the sign post

you thought you knew where you were going until you saw the street signs in Long Island City.





A sign from God at a Wall Street sandwich shop.





This is from the Town of Framingham website. I hope they didn't pay someone to take this picture (what is that in the background?). Notice the town was established in 1700. I just called town hall today. They now have two Zip Codes!

whole-hog dawn

Let's keep with the music theme, shall we? It really works for me. Hopefully it will for you, my readers. Both of you. That's supposed to be a joke.

I remember seeing Dickey Betts and Great Southern at B.B. Kings a year or so ago. If you live in Florida half your life (I don't mean Palm Beach. I mean Florida), you learn to appreciate its culture: 90/90 days (that's 90 degrees/90% humidity), conch fritters and gator tail (entire gators, for that matter, hanging around retention ponds like they own the place), and Southern Rock. Dickey Betts rocks. In that unique, Gator-country way.

And he rocked BB's in the Big Apple that Gator-country way, too. I could go on and on about how the calamari sucked, how I went all alone and how that sucked, or about how cool it was when Mr. Betts introduced his second guitarist as his son, Duane Betts. That would send chills down one's back. I'd been watching the second guitar closely, because my friend Nelson Norwood played alongside Dickey at a benefit in St. Petersburg a half-a-lifetime ago. I remember Mr. Betts was paid for his work with a crossbow, because, like any good Florida boy, he likes to hunt hogs (also charmingly known as "feral pigs"). So I was totally tuned into his playing and wondering, "so who is this kid?" Well, it was Dickey's own.

But this post was given, in typically whimsical fashion, the title of "Whole-Hog Dawn," and that's what I wanted to write about. When the band unceremoniously drifted onto the stage that night, Mr. Betts grabbed his microphone and in a drawl that nearly slurred (or was it the other way around?), declared, "wuh-we're goan-uh try to ply you a sun-rahz."

And they went at it with gusto. If you closed your eyes you might have felt yourself carried by a wild cacophony of sonic beauty into the midst of creation springing to life all around you, just like C.S. Lewis describes it. The cool misty air pregnant with energy and life and potential and joy and no end of possibilities. Beauty upon breathtaking beauty exploding to life all around you, like fireworks; so incomprehensible one could only bow to its Maker and laugh with joy. It made you feel young, pure and alive. Just like life.

Dawn is as relentless and inevitable as it is devastatingly beautiful and life-giving. It doesn't matter how dark and cold and long the night was.

Love comes over you like a sunrise. You can run. (Why would you?) You can lock yourself in a cave and insist that the sun doesn't exist. Why would someone starve himself? Imagine, trying to run from the sunrise.


picture credits:
Sunrise: Mt. Washington Pictures;
Hog: A-One Tadixermy;
Father and son Betts (in Charlotte, NC, 06/03/06): www.dickeybetts.com

America the Beautiful

One thing about Our Lady of Victory is the fractious nature of the parishioners. There are few residents of the area. Most of the people who attend are commuters. But the people who show up on weekends, who apparently are mostly residents, are typically Lower-Manhattan-aloof. It really doesn't feel like a community. I have a couple of friends there, but I've been attending this church for nearly 2 years.

Anyway, something interesting happened at Sunday Mass. I mean, something other than the fact that God himself was present in under the veil of bread and wine. The singer -- what, is she a "worship leader?" -- the one with that incredible voice, but the unhappy countenance, announced the recessional hymn: God Bless America.

This is one of my all time favorites. I'll never forget the day I realized that singing patriotic songs made my eyes water and my voice break. I was singing the National Anthem to myself one morning -- in fact, it was a Sunday -- many years ago. I began weeping and couldn't go on. This was curious to me; I concluded that I must really love America. Funny. It's not like I was raised to be patriotic. I grew up in the liberal sixties and the desolate, VietNam propaganda-tainted '70's. But there I was, somehow endowed with patriotism.

So, imagine how the hair on my neck reacted when the entire congregation, normally aloof and certainly not any model of "unity," drew a collective deep breath and sang, from the very first note with voices loud and sure and full of heart, these words -- every magnificent one of them:

O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!

America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

O beautiful for pilgrim feet
Whose stern impassion'd stress
A thoroughfare for freedom beat
Across the wilderness.

America! America!
God mend thine ev'ry flaw,
Confirm thy soul in self-control,
Thy liberty in law.

O beautiful for heroes prov'd
In liberating strife,
Who more than self their country loved,
And mercy more than life.

America! America!
May God thy gold refine
Till all success be nobleness,
And ev'ry gain divine.

O beautiful for patriot dream
That sees beyond the years
Thine alabaster cities gleam
Undimmed by human tears.

America! America!
God shed His grace on thee,
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea.

-- Katherine Lee Bates, America The Beautiful.

You know, even the singer seemed to beam as she strode off the platform while we were leaving.

you know you're a blogger when...

your machine crashes and you still manage to get a post up.

digital sweatshop

that's what it felt like today. instead of Singer treadles and fabric in the Garment District, it's Excel and portfolio returns on Wall Street.

OK, I'm being a little dramatic. It's more like a digital mortuary.

It's not really that bad...just tedious. The pay's a heck of a lot better. And the view is nice. I'm grateful for the gig, don't get me wrong. But I realize I'm too much of a people person to be locked away in cubicle crunching numbers.

I was telling one cellmate, "...yeah, I'm thinking of getting a Master's in Financial Engineering!" And he deadpans: "Have you thought of Actuarial Science?" Ugh. Actuarial Science?! Am I the only person who associates the word "actuarial" with "mortality rates," emphasis on "mortality?" It's close call between that and watching paint dry, as far as adrenaline rushes go. But I'm past the need for hunting adrenaline rushes. I find everyday life to be challenge enough, and it's alot more meaningful.

I just think the phrase digital sweatshop is cool. Can I turn a phrase or what?

designer dogs

I love animals. Any long time reader of this blog must know that. But deep inside me I still think there is something weird about treating dogs like they're people. They're not people. People are people. Dogs are dogs.

Right? Aren't they? Or did something change while I slept?

A man might feel like killing his neighbor for a parking space, if he has to drive 5 minutes out of his way, but will happily devote 15 minutes to putting a shiny red raincoat and matching booties on his dog, so everyone can see while he takes him out for long, leisurely walk about the neighborhood. His "designer dog," mind you, of a breed that was probably unheard of 5 years ago.

There's something really weird about that.

under the sucker's moon.

I don't write about stuff like this. Perhaps because it's a relatively new phenomenon, these "men's magazines." Perhaps because I'm not the sort of man who reads them. They cultivate and articulate vanity, and it's not healthy for men to habituate vain territory.

But today I had to wait, and wait, and drink lots of water, and wait some more, in order to take a drug test for work. And there on the table was some men's magazine. I was glad it was there because I've been wanting to get an idea of how to get more protein in my diet, and inside there was, predictably, an article on working out. So, OK, lean meat, beef only twice a week, cut out the dairy, and "get to like egg whites."

However, as there was so much waiting, I took in far more of this piece of the "image culture" than I wanted to. And I took it in a)as an outsider and b) as a man. Let me share my observations.

The first thing I became aware of, the thing that caused me to pull a scrap of paper out of my pocket and jot down some impressions, was, well, I'll read it off the receipt from Metro 53:

Pressure vs. women's mags
insecurity
images of perfection
setting the agenda
"image culture"

I felt myself becoming uptight and insecure as I read this mag. There's a little of that going on inside of me anyway, as I adjust to the fact that I am not in my twenties, or even in my thirties, anymore, but am increasingly surrounded by, and subject to, in some degree or another, people who are. The magazine completely tweaked that nerve.

It must just be something about human nature, something that the marketing community guards as its very jewel, that causes people to project themselves into the images they see glorified and glamorized. This, apparently, is the heart that beats inside the goose that lays the multibillion dollar egg. You see the men -- all between 23 and 34, all fit, all cocky, all approprietely rugged and confident, machismo and irreverence. See them on $65,000 Ducati motorcycles. See them on an island they rented for $46,000 for a weekend. See them standing there, with their arms folded, daring you to challenge their authority. See their toothy smiles shot at radical angles meant to strike you as the very picture of glory itself.

My heart immediately beat with compassion for women, who have had to endure this awful sort of torturous marketing for generations. Now I understand the protestations I used to hear every now and then (back when people cared) about the "pressure to be beautiful." Those poor women.

Here's what I mean. From the receipt:

A guy wonders: 'is this what it takes to make a woman feel fulfilled; is that what a woman thinks is Mr. Right?'

The question reeks of the insecurity that seems to emanate from the pages of this rag. No wonder women have been so insecure about their looks, their weight, their careers, their everything. You can almost hear them thinking, "is this what I have to be to be desirable to a man?" What a horrible burden to have to labor under.

All the things "the pro's use." The motorcycles. The workouts. The freaking shaving cream. The clothes. The agenda is being set for people, by subterfuge, if they really don't guard themselves against it. It ought to be freaking illegal. It most certainly is diabolical.

Am I still OK if I don't spend $250.00 on a matching custom designed razor handle and badger-hair shaving brush? If I'm not jetting off to some unheard-of place to drink some unheard-of-beer with the guys from the London office? Will she still love me if I put my (Men's Wearhouse) pants on one leg at a time and don't have a custome-made this and designer-name that? If I'm just an ordinary guy who doesn't have the perfect smartass comeback; if I don't view myself as a shark in pool of guppies; if I wouldn't sell my soul to close the deal?

If all I had to go on was what the magazines show, I'd have to conclude, "No way, loser." The more I understand the media, the more I'm thankful for the alternatives, including the Web, including a good book, including a walk in the park. It's a little strange to live in an "image culture," though. But eventually people wake up and realize that vanity is just a gold-plated straight-jacket. Hopefully before they've sold their souls for the beautiful life.

I "donated" my sample and left.

since it's St. Valentine's Day

how about a different kind of love song?

Wrap your shame in a shroud
Raise your grief to the clouds
Angels sing inside our smiles
Let the wind wash the stains out
Let the sky drip in your eyes
Innocent and kind
A place where fools can hide

So dream
Love falls down from Heaven
When we dream (Close our eyes)
Love falls down from Heaven

If we dream through this night
We can dance in the twilight
Shut our eyes and then sleep tight
By the light of sweet grace
In the fire where our hearts fade
Step inside and find
A shameless state of mind

So dream
Love falls down from Heaven
When we dream (Close our eyes)
Love falls down from Heaven (When we cry)
Love falls down from Heaven when we dream

So dream
Love falls down from Heaven
When we dream (Close our eyes)
Love falls down from Heaven
When we dream (Close our eyes)
Love falls down from Heaven
When we dream (Close our eyes)
Love falls down from Heaven (When we cry)
Love falls down from Heaven (When we dream)
Love falls down from Heaven

-- Common Children, So Dream.

As you know, I would never post the lyrics to a song that you should be without. So go to iTunes now and get it, OK?

And how about a different kind of love story?

God’s love for mankind, the greatest manifestation of which is found in the Cross, asks that people “welcome” and “spread” it, identifying offences to human dignity and fighting all forms of contempt for life and exploitation of others. The message of Benedict XVI for Lent, published today, follows in the path of the encyclical Deus Caritas Est to reflect about the how and why of God’s love for man and about the response of the creature to the Creator.

Focused on the theme “They will look on the one whom they have pierced” (Jn 19:37), the document highlights how God’s love is both “agape” – “the oblative love of he who seeks exclusively the good of the other” – and “eros” – “the love of he who desires to possess what he lacks, which yearns for union with the loved one”. The theologian pope explained that the love of God is certainly agape: “Everything that the human creature is and has is divine gift”. But it is also eros: “The Creator of the universe shows for the people he has chosen a predilection that transcends all human motivation.” And “the Omnipotent awaits the ‘yes’ of his creatures like a young bridegroom await that of his bride.” But “unfortunately, humanity, from its origins, seduced by the lies of Evil, closed itself off from the love of God in the illusion of impossible self-sufficiency.”

“However, God did not admit defeat. Rather, the ‘no’ of man was like a decisive push that induced him to manifest his love in all its redemptive strength.” And it is the Cross in which the “fullness of God’s love” is revealed.

Lent, then, is a time of contemplation and reflection about the Cross. “The answer that the Lord wants from us is first of all that we welcome his love and allow ourselves to be drawn by Him. Accepting his love, however, is not enough. We must match it and commit ourselves to communicating it to others: Christ ‘draws me to him’ to unite with me, so that I may learn to love my brothers with his very love.”

The contemplation of the Cross, with its missionary character, also prompts us “to open our hearts to others, recognizing the wounds inflicted on the dignity of the human being; it pushes us especially to fight against all forms of contempt for life and exploitation of people and to ease the tragedy of solitude and neglect of so many people.” Benedict XVI added: “May Lent be for each Christian a renewed experience of the love of God given to us in Christ, a love that we should seek daily in our turn to ‘give again’ to our neighbour, especially those who are suffering and in need. Only thus can we participate fully in the joy of Easter.”

-- AsiaNews.it, quoting Pope Benedict XVI, Message for Lent, 2007.

Put that into practice and see what sort of an adventure your life becomes. (Warning: not for the feint of heart).

get inside

I have discovered a law, and it goes like this: the more the hype, the less the value. The more the glitter, the less the gold. I'm not saying I invented it, I only discovered it. I hope lots of other people have discovered it too.

It stems from my days as a stockbroker, but as I've matured I have naturally come to see its application across all endeavors. Mathematically, it can written thus: h=1/v (hype is inversely proportional to value).

The title of this post is the opposite of the title of this post, which was inspired one afternoon at Grand Central, formerly one of my favorite hangouts.

The mental picture I had when I began this entry was of Times Square. If Grand Central Station is all business, Times Square is all bullshit.It's hype central: an overdose of glitter and sensuality and temptation and promises of...of what? Whatever it promises, even if it delivers, whatever it delivers will either wear out in six months, be over in under two hours, or be digested by this time tomorrow. Nothing Times Square has to offer will last.

All that distraction, and what does it get you? Not much. But what does it distract you from? Ahh, now there's the real issue.

I just returned from a retreat. I took half a legal pad full of notes. But one line stands out crystal clear. The normal human reaction to stress is to seek distraction -- to "get outside." Movies, iPods, running away, relationships of minimal commitment, food, drugs, whatever. Distractions and anesthetics. But what good are anesthetics without the surgery? All they do is...wear off (and cost money). Then you wake up miserable.

Another point that was made this weekend is the irony that, while technology is supposedly all about saving time and labor, people seem to have less time, tend to be more worn out, and are far more distracted than ever. Time savers or time wasters?

Distractions abound, especially in New York City. But what are we all being distracted from? And if the law of hype applies here, is the real value in that quiet place...inside? And why do we spend so much time and money on distractions and gadgets and everything except getting inside?

We're not afraid of something, are we?

the pursuit of happiness

Well, The Wall Street Journal and Forbes were given their chances, but the honor of being the first to publish a letter to the editor, from me, fell to Catholic New York, January 18, 2007. I have made the big time at last.

Since letters aren't available in the online edition, I'll humbly post it here. I think the context should be clear from the letter. They did edit it (thank God), although there is one sentence which is pretty tangled up. I think that's their doing, though it certainly could be mine. The title is theirs.

Another Quest
To The Editor:

In the January 4 issue of CNY, Mary DeTurris writes: "In some ways, even our Declaration of Independence prods us to keep up the quest [to want more]. The 'pursuit of happiness' is our birthright for goodness' sake. It's almost like it's required, and what is the pursuit of happiness if not the quest for more - of everything."

Perhaps Mrs. DeTurris' personal definition of "the pursuit of happiness" is "the quest for more - of everything." However, I think if Ms. DeTurris were to attempt to understand the minds of the men who wrote those lines, and what motivated them to do [so] "for goodness' sake," she might realize that not only is the "pursuit of happiness" the normal condition for any living thing, but that freedom from tyranny and oppression - which was very much on the minds of the courageous authors of the Declaration of Independence - is the very mission of Jesus Christ and the Church.

It appears that Ms. DeTurris' issue is with the attempt to purchase happiness, which is quite a different matter. In case Ms. DeTurris counters that all she would advocate is the "pursuit of contentment," as is implied in her piece, I submit that there is no meaningful distinction between the two.

Signed,
Manhattan

Well, then. If you think I was a little hard on Ms./Mrs. DeTurris, God bless her, you know why I'm thankful that they edited the letter. When a friend left a voicemail for me saying, "I saw your letter in Catholic New York," I thought about crawling under my desk for fear of who else might see it...because, as I remember it, the day I wrote the rebuttal was a cold, drizzly and winterish one and I was not really being a good sport.

Ms./Mrs. DeTurris' original OpEd really rubbed me the wrong way, and, since she mentioned her children's insatiable desire for "more" in that piece, I mentioned it in my rebuttal, which was surely too personal (for me if not for her). I'll even take the grammatical oversights in exchange for the grace of being made to look more charitable than I was.

Thanks, CNY, and here's to the big time!

(This is also posted on {Speculations}. Because one blog just can't contain me, that's why).

when hope dies

Things are just getting started.

the best party in new york city

is with the monks.


Check out Catholic Underground (give it a minute...).

It's...well, righteous.

U.S. Continues to Make World Worse

The caption reads:

Comforting EmbraceAir Force Chief Master Seargent John Gebhardt, of the 332nd Expeditionary Medical Group at Balad, Iraq, cradles a young girl as they both sleep in the hospital. The girl’s entire family was executed by insurgents; the killers shot her in the head as well. The girl received treatment at the U.S. Military hospital in Balad, but cries and moans often. According to nurses at the facility, Gebhardt is the only one who can calm down the girl, so he has spent the last several nights holding her while they both sleep in a chair.

No, you won't find this in the NYT. Why not?

As the photo clearly indicates, George Bush's band of Cowboy Warriors continues to maraud and pillage the poor, bewildered people of Iraq who were much more content under the dictatorship of a mass murdering psychopath and international terror collaborator. Who wouldn't be?

All the good people of the world can do is wring their hands. And talk on CNN. And snort coke with $1000 call-girls (and boys) in their penthouses near 1st and 46th.

Thank you, Rocky, for the picture.