Spreading the Word

If I can motivate just a few people to track down the July 8 issue of The Atlantic and read The End of Reading Is Here, I'll consider today a success. 

On my re-read of this astonishing feat of long form journalism, I was so overcome emotionally I knew what the subject of my next reflection would be. What essay - no matter its length - has ever had a similar effect on you, i.e., you felt a duty to spread the word, using whatever means was available to you?  

My initial attempt spreading the word came about a week ago, not long after first reading the piece. I scoured my e-mail contact list, looking for anyone with whom I'd ever discussed a book - any book, anytime. I don't recall the last time I sent an e-mail to more than a few people at once, let alone one with a lengthy attachment. The responses I've received to that e-mail have been uniformly affirming. However, numerous attempts to attach this remarkable essay here have been a bust; such is my technological ineptitude. Consequently, you're on your own. I sincerely hope my entreaty works. Disturbing as it can sometimes be, I'm sure you'll find tracking down this extraordinary article worth the effort. 

And Rose Horowitch is a name I've committed to memory. According to her essay she "...was born shortly after the dot-com bubble burst and entered first grade around the time the iPhone was released." I plan to read anything I can find written by this young woman almost half a century younger than me. Though it's improbable our paths will ever cross other than via the cherished written word, she is a soulmate. Kudos, Rose.             

American Rust

"I don't know what I think about something until I write about it."  - Joan Didion 

Although I knew Philipp Meyer's American Rust (2009) was a winner from its first page, it wasn't until I began writing my book journal entry that I was struck anew by Joan Didion's wisdom. The more I wrote, the deeper my admiration for this elegiac novel grew. Has this happened to you, i.e., you realized your thinking was getting clearer as you wrote about an experience?

I cannot readily recall the last debut novel I read that knocked me out as much as American Rust. The plot is straightforward; Meyer's approach is innovative and thrilling. His chapters effortlessly toggle between the point of view of six fully realized key characters. For me, the chapters featuring the precocious chatter inside the head of twenty-year-old Isaac English - on a quest to escape the dying steel town in Pennsylvania where he grew up - were among the strongest in the book.

"You borrowed from the planet, which borrowed from the universe. A short-term loan at best. In the eyeblink of a planet, you were born, died, and your bones disintegrated."

"It's just what we do. What has it gotten us, our difference from animals? Better rifles and antibiotics - they come together. Smart bombs and cancer surgery. Don't get one without the other; even our own nature keeps us in balance. Colonize Mars, it won't matter - babies and cheatin' hearts. Democracy and hemorrhoids. Preachers with syphilis."

I realize both those passages have a bleak edge. Avoid letting that put you off. This is literature of the highest order, well worth your time. American Rust will remain with you, long after most feel-good, happily-ever-after, every-bow-gets-tied-by-the-last-page book you've read has faded from memory.  

 

Today's Sweepstakes Winner

How routinely do you pay close attention to the amount of airtime you use when conversing with others? 

Having an honest and caring partner gives me a clear advantage in the conversational sweepstakes. When I've taken up more than my share of airtime, I can rely on her to subtly redirect a conversation, sometimes by asking a question of the glass-eyed person who's been listening to me ramble, other times via some unmistakable signal she makes to indicate I've gone on way too long.

OK, so maybe her re-directing is not always all that subtle. No matter; the end result is the same, i.e., I stop talking as much and begin listening better. And even if I'm defensive in the moment I'm being conversationally tuned up, I'm usually grateful later when re-playing my jabbering in my head. When I'm listening to someone who appears clueless about the amount of airtime they're using? Glad you asked. 

It was difficult to tune out a distinctly one-sided conversation going on directly behind me on a hike earlier today. After almost thirty minutes listening to what was essentially a monologue, a judgy, ungracious blog post began taking shape in the mind of judgy, ungracious Pat. Then, to my surprise, as the rest of my day unfolded, my clear advantage in the conversational sweepstakes kept returning to me.  Some twelve hours later, a less judgy and marginally more gracious post formed as I reflected on a few things. 

How fortunate am I having someone who loves me enough to assist me in improving this critically important skill? Isn't it unfortunate that some people have no such person in their life to assist them? Will I remember to ask myself these questions the next time I'm being tuned up or the next time I'm listening to someone using all the airtime?  Stay tuned. 

Words That Can Haunt Me: Opulence

opulence: wealth, riches, or affluence. 

Until looking up opulence in the dictionary, my brain had always associated the word with something far beyond what the average person - like me - might call wealth. In my head, opulence conjured mind-boggling riches, not just affluence.  

Such was my frame of mind back in March at the Royal Palace of Madrid. As our guide walked us through just a few of the 3,418 rooms, I flashed back to a tour I'd taken many years ago of the stables at Buckingham Palace. For me, these places of opulence can be awe-inspiring and distancing in nearly equal measure. On both occasions, I had to consciously remind myself that I was fortunate being able to visit and learn a little history. That conscious reminder was the counterpoint to the uncomfortable feeling in my stomach during both experiences. Where has your mind wandered when you've been exposed to this kind of unimaginable luxury?   

In the months since that tour of the Royal Palace, I've been reflecting on the discomfort in my gut and what it says about me. Is part of it perhaps connected to a wondering about how a life of staggering opulence might have shaped me? Would I have ever realized I'd been born on third base or would I have just reflexively assumed I'd hit a triple? Back to the Buckingham Palace stables for a moment. Was it churlish of me to wonder how anyone - monarch or otherwise - can think it's OK to have a stable for one horse that is both larger and more lavishly outfitted than the average home for six on London's east side? 

But wonder I did all those years ago. And so went my mind - and my stomach - back in March at the Royal Palace. I suppose that's a partial explanation why the word opulence can haunt me, despite my own relative affluence. I suspect at least a few folks reading this might be groaning at my existential angst by now. For those folks - and others inclined to be awestruck by manmade wonders (vs. this privileged blogger's overthinking) - directly below is the Wikipedia link for the Royal Palace. Enjoy.  

Royal Palace of Madrid - Wikipedia

Words for the Ages, Line Forty-One

"It's strange, what desire will make foolish people do." 

Can I hear an "Amen"?  Despite its simplicity, that terse phrase from Chris Isaak's Wicked Game (1989) captures a universal truth. And it stands on its own; no rhyming couplet is required. These are words for the ages, no matter how straightforward.

In fact, I would argue Isaak could have easily left out the word "foolish". Certainly, the things that desire drive us to do can be foolish. And the consequences of those things often make us look foolish indeed. But wouldn't you agree that even reasonable people do foolish things under desire's influence? How many people have you known who've had their life upended by desire? For just a minute, put aside the things those people did. What percentage of those people would you have described as foolish before their desire took over?

Perhaps Isaak's timeless lyric is directing us to chicken and egg land. That is, was the person who succumbed already foolish enough that desire was more easily able to do its work? Or was the desire a force so intense that even a reasonable person would succumb?

A Not-So-Simple Story of Simple Assault

Fifteen years ago today, I was arrested for the first - and I trust the last - time in my life. It was not the first time in my life I'd ever broken the law, the subject of perhaps another visit to the bell curve confessional booth in the future. But it was the first time I'd ever been caught. The charge? Simple assault. The story? Not as simple. 

My wife, our niece, and our niece's friend were sitting at the bagel shop located a block from our home, a place we'd patronized regularly since moving to our current home about eighteen months before. A man who we later learned was known to the local police approached the three of them and quietly but menacingly scolded the friend to "...get your filthy feet off the chair..." My wife was so astounded by this man's temerity and the racial animus she detected when he spoke to our niece's friend that all she could think to do was ask "What did you just say?" When he repeated himself with equal venom in his voice - but still so quietly that only the three of them could hear - my wife threw the little bit of coffee remaining in her cup at him. He said, "That's assault, I'm going to have you arrested!". She replied, "Go ahead and try!" then stormed out of the shop with our niece and her friend close behind.

Here's where hot-headed Pat takes the stage. I pull into the bagel shop parking lot and am not yet even in a space when I see my obviously frightened wife hurrying toward the sidewalk, our niece and friend on her heels, the sneaky coward right behind the three of them. My car still idling, I have barely a second to ask "What's going on?" before my wife has time through her fear and anger to say something to me like "That man just said something ugly and racial ..." I quickly reverted to a primal state. All I could think to say before shoving this bully to the ground was "How dare you!" or something equally innocuous. Would I have done the same had I known there were police officers sitting in the bagel shop witnessing my impulsive spectacle? Can't say for sure. But I do know a few things that happened next even if some details are fuzzy and it still remains unclear exactly when I realized that both my wife and I were being arrested.

Step one: Thrown to the ground and handcuffed. Read my rights? Don't recall. Step two: Taken in a squad car to the station. My wife was allowed to drive herself and be booked. Later: Fingerprinted and told the charges. Lots of unexposed film for much of the rest of this story. However, I'd been at this blogging thing for about six months when this all went down. Consequently, I do have one piece of irrefutable evidence about my state of mind the next day.  

As the first cryptic post below will show, on August 16, 2011, I was sure I was out of the blogging business. Given the disaster scenarios that had played out in my head over the previous twenty-four hours - following what I now call the $4,000 bagel fiasco - on August 16, continuing to blog seemed like a preposterously silly and frivolous pursuit. Obviously, my retirement from blogging ended up being as short-lived as the ones threatened many times by Ol' Blue Eyes, as the second post below (from September 1) will also show. Although it took me fifteen years to be ready to fully confess here that foolish act on August 15, I'm still uncertain what Pat - circa 2011 - thought he would prove pushing that cretin to the ground.

Reflections from the Bell Curve: That's All, Folks!

Reflections from the Bell Curve: He's Baaaack

Celebrate With Us

Early today, while preparing for tonight's discussion, I was temporarily sidetracked thinking about the celebration planned to mark the 100th book my club has read since our maiden voyage in January 2017. Tonight's book - #99 - was Tar Baby (1981) by Toni Morrison. As usual, it was a stimulating, enriching discussion. Book #100 - A Marriage at Sea (2024) by Sophie Elmhurst - will be discussed at our September meeting. Then, that celebration. 

Since realizing months ago that this milestone was approaching, I've been vibrating with excitement, thinking of ways to try to make the event memorable. But even if my planning goes awry, how bad can it be to commune for an evening with other bookworms about our shared adoration of literature? Five of the people who will be at the celebration - including my partner of 48+ years - have been in the club from its inception. (That book - in case you're keeping track - was Founding Brothers (2000) by Joseph Ellis.) The rest of the folks who may attend the event? Mostly hardcore bibliophiles. How cool will this be? 

Though I haven't kept close track (honest!) for the nine + years the club has overlapped with my blog, I'd estimate I've published at least twenty-five posts about books the club has either read or is about to read. After all, I only publish about books that have moved me, the same criteria used for putting a book in the queue for the club. Most recently? The two posts directly below highlight the selections for September & December. If reading these posts whets your appetite enough to read either or both of these winners - or even if you're just thinking about reading one or both - consider yourself an ex-officio member of the club. And celebrate with us from wherever you are.  

Reflections from the Bell Curve: Being Truly Tested

Reflections from the Bell Curve: The Bee Sting

My Rogue Scholar Tribe (Redux)

I didn't fully appreciate how much my fourteen Rogue Scholar travelling companions had brought to my life until recently as my wife and I finished a Shutterfly project commemorating our adventures together. Though mentioned on this blog several times since we all met in Alaska in 2015, considering the riches this community has bestowed on me, I cannot overdo the tributes paid to them here.

Soon after our 2024 reunion in Rocky Mountain National Park, the group decided a celebration of our years together was in order. Two of us worked on crafting several questions for everyone to respond to in writing. The responses were then compiled into a final document and distributed to all. (Sample question: How did our time together add value to your life?) It was in the re-reading of the responses to those questions - and deciding which select few to include as text in the Shutterfly project - that my appreciation for my soulmates grew even deeper. One celebration response included a mention of every person in the group - by name - and how that person had enriched the author during our years together. The time put into that one response alone reminded me - again - of how grateful I am to have made these Act Three friendships. As another person said in a different celebratory response - What a gift!

How do you celebrate the people in your life who have given gifts comparable to those my Rogue Scholar tribe has given me?