of Mississippi are capable of more than a knee-jerk reaction to a very complicated, touchy, troubling subject that nobody really wants to talk about.  

Mississippi shows up in the wrong place on the wrong lists all too often.  You don't want to come in first on this one.