Love one another

December 27th, 2005

I generally don’t pay much attention to the calendar that honors the saints, but I always take special note of the “feast day” that falls on this date. This holy person, familiar to all Christians, is referred to as “John the Apostle” or “John the Evangelist,” but I know him as “John the Beloved.” The only one of the Twelve to endure his Master’s passion until the end, the well-being of the Blessed Mother was entrusted to his guardianship, and, perhaps less obvious, Jesus also committed his mother to caring for John as her son (John 19:27). How singular his role! The Father would preserve his life to an advanced age after all the other Apostles were long slain.

Why do I regard John so highly? Yes, my name is John and have held this attachment since childhood, plus I’ve always taken pleasure in the Easter moment when John wins the footrace to the tomb against Peter. I also like how he comes to our attention as a seeker, transferring his interest (with Andrew!) from the Baptist (another John) to Jesus—hey, gimme a break, I’m named after two guys who weren’t against going where the path took them. But I know myself well enough to see that it’s the sacred personality of John that holds deep spiritual appeal for me. His fundamental message of love is more powerful than intellectual arguments, and he influences my conviction that love in action may be the only true religion. He was also the strongest—before the Holy Spirt came into the picture.

There are times when I think that there are two kinds of Christians, those that say to themselves, “I’d have been scared, too, and stayed away,” and those who say to themselves, “I’d have stayed with Jesus and let the chips fall.” For those of us who believe we might have had the courage to stand there and watch, the “disciple whom Jesus loved” is our saint. But I’m a man, and must now remind myself that Mary Magdalene also kept the vigil with Mother Mary. And then there are times when I think that this notion is flawed, for, as Robert Benchley wrote, “There are two kinds of people in the world: those who divide the world into two kinds of people, and those who don’t.”

But you can still pray for me if you’d like to

December 26th, 2005

If my offhand remarks about the Catholic Church were imprudent or disrespectful, I apologize. It was not my desire to cause distress to anybody, especially at Christmas. No one who knows me should fret for one second about my spiritual well-being. My faith is deep and integral to every important thing in my life, but my prayerful relationship with the Creator has little to do with traditional religion, and I came to that realization nearly twenty-five years ago. Nothing essential in my daily activity is disconnected from the heart of Christ. I have no disunity with those who equate the presence of God in their lives with a loyalty to the church of their choice or upbringing, but it’s not my personal path. I struggle with my own imperfections and unmet potential, and have no meaningful place in my life for adding to those personal challenges the travails of a flawed church structure. I would no sooner seek to improve my soul’s condition by limiting my sacred practice to the beliefs of a single religious institution than I would try to become a better swimmer by wearing my street clothes and shoes into the pool every week.

Christmas musings

December 25th, 2005

• Nobody can recite the Holy Bible like Charlton Heston, and I do mean nobody. Christmas morning isn’t set until I watch his performance of the Nativity verses, filmed at the ruins of a Roman amphitheater. Sometimes I just want to shut my eyes and listen to the masterful shift of his voice characterization from Angel to Blessed Virgin to Shepherd to Magi to the 12-year-old Jesus in the temple doing “my father’s business.” And I always enjoy how he portrays the angel telling Joseph that Herod “is dead,” almost as if the heavenly being takes grim satisfaction in the opportune demise.

• My TV-Show Fantasy Wish List for Santa: I want a sprawling hacienda like Big John Cannon’s, on a ranch like The Yellow Rose, with a horse just like Jason McCord’s, and a fully stocked pull-down gun panel like the one James West had. When I need to be in the city, I’d like a Robin Masters Ferrari so I can commute to my urban pad, just like the apartment Jim Phelps lived in, with a big John Gnagy studio attached, plus a closet with an Alexander Mundy wardrobe. I suppose that’ll do for this year, Santa, unless you want to toss in a hovercraft, custom-built by Benton Quest. I’ve been really, really nice.

• I don’t know how long ago the “Oyster-Stew Eve” tradition began, but now it wouldn’t be Christmas for me without it. We gathered once again last night at Mombo’s, and it was a full house with all the Hellyers in attendance. Bubb played the temperamental stew chef, but his main course was superb as usual. I could have done without the bizarre homily that gushed on about everyone’s favorite computer racketeer earning his media sainthood. Oh well, there’s got to be a reason church hierarchs would exile a pastor to the boondocks of rural Kentucky. After what I’ve learned about the downfall of the precious parish in Richmond, nothing is going to surprise me about the bewildering judgments of those running an institutional religion that long ago lost its way. Give me a simple family Christmas Eve, with loving hugs, wall-to-wall cousins, Yorkies under foot, Jaybon’s vino, mud room goodbyes, and the lasting brilliance of a Dadbo who combined the sleep-inducing benefits of warm milk for the kiddoes, with a dose of aphrodisiac for Mr. and Mrs. Claus.

It was some blonde… I don’t know who she is

December 24th, 2005

I laugh to myself every time I think about it, and I’m not sure if I should, or whether a bit of angst is the more logical response—as if angst ever had a thing to do with logic. When I was finishing my last stint as a 2005 Red Kettle bell ringer, Jeanne saw me at the Wal-Mart grocery entrance. She told me she was thinking of Grandy-bo because I was wearing the Hudson Bay coat that originally belonged to William Breidenbach, and she remembered that Dadbo wore it for a few years after Dana gave it to him. She didn’t realize it was me at first. We were having a sweet brother-sister moment when my Rotarian replacement arrived, a lady who’s a top employee at one of our client businesses. Jeanne put her arms around me and gave me a kiss. I said, “See you tomorrow night.” It wasn’t until later that I recalled the odd look on the woman’s face when I handed her the bell and wished her a Merry Christmas…

So tender and mild

December 23rd, 2005

I sent out the rest of this year’s Christmas cards, which use a small block print that I call “Holy Infant.” Technically, I guess it would be considered a wood engraving, since it was cut on the endgrain, but it seems far too primitive for that description, since I used a tool more suited to a woodcut (sidegrain), the piece of wood itself left a lot to be desired (from a quality standpoint), and the actual printing process was a crude affair using old stamp-pad ink. Nevertheless, the rustic effect pleased me, and it was just a limited experiment anyway. It just heightens my desire to do some proper printmaking, using a true engraver’s tool, with one of the good maple blocks I bought over a year ago from Wesley Bates.

Check out Chicago’s proposed Fordham Spire

December 22nd, 2005

I rang the bell tonight during the last kettle hour at Wal-Mart, and I think it was the heaviest kettle I’ve ever held. I hope we make our $60,000 goal by Saturday. Marty showed up and came with me to our house for the night. After supper, he turned me on to a cool Website, if you like skyscrapers (and who doesn’t?).

Don’t ask me, wait and see

December 21st, 2005

After spending a night in critical care, Bruce is being released to a regular room. They replaced tube lines that were the likely source of infection. Aside from the pain associated with that procedure, he seems to be doing well, and all his test results look good.

Dr. Tam — Paging Dr. Simon Tam

December 20th, 2005

With less than a week ’til Christmas, it’s not happy news to find out that Bruce is being admitted back into Methodist Hospital tonight. He started to run a fever after Dana left this weekend, and his temperature climbed above 103 degrees by the end of his dialysis treatment today. Something undesirable is clearly working again on the inside, so it’s best they get to the bottom of it promptly.

Tales of the Graybeard Prospector V

December 19th, 2005

•   Sometimes it takes awhile for a prospecting effort to result in a strike. I can’t remember exactly when the Dixon Family Reunion was held at the Blue Bank Farm (May 2004?), but by the time it was over, my cousin Joe and I had made the first step toward exploring a working relationship. He runs a company in Virginia and was looking to support his sales and corporate identity objectives with a higher level of visual design. We continued to talk, and when Bruce was in the hospital last spring, Joe even stopped there once to make a connection. Yesterday we talked again and I knew it was the moment to close the sale. I think he knew it, too. I’m excited about what 2006 holds in store, and this is one more good reason.

Thar’s gold in them thar hills!

graybeard prospector

Tales of the Graybeard Prospector IV

December 18th, 2005

•   One of best things to come from my going to the local GOP holiday reception was the opportunity to talk my friend Ken B, who got a fairly high political appointment with the Kentucky State Resort Parks at the beginning of Governor Fletcher’s term. The timing seemed right to raise the issue of how we might present our studio qualifications to the Department of Parks, since we’d just won our third “Traverse Award” from the Kentucky Tourism Council.

Ken offered to hand deliver some examples of our work to the proper person and open the door so we could make the case for using Dixon Design. It will be up to us to go through the standard review process for becoming a resource to state government, and that’s the way it should be. We may not have worked for the Commonwealth before, but we’ve been honored at the state level more that once for our brochure design, so I’m ready to throw my hat into the ring.

graybeard prospector

Clean and shiny

December 17th, 2005

Day started out great when I got tricked into an eight-miler, even though my head meter was stuck on six. By the time I got home, I was psyched to make some art, and then I found out the good news—Dana had just blown town and would be back to Danville by evening, which means Bruce has improved enough to say “Go home, Mom.” Better tidy up the kitchen!

I don’t care, I’m still free

December 16th, 2005

In the past 40 years, the very best broadcast television series—with the notable exceptions of Mission: Impossible and Seinfeld—have all been Western hybrids:

The Wild Wild West (western/espionage)
Kung Fu (western/martial arts)
The Yellow Rose (western/soap)
Ned Blessing: The Story of My Life and Times (western/literary)
The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr. (western/fantasy)

And now, wholeheartedly, I can add another to my list—
Firefly (western/science fiction)

Well, to be accurate, perhaps not the very best from an objective standpoint, but my top favorites. You have to keep in mind that I have unusual tube tastes, and I’ve also never had premium cable channels like HBO, so I’ve yet to see an episode of The Sopranos, wasn’t able to follow the anthology series Dead Man’s Gun, or have had an opportunity to watch the currently running, critically acclaimed Deadwood.

Lonesome Dove might be the best evidence that the viewing public will always respond to a well-made, well-marketed Western (but that was just a mini-series, and made over 15 years ago, now that I think about it). It’s possible that the 20-year drumbeat of Gunsmoke scripts (better add Bonanza to that) sucked the life out of the genre for the mass audience, forcing it to mutate to survive. In that sense, the Western has never gone away, but diversified for niche audiences. The problem is that television, even in the age of cable/satellite channels and the explosion of niche marketing in just about every other realm of business, still hasn’t learned how to reap success with smaller segments of loyal consumers of entertainment. Notice how many of my favorite shows were cancelled prematurely, if not in a preposterously capricious manner.

This should finally change forever with the maturity of the Internet.

I hope I live long enough to watch Con-Geeki, that really good Frontier Polynesian Interstellar Grifter Comedy I’ve always longed for.

Multi-Mate Marriage

December 15th, 2005

It looks like this is polygamy week at Gruntled Center.

Not interested?

Trust me—when Beau Weston zeroes in on something, it’s nothing else but damn interesting.

Magic Island

December 14th, 2005

I saw Joan’s mention of Aunt Carol’s game.

Beverages included? What about spices?

Ok, ok…

If I spend any more time, I’ll just keep fiddling around with them, so here are my picks—

Corn, tomatoes, spinach, almonds, eggs, cheese, avocados, vanilla ice cream, strawberries, and raspberries.

And we get to share, right?

How about if we add to the game?

I wasn’t there at the genesis, but what if we discovered a chest on Magic Island containing three books—a Holy Bible, the Complete Works of William Shakespeare, and Webster’s Dictionary of the English Language (unabridged)—and each of us could pick three additional books, which the chest would produce for our group library. There would be no other books on Magic Island—for the rest of our lives.

What three volumes would you choose?

Here are my selections—

The I Ching (or Book of Changes), The Odyssey of Homer, and James Clavell’s SHÕGUN.

When faced with picking books with pictures or books with words, I chose words. When faced with making more universal choices or being selfish, I decided to be selfish.

What about you?

Would you pick a how-to book, a cookbook (not a bad idea), or a collection of reproductions? Literature? What about a book with blank pages—no other books on Magic Island means just that—or a work you’d want the other inhabitants to read?

Nobody knows how long the chest’s magic will last.

Hurry, but choose wisely…

In the Blue Light of African Dreams

December 13th, 2005

This Paul Watkins novel simmered until page 256 and then boiled over inside me without warning.

How did he do that? It makes me want to wolf down the remaining 54 pages in one sitting, but I’m not sure I’m ready to release these characters just yet.

This is the third novel he wrote—at age 26. Third person rather than first, it has a slightly more unsettling tone than “The Forger,” but no less cinematic (even more so I’d say), and yet it’s clear the same creative force is present in this earlier work. Although perhaps a bit more eager to entertain at this stage, he applies a youthful energy to his story in a remarkably economical manner.

And the nominees are

December 12th, 2005

Dana made the trip back to Indiana today so she could help Bruce get acclimated at home again, hoping there’s truth in the old saying, “third time’s a charm.” Uncertainties about the security of his pain medications required her to personally sign and take responsibility for the powerful drugs, but I won’t be going into all that here. Suffice it to say—the long saga continues in Hoosierland, and this woman deserves to receive the 2005 “Mother of the Year” award.

Bust out

December 11th, 2005

After yesterday’s cancelled release, I wasn’t sure how long it would be, but Bruce learned from his doctors today that he gets to go home tomorrow. They’ve stopped all antibiotics, so this will be an important opportunity for his own bodily defenses to kick back in. He’ll undoubtedly have a few ups and downs—par for the course with dialysis. Nevertheless, I think his home care is really going to stick this time around.

:::: “Thank you. Merry Christmas. God bless you.” :::

December 10th, 2005

I’m tired. It was a long day that started out with Dana preparing to drive to Indianapolis, but I found out after I’d been in Liberty for a while that it was a false alarm, and Bruce wasn’t really going to be released, because his blood pressure had dropped too low during dialysis. I spent a lot of time on my feet in the cold ringing the bell for the “no shows,” but it was nice to see members of the Clan, and the red kettles felt heavy at the end of the day (especially the Pamida one), and I also had a good conversation with Kyle Durham, Seth’s mentor, after we’d shut down our Saturday operation for another week.

A handsome graph

December 9th, 2005

Have you recently looked at a five-year gold chart?

For those of us who’ve been along for the ride, the question is whether to take some profits now or stay the course. And if you do sell, whether to park or buy something else. And if you do buy, what kind of investment will go up rather than down.

Are we in the midst of a long bull market or the tail end of a trend?

Everybody knows the answer. Nobody knows the answer.

Various & Sundry, part twenty-nine

December 8th, 2005

— At tonight’s local GOP Christmas reception, several Republican heavy hitters put on a full-court press, trying to convince me to run for public office in 2006. It’s nice to know I’m on the short list, but the timing couldn’t be worse.

— While we’re on the subject of politics, I was happy to learn that Seth was elected Governor for the 2006 session of the Kentucky Youth Assembly (YMCA). Couldn’t have happened to a better man. Congratulations!

— I surprised myself at the pool today, coming within a second of my 50-yard PR. I haven’t even been practicing my sprints lately, so I don’t know what to make of it.

— Just had to hit the chuck wagon for second helpings, watching the “Firefly” pilot again to catch things I missed on the first viewing. I realize now that I was totally hooked by the time Kaylee got shot and willingly chomped down hard on the barb when I saw Zoe with her “mare’s leg.” I guess Joss Whedon has my number, and Brendan was the first to know it!

— Although I’ve never included John Lennon on my list of personal heroes, when I look back on his art, cultural innovations, and powerful position as a generational role model, I have to consider that he probably had a more profound influence on my life than I’d care to admit. 25 years?

Bruce is dealing with some post-op pain, but says he’s feeling better every day. They took out the “rubber band drain” in his back, another good indication of progress. I hope he improves enough to be settled back in his home by Christmas.

V & S

Careful how you answer, son… I’m a might twitchy

December 7th, 2005

We watched the “Firefly” pilot last night. This is from the box that Brendan loaned to us, and I want him to kindly tell me this is not the only group of available episodes.

There’s got to be more than this one little packet.

Please, please tell me there are more…

It’s a grand slam

December 6th, 2005

Dana and I decided to just go all the way with a “biopic grand slam,” and so we borrowed “Ray” from the library. Every so often I watch an Oscar-winner at work (Nicolas Cage in “Leaving Las Vegas” comes to mind) and I think, “Is this truly a performance that deserved an Academy Award?” This was definitely not one of those times. I’ll leave it to others more gifted than me to characterize Jamie Foxx’s phenomenal achievement.

As far as the movie goes, it makes “Beyond the Sea” look anemic by comparison—the difference between an obvious indie project and a big commercial picture with the highest production values. “Ray” is one of the best sounding Hollywood products in recent memory. The sound mixers deserved their awards every bit as much as the lead actor. Superbly directed, designed, and edited, the film is a technical masterpiece, but was it a better picture than “Million Dollar Baby?” No—because Clint delivers the full package that your heart is yearning for when you choose a movie like this. “Ray” has its moments—quite a few, and they’re exceptional—but failed to sustain a deep emotional connection for me. I cared more about whether Johnny Cash overcame his addiction in “Walk the Line,” and I really don’t think it was a function of who Ray Charles was or how good a job Jamie Foxx did.

I’ll continue to contemplate the similarities and contrasts of the four musical biographies I’ve discussed in my last two entries, and why one or another excelled in a particular area. In any case, each one of them is well worth the time, but now I plan to accept a couple new assignments in the spare-time department—the complete “Firefly” collection plus an early Paul Watkins novel…