It’s been sorta push-push lately, so I think I’ll pause in Sabbath Mode until I restore both physical and cognitive abilities, and then it’s back to the grind.
“Why should I hasten to solve every riddle which life offers me? I am well assured that the Questioner, who brings me so many problems, will bring the answers also in due time. Very rich, very potent, very cheerful Giver that he is, he shall have it all his own way, for me.”
— Emerson
Five of us from Danville joined the morning bicycle ride (Frankfort to Versailles to Midway and back) as part of the “Share the Road” activities in the state capital today. It started to rain as we hauled our bikes north and it was still raining at 8 am when we left the St. Clair Mall en masse. The weather proved to be a clear deterrent to participation. There were only about 25 of us who set out, and the wet pavement caused two guys to crash within the first five miles. Steve and I opted to turn around at Versailles and got in over 40 miles before arriving at the Capitol for the “Share the Road” Rally. Martin and the two Dans did the full loop through Midway, but missed the speakers as a result. Sadly, I have to say they didn’t miss much. It started to sprinkle when we climbed back into the city via McCracken Pike and the buzz was that the rally had been cancelled. Organizers made the decision to proceed when the rain let up, but the governor had already been called away to a greater priority. Although I had the personal opportunity to network with a “Who’s Who” of cycling advocates from around Kentucky, the rally fell short of my expectations, and there was no one who came before the microphone that could articulate the full significance of the shift in policy. I didn’t see a single TV camera. I wouldn’t call it a bomb, but to say the potential for a decent media event had fizzled would not be an eggageration. Nevertheless, it was an interesting ride through a quintessentially Bluegrass region, with the Woodford Reserve estate and some of the most famous thoroughbred farms in the world. The crumbling Castlerock and Old Taylor Distilleries along Glenn’s Creek were visually fascinating. I’ve never seen anything like them. Somebody could make a helluva creepy motion picture on those grounds. Loan Andrew half a million to make a movie on location there and he could take the indie scene by storm…
• The Prospector and his Medicine Woman spent most of the day as exhibitors during the Small Business Development Conference at Bluegrass Community & Technical College. Their display was pure “scrounge,” but still the best in the room. Some of the most valuable networking took place with fellow exhibitors.
“Don’t take yer eyes off ’em— Dey feelin’ paydirt in d’bones.”
. . . G B P . . .
The pro-cycling community action group I helped organize raised its profile with a front-page story in Danville’s Advocate Messenger. In the print edition they used a quotation box with my cropped face. Dana thinks the expression looks “sour.” It wasn’t something over which I had much control, but I probably need to learn to smile more.
Most of what’s happening to make Kentucky more bicycle friendly is gaining momentum in the major metropolitan areas. It’s driven by municipal leaders and professional coordinators. That’s not true elsewhere in the state, and there needs to be a mechanism for harnessing the enthusiasm of local volunteers to promote shared byways and stimulate the planning, funding, and creation of bikeways, bike lanes, and multi-use trails.
B.I.K.E. | Boyle County may prove to be an effective model for smaller population centers and rural counties, but first we need to achieve something significant here at home.
I can’t remember the last time I had a tri-sport day, and I think I really needed it. I fit in 22 laps during a noon swim and had a decent rhythm. The pedals I got from Brian M are finally on my bike, so I did a ride test out to the staging area of the annual TWINKIE run. This event is about pace rather than speed, and the winner is the individual or two-person team closest to a predicted time. No watches allowed. I was 20 seconds under my declared 10,000-meter time (good enough for third place in the men’s division). With an emphasis on cycling, my swimming and running have suffered a bit this month, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. My stamina held up, but now I’m ready to hit the pillow.
There are times when only one solution to an intractable problem is feasible—dare to redefine the dilemma entirely.
If one no longer finds merit in reaching the ocean floor, one would hardly require a submarine. Perhaps a sailboat is more than adequate, and the same body of water is crossed with unforseen tranquility.
Well, at least I’m not orbiting the planet, trying to reboot the operating system in pitch blackness so I won’t die…
Such a full yesterday resulted in a slow start today. Nic stopped by with a (god)Father’s Day gift—a bright orange Auburn University College of Veterinary Medicine t-shirt.
I had high hopes that by this evening I could achieve a breakthrough and get past my computer woes, but no luck so far. I can understand hurdles when trying to do something complicated, but failure after failure when trying to do the simplest kinds of setup installations has me totally confounded.
I’ll keep trying…
Rotary Club was unusually interesting today. I was called upon to make an spontaneous appeal in support of The Salvation Army Summer Camp program. Then we heard from a hometown gal who’s taking Pioneer Playhouse by storm this summer, and that got me thinking about my young chum Andrew. Holly Henson, daughter of the Playhouse founder, gave her pitch about next year’s Raintree County 50th Anniversary Festival. She made us realize that in 1956, it was the most expensive domestic motion picture ever made, and that 40% of it was shot in and around Danville/Boyle County. She made what I thought was an amusing remark— “What if 50 years later everyone had forgotten that the movie Titanic was filmed at Herrington Lake?” Later in the afternoon, I had coffee with a rookie staff writer for the local newspaper to promote the “Share the Road Rally” in Frankfort next Saturday. I’m also in the process of raising the profile of the bicycling advocacy group that a few of us local cyclists have organized this year. We have some lofty goals, and decided it was time to “go public.” We’re committed to a long-term effort and agree it’s too late to put on the brakes now. We’ll press on and see what happens. After that, Dana and I cruised to Lexington for the Gallery Hop, grabbed dinner and a glass of wine at Alfalfa’s downtown eatery, and settled in for an Altman picture at the State Theatre. What a day!
Computer problems. Bah! Humbug!
Who built this kingdom of Babel?
I don’t have the developer’s disposition. For them, every glitch, bug, or snafu is a stimulus to enthusiasm, something new and challenging to solve. If I were the Maytag repairman, I’d be content to daydream my way through each blissful day.
“For every improvement there’s a commensurate level of frustration and confusion… With our intellectual assets more and more dependent on the Web, on networked computers, we seem as vulnerable as ever. Call this a pragmatist’s view of progress: All things change but our life experience remains essentially the same; everywhere there are new problems.”
Dale Dougherty wrote that in 1998, and it remains as true as ever.
Dana and I spent some time this afternoon having coffee with Beth, a good friend of my sister. She just finished writing a book and was celebrating with a big piece of chocolate cake when we arrived. I don’t know Beth that well, but sometimes you don’t need to know a person that well to realize she or he is observant, thoughtful, compassionate, and imaginative. It was nice to have such a respectful listener—someone sincerely interested in what we’ve learned from life’s experiences.
It’s refreshing to have a good conversation with a creative individual who can open herself to huge ideas and still be totally grounded in reality at the same time.
I hope I get to talk to her again.
Spent most of the day reconfiguring computer setups in the studio, and it was not fun…
So we took Marty to see “Cars,” and it was FUN!
The people at Pixar must know how to have fun with computers. Why haven’t I figured it out yet?
Let’s just give all our money to Pixar and get it over with. Somebody has to take over the world and it might as well be them instead of Wal-Mart or Microsoft.
— Sunday was a day to shrug off the crazed Prospector (you should’ve seen him mining for diamonds last night) and just absorb the world-class sounds of the Band Festival before the musicians took their final bows.
— I often hear people say that the event “isn’t my kind of music.” I wonder how much of a Festival weekend they’ve actually experienced firsthand. Yesterday afternoon was a good example of how diverse the tunes can be—jazz, rock, motion picture soundtracks, patriotic marches, worship music, pop, classical—nobody would be out of luck except for a few die-hard country, hip-hop, or church organ fans. Over the weekend I heard bagpipes, a xylophone, a melodica, all types of percussion, plus a synthetically enhanced electric tuba, but primarily loads and loads of brass virtuosity. I honestly believe there’s no place on earth one can go to hear many of the world’s most skilled brass artists play for free, except for Danville, Kentucky during a couple days every June. Now, I suppose if you simply don’t care for people blowing horns, this event is not your cup of tea. To each his own, but one ought not to make assumptions. That’s like saying “I’ve never been to The Smithsonian or the National Gallery, but museums aren’t my thing.”
— I really shouldn’t go on. Everyone has their unique preferences when it comes to entertainment. I just happen to like James Clavell novels, Triple Crown horse races, vintage Chuck Heston movies, the Tour de France, watching old TV shows from the 60s, swimming in cold lakes, looking for pirates at plastic toy conventions, and sitting in front an outdoor stage at Centre College once a year. It’s just me. I never know what particular pieces of music will stir my emotions at the Brass Band Festival. This year it was Jens Lindemann playing Leroy Anderson’s “A Trumpeter’s Lullaby” in public for the first time in his career, or Randy Edelman’s haunting “Reunion And Finale” from the film “Gettysburg” and remembering the searing performance of Jeff Daniels, or hearing a Rhythm & Brass interpretation of Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of Moon” creatively fused with songs from “The Wizard of Oz.” We must all seek out these types of individual pleasures for a balanced spirit, or bring less of ourselves to the serious endeavors that life demands of us at other times.
It was our 17th Great American Brass Band Festival, and maybe the best yet for us. It will certainly be one of the most memorable.
— This year I composed the second poster in a commemorative series which will continue to highlight local artists, working closely with Phnomphone “Paul” Sirimongkhon, a popular painter in town. He’s a native of Laos and a graduate of Berea College. He works for Centre College as a graphic artist. I designed the souvenir pin and t-shirt with images derived from his featured artwork. The pin sold out halfway through the Festival, which has never happened before. The shirts, produced at the 10th Planet, sold well, too. (Oh yes… I found out that I’m to be the Featured Artist in 2007, so I get to play with myself—I mean, collaborate with myself.)
— We had a double table at last night’s picnic celebration, and our theme was a fitting tribute to South African guests Roger and Marcia Ingel, visiting from Durban. A maximum effort was made by all, including Janet and Jerome, and (sonofagun!) we earned the table competition’s “Best of Show.” I don’t think the picture does justice to how cool an impression it made, to tell the truth. Guess you had to be there. There were so many ingredients to the overall effect— the flowers, the place settings, the decorations, the food, the wardrobe, the signage. I created the graphics, and I hope it was an effective promotion for Dixon Design. In any case, although I was resistant at first to the idea of going all the way with our preparations, it turned out to be a lot of fun. I suppose we just love this aspect of the Festival as much as any.
• It looks like the GBP has temporarily usurped my persona, and he won’t release his hold until the studio situation has returned to normal (whatever that is). He chipped away with his hammer at the Gallery Hop (non-Stop) in downtown Danville last night. No opportunity was missed, commencing with the Band Festival sponsor reception, held at Central Kentucky Federal Savings Bank. As he earnestly panned for gold dust with a representative of the new aircraft brakes manufacturer in town, his Woman was across the lobby, working her Medicine with the executive’s wife.
With this kind of team effort, something is bound to give, wouldn’t you say?
Our friend Gruntled has a couple recent posts about one of my favorite movies of the year. Back in January, after I saw “The Squid and the Whale,” I made a personal pledge to avail myself of the great novels. I recently watched a lecture Tom Wolfe gave at Duke on my birthday (indispensable C-SPAN!), and his comments reinforced my conviction. As it turns out, I was already chest deep in Ralph Ellison’s “Invisible Man.” I finished it last night. The towering, soul-rattling masterpiece has shattered any vestigial reluctance I had for embracing major American fictional works.
Now I find myself dealing with a new state of indecision— What next?
“The mind that has conceived a plan of living must never lose sight of the chaos against which that pattern was conceived. That goes for societies as well as for individuals.”
— from Invisible Man
Leading al-Qaida militant Abu Musab al-Zarqawi was wanted: dead or alive.
He wasn’t the type to be taken alive, nor did U.S. manhunters seem to prefer it that way.
OK. He’s dead.
Now hang Saddam and give the Iraqis a fighting chance to get their nation on its feet.
There’s a particular stairwell connecting the upper and lower levels of the fitness center at Centre College that has a smell which takes me back to the old McKinley School, where I attended fourth, fifth, and sixth grades. You know what I mean; it’s one of those odor-triggered responses that has deep emotional characteristics. For me, it evokes the final years of pre-adolescence in my first hometown of West Milton, before our family moved to Tipp City, and the resulting psychological disorientation that came with being “the new kid,” just as puberty struck with a vengeance. I was twelve. It wasn’t an easy transition. Life deals many different kinds, of course. On a scale of ten it doesn’t come close to what others in my Clan have endured. I just happened to lose my best friends at the diciest time in a young man’s coming of age. In some unexplainable way I also lost my original identity. Honestly, I still have no idea how it actually affected my personality and my relationship to others. I just know it did, and that’s all that probably needs to be said about it. Fortunately, the summer of our disruption was fashioned into
an adventure of memorable proportions, with our transitional accommodations in the upstairs apartment of a downtown building perched ridiculously close to the major rail line. It must have been inexpensive, and only a boy could have loved it, although I understood how absurdly small it was for a nine-member family. We survived a hot summer without air conditioning by spending most of our time at the pool. It left me with a lifelong attachment to swimming, the most sensual of fitness activities, and further solidified a bond of five brothers, thrown more tightly together with our sudden isolation. I remember the day Mombo gave me hell because I walked three-year-old Jay to our developing home-site two miles out of town, indicating the age gap of the Brothers Dixon in those days. Side-by-side, we navigated a mutually unfamiliar universe of lifeguards, construction workers, shopkeepers, and strange neighbors. Thank God for the summer of ’64. As cohorts in adaptation, we had to make it uniquely our own world, and perhaps, to some degree, it also prepared me for the arrival of September, the end of childhood, and a school with new and different smells…
I made mention last month that we’d watched “Out of Africa,” but didn’t say that it was primarily to conduct thematic research in preparation for this coming Saturday night. I admit it. I love The Great American Brass Band Festival. We moved to Kentucky the summer it began, and June in Danville has always been about the Festival for us. Nevertheless, I’m not a big fan of trying to orchestrate a picnic table concept, as much as I thrill to the atmosphere on Saturday night. There’s nothing like being close to the stage during what’s clearly the high point of the weekend, but all the preparations and distractions of making the table into a spectacle has never seemed to be worth the bother. Having said that, I can report that Dana has me completely caught up in getting ready for our African repast, including designing graphics for the table sign, and I’m starting to get excited about how it’s coming together. We’re sharing our table with David and Lee and their guests from Durban, South Africa. The competitive juices are pumping. Look out. I’m gonna kick down every other table like Jesus on a bad day!
An Austrian farmer severed his own hand with a log splitter, but kept his cool. This is not how you want to get your fifteen minutes of fame.
My brother Jerome and his wife Janet stopped by today after attending a local picnic for parents with adopted children from other countries. They’re moving ahead with plans to acquire one or two babies from Central America. I think most of my family knew they were considering this, but I just recently found out. I’m very happy for both of them. Dana and I thought seriously about the same course of action when we first came to Danville, but we lost the drive to follow through with it after Marty was born and we became grandparents. Things tend to work out the way they’re supposed to…
