Que 2005 seja melhor!

É português.

2004 (by *L)

Persons Of The Year (U.S. Edition)

846 people who put their fate in the hands of their Commander-In-Chief had their lives taken from them this year in Iraq. Many of them no doubt answered a personal call to defend their country from terrorism after the events of September 11, 2001. Many of them no doubt had joined the military for benefit of a college education. Many no doubt joined for the purposes of gaining skills they could use later in life — a later that will never come.

According to CNN, 60,608,582 people felt that these lives were insignificant enough to re-elect the miserable failure, giving tacit (if not explicit) approval of what he has done to ruin the lives of so many people; that there is no room for diplomacy in the world.

Many of these people are were under twenty-five years of age; many of these people weren't even old enough to drink alcohol in their respective states.

Many of these people will never know the feeling of holding a newborn child — a moment that – at least for me – is the ultimate moment of recognizing what a miracle life is. (All names are current as of 31 December 2004, 9:20am.)

Nelson, Craig L.
Sanchez, Oscar
Briones Jr., Pablito Pena
Lehto, Jason A.
Nyren, Nathaniel J.
Olson, Todd D.
Rivera-Serrano, Jose A.
Barnett, Christopher W.
Hillenburg, Eric
Phillips, James R.
Smith, Raleigh C.
O'Dell, Robert D.
Poulin Sr., Lynn Robert
Mason, Nicholas C. "Nick"
Baldwin, Joel Egan
Melo, Julian S.
Petsche, Neil D.
Dostie, Thomas John
Ruhren, David A.
Karpowich, Paul D.
Hewitt, Cory Michael
Ayro, Lionel
Castro, Jonathan
Jacobsen Jr., William W.
Johnson, Robert S.
VanKomen, Darren D.
Meza, Barry K.
Farmer, Donald B.
Sweger, Franklin A.
Martinez, Victor A.
Anderson, Michael D.
Time, Tina Safaira
Warner, Richard D.
Vroman, Brent T.
Blanton, Jeffery S.
Blazer, Melvin L.
Lopez, Hilario F.
Clairday, Jason S.
Stewart, Ian W.
Kirk, Jeffrey L.
Dickinson, Joshua W.
Ramsey, Joshua A.
Rund, Gregory P.
Hoyt, Robert W.
Adlesperger, Christopher S.
Shields, Andrew C.
Leach, Patrick D.
Renehan, Kyle J.
Williams IV, Arthur C.
Kim, In C.
Stubenhofer, Mark N.
Gibbs, Todd Clayton
Trost III, Marvin Lee
Eggers, Kyle A.
Roodhouse, Edwin William
Ward, Andrew M.
Boatright, Michael L.
Gasiewicz, Cari Anne
Tuialuuluu, Salamo J.
Mitts, David A.
Behnke, Joseph O.
Mahlenbrock, David P.
Irizarry, Henry E.
Le, Binh N.
Wyatt, Matthew A.
Harrison, George Daniel
Fisher, David M.
Pena, Javier Obleas-Prado
Kolda, Zachary A.
Wilson, Bryan S.
Guereca Jr., Jose
Calderon, Pablo A.
Urbina, Wilfredo F.
Davis, Daryl A.
Hayes, Erik W.
Magaoay, Blake A.
Engeldrum, Christian P.
Brooks, Adam R.
Hanson Jr., Charles A.
Martinezluis, Trinidad R.
Shackelford, Michael B.
Lee, Carl W.
Benish, Stephen C.
Bosselmann, Kirk J.
Smith, Michael A.
Christensen, Jeremy E.
Lucero, Joshua E.
Grant, Brian K.
Meyer, Harrison J.
Winkler, Jordan D.
Faircloth, Bradley M.
Houck, David B.
Cantafio, Ryan J.
Holmes, Jeffery Scott
Marku, Gentian
Nolte, Nicholas S.
Diaz Varela, Sergio R.
Edinger, Benjamin C.
Ebert, Blain M.
Cohen, Michael R.
Roustum, David L.
Welke, Joseph T.
Bryant Jr., Jack
Heredia, Joseph J.
Downey, Michael A.
Gavriel, Dimitrios
West, Phillip G.
Arms, Bradley Thomas
Brown, Demarkus D.
Figueroa, Luis A.
Nolan, Joseph M.
Hanks, Michael Wayne
Flores-Mejia, Jose Ricardo
McConnell, Daniel James
Caddy, Marshall H.
Wullenwaber, Luke C.
Heflin, Christopher T.
Qualls, Louis W.
Hunt, Isaiah R.
Desiato, Travis R.
Parker, Bradley L.
Kielion, Shane E.
Ryan, Marc T.
Ailes, Jeramy A.
Peralta, Rafael
Swain, James E.
Rapicault, Patrick Marc M.
Smith, Antoine D.
Thompson, Lance M.
Miller, William L.
Ziolkowski, Nicholas L.
Perez, Andres H.
Burger Jr., Dale A.
Payton, George J.
Dima, Catalin D.
Dempsey, Kevin J.
Ellsworth, Justin M.
Norwood, Byron W.
Velez, Jose A.
Bryan, Benjamin S.
McLeese, Justin D.
Lu, Victor R.
Sims, Sean P.
Larsen, Cole W.
White, Raymond L.
Maher, Jarrod L.
Strader, Morgan W.
Anderson, Nathan R.
Prening, Brian P.
Iwan, Edward D.
Shields, Jonathan B.
Branning, David M.
Medina, Brian A.
Matteson, James C. "J.C."
Anderson, Nicholas H.
Bowling, Theodore A.
Holder II, Theodore S. "Sam"
Blecksmith, James P. "JP"
Burns, Kyle W.
Reppuhn, Justin D.
Giannopoulos, Peter J.
Huey, Sean P.
Doerflinger, Thomas K.
Woods, Julian
Malcom Jr., Dan T.
Hodges, Erick J.
Ramirez, Gene
Pickering, Aaron C.
Jimenez II, Romulo J.
Ottolini, Michael C.
Miller Jr., Dennis J.
Canning, Wesley J.
Moore, Horst Gerhard "Gary"
Auchman, Steven E.
Babbitt, Travis A.
Faulkenburg, Steven W.
Wells, Lonny D.
Segura, Juan E.
James, William C.
Larson, Nicholas D.
Wood, Nathan R.
Slay, Russell L.
Cornell, Todd R.
Trotter, John Byron
Caruso, David M.
Simpson, Abraham
Lam, Jeffrey
Palmer, Joshua D.
Freeman, Bryan L.
Hammond, Nathaniel T.
O'Donnell, Shane K.
Ramey, Branden P.
Ries, David G.
Wisdom, Clinton Lee
Clary, Don Allen
Warns II, Robert P.
Zapp, Thomas J.
Baker, Brian K.
Langley, Sean M.
Tran, Quoc Binh
Mcvey, Otie Joseph
Yoemans, Justin R.
Camacho-Rivera, Carlos M.
Wentz, Cody L.
Baro, Jeremiah A.
Hubbard, Jared P.
Webb, Charles Joseph
Lynch, Matthew D.
Bow, Jeremy D.
Scarborough, Michael P.
Fox, Travis A.
Lapka, Christopher J.
Byrd II, John T.
Riedel, Andrew G.
Courtney, Kelley L.
Lukac, John
Fortune, Maurice Keith
Battles Sr., Michael
Akintade, Segun Frederick
Downing II, Stephen P.
Lemon, Jerome
Oliveira, Brian
Slocum, Richard Patrick
Boles, Dennis J.
Gadsden, Jonathan E.
Bascom, Douglas E.
Ehrlich, Andrew C.
Johnson, Christopher B.
Brennan, William I.
Schramm, Brian K.
Burgess, Alan J.
Salazar, William I.
Santos, Jonathan J.
Owen, Michael G.
Hawkins II, Omer T.
Beard, Bradley S.
Barbret, Mark A.
Vandertulip, Josiah H.
Waters, David L.
Moreno, Jaime
Regnier, Jeremy F.
Phelan, Mark P.
Soltes Jr., Charles R.
Felsberg, Paul M.
Gonzalez, Victor A.
Baker, Ronald W.
Martinez, Oscar A.
Zook, Ian T.
Merville, Christopher A.
Wyatt, Daniel R.
Pintor, Dennis L.
Weger, Michael S.
Osbourne, Pamela G.
Monroe, Anthony W.
Burbank, Michael Lee
Rusin, Aaron J.
Ramsey, Carson J.
Prevete, James E.
Halverson, Andrew
Voss, Michael S.
Brown, Andrew W.
Jacobs, Morgen N.
Cawvey, Jessica L.
Kim, Jeungjin Na "Nikky"
Morgan Jr., Richard L.
Potts, Christopher S.
Collier, Russell L.
Pettaway Jr., James L.
Uvanni, Michael A.
Hennessy, Jack Taft
Jones, Rodney A.
Cunningham, Darren J.
Nolan, Allen
Titcomb, Joshua K.
Dennie, Mike A.
Prewitt, Tyler D.
Cox, Gregory A.
Villanueva, Joselito O.
Sickels, Kenneth L.
Allton, Eric L.
Johnson, David W.
Moxley Jr., Clifford L.
Unruh, Robert Oliver
Boyles, Aaron
Mateo, Ramon
Folmar, Timothy
Leduc, Ryan
Koenig, Lance J.
Harris, Adam J.
Soram, Skipper
Smith, Benjamin K.
Stahl, Nathan E.
Henry, Joshua J.
Cates, Steven C. T.
Harrington, Foster L.
Adams, Brandon E.
Rosenbaum, Thomas Chad
Price, James W.
Ebert, Christopher S.
Stern, Andrew K.
Rintamaki, Steven A.
Uhles, Drew M.
Howman, Gregory C.
Demand, Jacob H.
Shea, Kevin M.
Brown, Tyler Hall
Isenberg, Benjamin W.
Weisenburg, David J.
Machado-Olmos, Cesar F.
Halal, Michael J.
Brown, Dominic C.
Hagy Jr., Guy Stanley
Thomas, Carl
Puckett, Mathew D.
Soltau, Adrian V.
Meluat, Jaygee Ngirmidol
Wetherbee, Alexander E.
Poindexter, Jason T.
Cedergren, David A.
Daclan Jr., Edgar P.
DeLeon Jr., Lauro G.
Faulkner, James Daniel
Martinez, Michael A.
Sparks, Jason L.
Adams III, Clarence
Aneiros, Yoe M.
Price, Timothy E.
Drake, Chad H.
Allred, Michael J.
Burridge, David Paul
Gardner, Derek L.
Keith, Quinn A.
McCarthy, Joseph C.
Nygardbekowsky, Mick R.
Wilson, Lamont N.
Read, Brandon Michael
Bourdon, Elvis
Garces, Tomas
Boria, John J.
Grella, Devin J.
Morrison, Shawna M.
Lamb, Charles R.
Vaillant, Gary A.
McCauley, Ryan Michael
Knott, Eric L.
Perez, Nicholas
Rowe, Alan
Winchester, Ronald
Wilt, Nicholas
Thibodeaux III, Joseph C.
Holleyman, Aaron N.
Anderson Jr., Carl L.
Lopez, Edgar E.
Perez, Luis A.
Razani, Omead H.
Aldrich, Nickalous N.
Humlhanz, Barton R.
Skinner, Nicholas M.
Arredondo, Alexander S.
Neeley, Charles L.
Ross, Marco D.
Davis, Donald N.
Lugo, Jacob R.
Thornton Jr., Robert C.
Stovall, Matthew R.
Belchik, Christopher
Cuming, Kevin A.
Alvarez, Nicanor
Cook, Jason
Huston, Seth
Washalanta, Nachez
Reeder, Edward T.
Wilkins III, Charles L.
Martin, Ryan A.
McCormick, Brad Preston
Risner, Henry C.
Parkerson III, Harvey Emmett
Fitzgerald, Dustin R.
Martir, Jacob D.
Lord, Richard M.
Powers, Caleb J.
Titus, Brandon T.
Heath, David M.
Sapp, Brandon R.
Zapata, Mark Anthony
Goins, James Michael
Shepherd, Daniel Michael
Hannon, Fernando B.
Perez, Geoffrey
Funke, Kane M.
Morrison, Nicholas B.
Santoriello, Neil Anthony
Tarlavsky, Michael Yury
Howard, John R.
Hubbard, Tavon L.
Houghton, Andrew R.
Collins, Jonathan W.
Ulbright, Rick A.
Potter, David L.
Wells, Larry L.
Abad, Roberto
Bunch, Joshua I.
Faulstich Jr., Raymond J.
Rocha, Moses Daniel
Reynoso, Yadir G.
McCune, Donald R.
Fontecchio, Elia P.
Nice, Joseph L.
Shondee Jr., Harry N.
Ratzlaff, Gregory A.
Gray, Tommy L.
Onwordi, Justin B.
Calderon Jr., Juan
Pratt, Dean P.
Dixon, Anthony J.
Hernandez, Armando
Herndon II, Joseph F.
Leisten, Ken W.
Greene, David S.
Lane, Shawn A.
Talbert, DeForest L. "Dee"
Sullivan, Vincent M.
Zangara, Nicholas J.
Dantzler, Torey J.
Reed, Tatjana
Blodgett, Nicholas H.
Engel, Mark E.
Godwin, Todd J.
Clark, Michael J.
Daniels II, Danny B.
Lloyd, Dale Thomas
Persing, Charles C. "C.C."
Frank, Craig S.
Hartman, David A.
Kelly, Bryan P.
Mardis Jr., Paul C.
Rice, Demetrius Lamont
Martinez, Jesse J.
Harris, Torry D.
Peters, Dustin W.
Tarango-Griess, Linda Ann
Fischer, Jeremy J.
West, James G.
Wilson, Dana N.
Holmes Ordóñez, Terry
Spink, Trevor
Nachampassak, Krisna
Reed, Christopher J.
Emanuel IV, William River
Sampler, Sonny Gene
Colvill Jr., Robert E.
Barcus, Collier Edwin
Garmback Jr., Joseph M.
Davies, Shawn M.
Schmunk, Jeremiah W.
Barkey, Michael C.
Bowen, Samuel R.
Hunt, Justin T.
Lawrence, Jeffrey D.
Dougherty, Scott Eugene
Youmans, Rodricka Antwan
Torres, Michael S.
Vangyzen IV, John J.
Kerns, Dallas L.
Huston Jr., James B.
Smith, Brian D.
Martin, Stephen G.
Wagener, Christopher A.
Conde Jr., Kenneth
Creager, Timothy R.
DuSang, Robert L.
Sherman, Alan David
Todd III, John H.
Adle, Patrick R.
Utt, Ernest E.
Heines, Jeremy M.
Ceniceros, Manuel A.
Cash, Christopher S.
Desens, Daniel A.
Kiser, Charles A.
Tyson, Andre D.
McCaffrey Sr., Patrick R.
Parker Jr., Tommy L.
Contreras, Pedro
Lopez, Juan
Otey, Deshon E.
Pennington, Gregory V.
Best, Marvin
Horn, Sean
Vue, Thai
Lynch, Jason N.
Syverson III, Paul R.
Mastrapa, Arthur S. (Stacey)
Dimaranan, Jeremy M.
Atkins, Shawn M.
McKinley, Eric S.
Caughman, Thomas D.
Khan, Humayun S. M.
Gray, Jamie A.
Bohlman, Jeremy L.
Mora Lopez, Melvin Y.
Hobart, Melissa J.
Doltz, Ryan E.
Timoteo, Humberto F.
McCrae, Erik S.
Linden, Justin W.
Eyerly, Justin L.
Carvill, Frank T.
Duffy, Christopher M.
Bolding, Todd J.
Lee, Bumrok
Johnson, Markus J.
Sides, Dustin L.
Scheetz Jr., Robert C.
Elandt, Aaron C.
Ballard, Kenneth Michael
Zimmer, Nicholaus E.
Coleman, Bradli N.
Odums II, Charles E.
Gonzalez, Benjamin R.
Calavan, Cody S.
Reynosasuarez, Rafael
Wiesemann, Michael J.
Codner, Kyle W.
Henderson, Matthew C.
Nicolas, Dominique J.
Sheehan, Kevin F.
Bean Jr., Alan N.
Unger, Daniel Paul
Rosas, Richard H.
Lambert, James P.
Beaulieu, Beau R.
Witt, Owen D.
Ridlen, Jeremy L.
Molina Bautista, Jorge A.
Horton, Jeremy R.
Zabierek, Andrew J.
Miranda, Troy "Leon"
Salas, Rudy
Jackson, Leslie D.
Campbell, Michael C.
Carey, Michael M.
Garyantes, Joseph P.
Nolasco, Marcos O.
Chaney, William D.
Kasecky, Mark Joseph
Curran, Carl F.
Roberts, Bob W.
Cowherd Jr., Leonard M.
Ledesma, Rene
Espaillat Jr., Pedro I.
Barnhill, Edward C.
Spakosky, Philip I.
Harlan, James William
Cronkrite, Brud J.
Mora, Michael A.
Sturdy, Brandon C.
Cutter, Brian K.
Shaver, Jeffrey R.
Savage, Jeremiah E.
Brinlee, Kyle A.
Tuazon, Andrew L.
Murray, Rodney A.
Whitman, Chase R.
Rubalcava, Isela
Holmes, James J.
Brown, Philip D.
Box Jr., Hesley
Schrage, Dustin H.
Buryj, Jesse R.
Marshall, James E.
Kritzer, Bradley G.
Green, Jeffrey G.
Petty, Erickson H.
Baum, Ronald E.
Kenny, Christopher J.
Sprayberry III, Marvin R.
Wahl, Gregory L.
Marcus Jr., Lyndon A.
Caradine Jr., Ervin
Drexler, Jeremy L.
Nunes, Todd E.
Anderson, Michael C.
Dossett, Trace W.
Mchugh, Scott R.
Jenkins, Robert B.
Ginther, Ronald A.
Tipton, John E.
Wine, Trevor A.
Ladd, Joshua S.
Vargas-Medina, Oscar D.
Ojeda, Ramon C.
Vincent, Scott M.
Wilfong, Joshua S.
Dwelley, Jason B.
Dickerson, Christopher M.
Estep, Adam W.
Kondor, Martin W.
Patterson Jr., Esau G.
Dayton, Jeffrey F.
Campbell, Ryan M.
Beckstrand, James L.
Schmidt, Justin B.
Reed, Ryan E.
Darling, Norman
Ewing, Jeremy Ricardo
Garrison, Landis W.
Herring, Jacob R.
Thomas, Kendall
Penamedina, Abraham D.
Whitaker, Marquis A.
Baker, Sherwood R.
Roukey, Lawrence A.
Austin, Aaron C.
Melton, Kenneth A.
Bruckenthal, Nathan B.
Brandon, Stacey C.
Pernaselli, Michael J.
Watts, Christopher E.
Brooks, Cory W.
Kordsmeier, Patrick W.
Felder, Arthur L. "Bo"
Orton, Billy J.
Edwards, Shawn C.
Dunham, Jason L.
Gelineau, Christopher D.
Fox, Bradley C.
Harris-Kelly, Leroy
McGlothin, Michael A.
Henderson II, Robert L.
Henson, Clayton Welch
Hartman, Jonathan N.
Gannon II, Richard J.
Smith Jr., Michael J.
Valdez Jr., Ruben
Van Leuven, Gary F.
Gibson, Christopher A.
Carman, Edward W.
Camposiles, Marvin A.
Morgan, Dennis B.
Wood, Brian M.
Arroyave, Jimmy J.
Rivers Jr., Frank K.
Trevithick, Richard K.
Ramirez, Christopher
Rosaleslomeli, Victor A.
Boye, Noah L.
Kolm, Kevin T.
Zurheide Jr., Robert Paul
Shuder, Brad S.
Fortenberry, Wesley C.
Colton, Lawrence S.
Jimenez, Oscar
Amaya, Daniel R.
Gray, Torrey L.
Torres, George D.
Johnson, Justin W.
Brown, Nathan P.
Stack, Michael Boyd
Holt, Antoine J.
Sims Jr., John T.
Eckhart, William C.
Carballo, Adolf C.
Delgreco, Felix M.
Goodrich, Gregory R.
Krause, Elmer C.
Kephart, Jonathan Roy
Matula, Matthew E.
Torrez III, Elias
Speer, Michael Raymond
McMahan, Don Steven
Enos, Peter G.
Mallet, Toby W.
Jones Jr., Raymond Edison
Witmer, Michelle M.
Vandayburg, Allen Jeffrey "A.J."
Ayon, Eric A.
Phelps, Chance R.
Nieves, Isaac Michael
Angell, Levi T.
Harrell, William M.
Palmer, Joshua M.
Wafford, Michael B.
Dieruf, Nicholas J.
Wasser, Christopher B.
Frank, Phillip E.
Labadie Jr., William W.
Miller, Marvin Lee
Morel, Brent L.
Wroblewski, John Thomas "J.T."
Rentschler, George S.
Felder, Tyanna S.
Moreno, Gerardo
Cobb, Christopher R.
Jerabek, Ryan M.
Layfield, Travis J.
Walker, Allan K.
Crowley, Kyle D.
Roberts, Anthony P.
Cherry, Marcus M.
Carman, Benjamin R.
Mendez-Aceves, Fernando A.
Mabry, Christopher D.
Todacheene, Lee Duane
Hallal, Deryk L.
Langhorst, Moises A.
Serio, Matthew K.
Ramos, Christopher
Thiry, Jesse L.
Goldman, Shane Lee
McKeever, David M.
Larson Jr., Scott Quentin
Barr, Aric J.
Fey, Tyler R.
Arsiaga, Robert R.
Garza, Israel
Jostes, Forest Joseph
Sheehan, Casey
Cason, Ahmed Akil "Mel"
Hiller, Stephen D. "Dusty"
Chen, Yihiyh L.
Mitchell, Michael W.
Amos II, John D.
Rogers, Philip G.
Morris, Geoffrey S.
Strange, William R.
Sekula, Dustin M.
Hufstedler, Doyle M.
Mitchell, Sean R.
Karr Jr., Michael G.
Raney, Cleston C.
Davis, Brandon L.
Wiscowiche, William J.
Ferguson, Richard L.
Schneider, Sean M.
Holmes, Jeremiah J.
Toney, Timothy
Sandoval Jr., Leroy
Froehlich, Adam D.
Burgess, Jeffrey C.
Casper, James A.
Shanaberger III, Wentz Jerome Henry
Dang, Andrew S.
Miller Jr., Bruce
Kreider, Dustin L.
Hudson, Christopher E.
Sandri, Matthew J.
Taylor, Mark D.
Vega, Michael W.
Matthews, Clint Richard "Bones"
Ludlam, Jason C.
Vicente, David M.
Smith, Brandon C.
Morris Jr., Ricky A.
Sutphin, Ernest Harold
Brownfield, Andrew D.
Chan, Doron
Laramore, Tracy L.
Phipps, Ivory L.
Adams, Michael R.
Thigpen Sr., Thomas R.
Carrasquillo, Jocelyn "Joce" L.
Normandy, William J.
Kurth, John F. "Hans"
Ford, Jason C.
Ferrin, Clint D.
Londono, Daniel J.
Brattain, Joel K.
Dunigan Jr., Joe L.
Hill, Christopher K.
Hoyer, Bert Edward
Gottfried, Richard S.
Brabazon, Edward W.
Holland, Fern L.
Zangas, Robert J.
Milczark, Matthew G.
Jones, Gussie M.
Gray, Michael J.
Woodliff, Michael R.
Wells, Stephen M.
Laskowski, Matthew C.
Bacon, Henry A.
Graham, Jeffrey C.
Ling, Roger G.
Frye, Nichole M.
Taylor, Christopher M.
Merila, Michael M.
Spry, Bryan N.
Ramirez, Eric U.
Tainsh, Patrick S.
Ramirez, William C.
Mariano, Jude C.
Robbins, Thomas D.
Wong, Elijah Tai Wah
Ramey, Richard P.
Knowles, Joshua L.
Dvorin, Seth J.
Turner Jr., Roger C.
Soriano, Armando
Miersandoval, Eliu A.
Cabralbanuelos, Juan C.
McGeogh, Holly J.
Landrus, Sean G.
Moreno, Luis A.
August, Matthew J.
Mracek, Cory R.
James, Luke S.
Hoffman, James T.
Kinney II, Lester O.
Moothart, Travis A.
Dervishi, Ervin
Dorff, Patrick D.
Bunda, Christopher
Mooney, Adam G.
Hendrickson, Kenneth W.
Smette, Keith L.
Chappell, Jason K.
Sturges Jr., William R.
Rosenberg, Randy S.
Blaise, Michael T.
Hazelgrove, Brian D.
Palacios, Gabriel T.
Parker, James D.
Hornbeck, Kelly L.
Randle Jr., Edmond Lee
Polley Jr., Larry E.
Orr, Cody J.
Castro, Roland L.
Hines, Keicia M.
Crockett, Ricky L.
Weaver, Aaron A.
Walker, Jeffrey C.
Diraimondo, Michael A.
Hicks, Gregory B.
Johnson, Nathaniel H.
Golby, Christopher A.
Davis, Craig
Johnson Jr., Philip A.
Manuel, Ian D.
Mizener, Jesse D.
Frist, Luke P.
Corral, Dennis A.
Hampton, Kimberly N.
Paliwoda, Eric Thomas
Bangayan, Solomon C. "Kelly"
Seiden, Marc S.

And because I don't want to slight those who had their lives taken from them in in 2003...

Pollard, Justin W.
Cuervo, Rey D.
Blanco, Ernesto M.
Jordan Jr., Curt E.
Haight, Charles G.
Sutter, Michael J.
Mihalakis, Michael G.
Christensen, Thomas W.
Hattamer, Stephen C.
Splinter, Christopher J.
Soelzer, Christopher F.
Biskie, Benjamin W.
Cooke, Eric F.
Yashinski, Michael E.
Saltz, Edward M.
Moore, Stuart W.
Bush Jr., Charles E.
Allison, Glenn R.
Holland, Christopher J.
Souslin, Kenneth C.
Nakis, Nathan W.
Ferguson, Rian C.
Voelz, Kimberly A.
Braun, Jeffrey F.
Black, Jarrod W.
Edgerton, Marshall L.
Petty, Jerrick M.
Burdick, Richard A.
Reese, Aaron T.
Bates, Todd M.
Wright, Jason G.
Bridges, Steven H.
Blickenstaff, Joseph M.
Wesley, Christopher Jude Rivera
Hutchinson, Ray J.
Clark, Arron R.
Davis, Raphael S.
Young, Ryan C.
Boone, Clarence E.
Singh, Uday
Sissel, Aaron J.
Bertolino, Stephen A.
Rico, Ariel
Sweet II, Thomas J.
Goldberg, David J.
Wilson, Jerry L.
Ravago IV, Rel A.
Menyweather, Eddie E.
Smith, Darrell L.
Nason, Christopher G.
Bushart, Damian S.
Roberts, Robert D.
Coleman, Gary B.
Lister, Joseph L.
Wood, George A.
Tyrrell, Scott Matthew
Panchot, Dale A.
Coulter, Alexander S.
Shull, James A.
Dalley, Nathan S.
Hayslett, Timothy L.
Acklin II, Michael D.
Baker, Ryan T.
Dusenbery, William D.
Hansen, Warren S.
Uhl III, Eugene A.
Hawk Eagle, Sheldon R.
Kesterson, Erik C.
Sullivan, John R.
Wolfe, Jeremy L.
Bolor, Kelly
Russell, John W.
Saboe, Scott A.
Heidelberg, Damian L.
DiGiovanni, Jeremiah J.
Hafer, Richard W.
Piche, Pierre E.
Whitener, Joey D.
Medina, Irving
Minucci II, Joseph
Fletcher, Jacob S.
Wise, Robert A.
Bailey, Nathan J.
Acosta, Genaro
Jackson, Marlon P.
Tomko, Nicholas A.
Vasquez, Mark D.
Collins, Gary L.
Frosheiser, Kurt R.
Jimenez, Linda C.
Swartworth, Sharon T.
Kennedy, Kyran E.
Neff II, Paul M.
Rose, Scott C.
Smith, Benedict J.
Gilmore I, Cornell W.
Kennon, Morgan DeShawn
Fisher, Paul F.
Wolf, James R.
Chance III, James A.
Rivera, Jose A.
Martinez, Francisco
Benson, Robert T.
Johnson, Rayshawn S.
Colgan, Benjamin J.
Velasquez, Paul A.
Bucklew, Ernest G.
Dagostino, Anthony D.
Lau, Karina S.
Moss, Keelan L.
Pennanen, Ross A.
Slavenas, Brian D.
Vega, Frances M.
Wilson, Joe Nathan
Jennings, Darius T.
Bader, Daniel A.
Conover, Steven Daniel
Penisten, Brian H.
Perez, Joel
Smith, Bruce A.
Hurley, Joshua C.
Johnson, Maurice J.
Bryant, Todd J.
Adams, Algernon
Barrera, Michael Paul
Campoy, Isaac
Bell, Aubrey D.
Falaniko, Jonathan I.
Guerrera, Joseph R.
Bosveld, Rachel K.
Buehring, Charles H.
Huggins, Jamie L.
Acosta, Steven
Cannon, Jakia Sheree
Brassfield, Artimus D.
Mora, Jose L.
Hancock, Michael S.
Teal, John R.
Ward, Jason M.
Johnson, John P.
Bueche, Paul J.
Johnson, Paul J.
Hart, John D.
Bernstein, David R.
Williams, Michael L.
Orlando, Kim S.
Bellavia, Joseph P.
Grilley, Sean R.
Casanova, Jose
Wyatt, Stephen E.
Wheeler, Donald L.
Weismantle, Douglas J.
Freeman, Benjamin L.
Powell, James E.
Norquist, Joseph C.
Swisher, Christopher W.
Silva, Sean A.
Scott, Kerry D.
Karol, Spencer Timothy
Torres, Richard
Sims, Charles M.
Pirtle, James H.
Ramos, Tamarra J.
Hunte, Simeon
Gutierrez, Analaura Esparza
Blankenbecler, James D.
McGaugh, Dustin K.
Cutchall, Christopher E.
Baddick, Andrew Joseph
Potter, Darrin K.
Lucero, Robert L.
Thomas, Kyle G.
Rooney, Robert E.
Andrade, Michael
Sturino, Paul J.
Friedrich, David Travis
Brown II, Lunsford B.
Miller Jr., Frederick L.
Wright, James C
Faunce, Brian R.
Thompson, Anthony O.
Arriaga, Richard
Foster, Pinkston
Kimmerly, Kevin C.
Peterson, Alyssa R.
Blumberg, Trevor A.
Bennett, William M.
Morehead, Kevin N.
Ybarra III, Henry
Robsky Jr., Joseph E.
Carlock, Ryan G.
Thompson, Jarrett B.
Brown, Bruce E.
Sisson, Christopher A.
Sarno, Cameron B.
Camara, Joseph
Caldwell, Charles Todd
Cataudella, Sean K.
Lawton, Mark A.
Navea, Rafael L.
Belanger, Gregory A.
Sherman, Anthony L.
Dent, Darryl T.
Allen Jr., Ronald D.
Manzano, Pablo
Mack, Vorn J.
Scott, Stephen M.
Adams, Michael S.
Jones-Huffman, Kylan A.
Harris Jr., Kenneth W.
Franklin, Bobby C.
Hull, Eric R.
Ivory, Craig S.
Kirchhoff, David M.
White, Steven W.
Williams, Taft V.
Eaton Jr., Richard S.
Brown Jr., Timmy R.
Parker, Daniel R.
Perry, David S.
Knighten Jr., Floyd G.
Kinchen, Levi B.
Bush, Matthew D.
Ramsey, Brandon
Longstreth, Duane E.
Gilbert, Kyle C.
Colunga, Zeferino E.
Simmons, Leonard D.
Hellerman, Brian R.
Loyd, David L.
Letufuga, Farao K.
Hebert, Justin W.
Deutsch, Michael J.
Lambert III, James I.
Nott, Leif E.
Maher III, William J.
Hart Jr., Nathaniel
McMillin, Heath A.
Barnes, Jonathan P.
Methvin, Daniel K.
Perez Jr., Wilfredo
Cheatham, Jonathan M.
Perez, Hector R.
Serrano, Juan M.
Heighter, Raheen Tyson
Ashcraft, Evan Asa
Christian, Brett T.
Byers, Joshua T.
Fettig, Jon P.
Bibby, Mark Anthony
Jordan, Jason D.
Garvey, Justin W.
Willoughby, Christopher R.
Scott, David A.
Rozier, Jonathan D.
Bertoldie, Joel L.
Moreno, David J.
Whetstone, Mason Douglas
Torres, Ramon Reyes
Geurin, Cory Ryan
Crockett, Michael T.
Cassidy, Paul J.
Puello-Coronado, Jaror C.
Neusche, Joshua M.
Schultz, Christian C.
Rowe, Roger Dale
Tetrault, Jason
Valles, Melissa
Gabrielson, Dan H.
Boling, Craig A.
McKinley, Robert L.
Keith, Chad L.
Sanford Sr., Barry
Wershow, Jeffrey M.
Parson, David B.
Small, Corey L.
Herrgott, Edward J.
Bradachnall, Travis J.
Coffin, Christopher D.
Conneway, Timothy M.
Sotelo Jr., Tomas
Orengo, Richard P.
Hubbell, Corey A.
McIntosh, Joshua
MacDonald, Gregory E.
Chris, Andrew F.
Philippe, Gladimir
Ott, Kevin C.
Lennon, Cedric Lamont
Smith, Orenthial Javon
Nakamura, Paul T.
Deuel, Michael R.
Latham, William T.
Frantz, Robert L.
Tosto, Michael L.
Suell, Joseph D.
Pahnke, Shawn D.
Cox, Ryan R.
Pokorny, Andrew R.
Klinesmith Jr., John K.
Neighbor, Gavin L.
Dooley, Michael E.
Halling, Jesse M.
Bollinger Jr., Doyle W.
Burkhardt, Travis L.
Sisung, David
Oberleitner, Branden F.
Haro Marin Jr., Atanasio
Lambert, Jonathan W.
Gleason, Michael T.
Griffin, Kyle A.
Long, Zachariah W.
Bradley, Kenneth R.
Perez III, Jose A.
Broomhead, Thomas F.
Quinn, Michael B.
Mitchell, Keman L.
Nalley, Kenneth A.
Petriken, Brett J.
Smith, Jeremiah D.
Schram, Matthew E.
Evans Jr., David
Caldwell, Nathaniel A.
Ryan, Timothy Louis
White, Aaron Dean
Straseskie, Kirk Allen
Moore, Jason William
Baragona, Dominic Rocco
LaMont, Andrew David
Marencoreyes, Douglas Jose
Sahib, Rasheed
Payne, William L.
Nutt, David T.
Griffin Jr., Patrick Lee
Kleiboeker, Nicholas Brian
Kowalik, Jakub Henryk
Rodriguez, Jose F. Gonzalez
Smith, Matthew R.
Bruns, Cedric E.
Carl, Richard P.
Gukeisen, Hans N.
Van Dusen, Brian K.
Rockhold, Marlin T.
Deibler, Jason L.
Reynolds, Sean C.
Givens, Jesse Alan
Garza, Joe Jesus
Orozco, Osbaldo
Sullivan, Narson Bertil
Jenkins, Troy David
Arnold, Andrew Todd
Channell Jr., Robert William
Lam, Alan Dinh
Buckley, Roy Russell
Rivero, John Travis
Foley III, Thomas Arthur
Mayek, Joseph Patrick
Gonzalez, Armando Ariel
Goward, Richard Allen
Mileo, Jason David
Brown, John Eli
Mercado, Gil
Acevedo, Joseph
Gonzalez, Jesus Angel
Owens Jr., David Edward
Tejeda, Riayan Augusto
Bohr Jr., Jeffrey Edward
Hemingway, Terry Wayne
Brown, Henry Levon
Garza Jr., Juan Guadalupe
Marshall, John Winston
Meyer, Jason Michael
Stever, Robert Anthony
Sather, Scott Douglas
Aviles, Andrew Julian
Medellin, Jesus Martin Antonio
Hollinsaid, Lincoln Daniel
Kaylor, Jeffrey Joseph
Miller, Anthony Scott
Mitchell Jr., George Arthur
Watkins III, William Randolph
Das, Eric Bruce
Huxley Jr., Gregory Paul
Prewitt, Kelley Stephen
Booker, Stevon Alexander
Brown, Larry Kenyatta
Smith, Edward
Ford, Travis Allen
Sammis, Benjamin Wilson
Aitken, Tristan Neil
Bellard, Wilfred Davyrussell
Cunningham Jr., Daniel Francis
Jones, Devon Demilo
Smith, Paul Ray
Gooden, Bernard George
McPhillips, Brian Michael
Rios, Duane Roy
Bales, Chad Eric
Oaks Jr., Donald Samuel
Rehn, Randall Scott
Robbins, Todd James
Livaudais, Nino Dugue
Long, Ryan Patrick
Rippetoe, Russell Brian
Evnin, Mark Asher
Silva, Erik Hernandez
Davis, Wilbert
Korn, Edward Jason
Halvorsen, Erik Anders
Jamar, Scott
Pedersen, Michael Francis
Smith, Eric Allen
Boule, Matthew George
Anderson, Brian Edward
Gurtner, Christian Daniel
Fernandez, George Andrew
White, Nathan Dennis
Adamouski, James Francis
Butler, Jacob Lee
Maglione III, Joseph Basil
Jeffries, William Andrew
Rowe, Brandon Jacob
Lalush, Michael Vernon
McGinnis, Brian Daniel
Contreras, Aaron Joseph
Cawley, James Wilford
Creighton-Weldon, Michael Russell
Curtin, Michael Edward
Rincon, Diego Fernando
Williams, Eugene
White, William Wayne
Padilla-Ramirez, Fernando
Solomon, Roderic Antoine
May Jr., Donald Charles
O'Day, Patrick Terence
Martinez-Flores, Francisco Abraham
Rodriguez, Robert Marcus
Menusa, Joseph
Suarez del Solar, Jesus Alberto
Nave, Kevin Gerard
Stone, Gregory Lewis
Johnson Jr., Michael Vann
James, Evan Tyler
Korthaus, Bradley Steven
Sanders, Gregory Paul
Blair, Thomas Alan
Hodson, Nicolas Michael
Seifert, Christopher Scott
Addison, Jamaal Rashard
Pokorney Jr., Frederick Eben
Buggs, George Edward
Dowdy, Robert John
Estrella-Soto, Ruben
Johnson II, Howard
Kiehl, James Michael
Mata, Johnny Villareal
Piestewa, Lori Ann
Sloan, Brandon Ulysses
Walters, Donald Ralph
Anguiano, Edward John
Bitz, Michael Edward
Fribley, David Keith
Garibay, Jose Angel
Gonzalez, Jorge Alonso
Jordan, Phillip Andrew
Slocum, Thomas Jonathan
Buesing, Brian Rory
Rosacker, Randal Kent
Williams, Michael Jason
Nixon, Patrick Ray
Reiss, Brendon Curtis
Burkett, Tamario Demetrice
Cline Jr., Donald John
Hutchings, Nolen Ryan
Gifford, Jonathan Lee
Chanawongse, Kemaphoom "Ahn"
Orlowski, Eric James
Tobler, Brandon Scott
Adams, Thomas Mullen
Childers, Therrel Shane
Aubin, Jay Thomas
Beaupre, Ryan Anthony
Kennedy, Brian Matthew
Waters-Bey, Kendall Damon
Gutierrez, Jose Antonio

Free Cat

freecat.

I had to laugh when I saw this photo at Flickr. (It appears to have been lifted from another website as opposed to having been taken by the Flickr member that uploaded it.)

Dan, my roommate at Bowling Green for a year, hated cats. He'd always been a dog owner and had no interest whatsoever in felines.

I laugh at the photo because any time we happened to see a dead dog along the side of a road, Dan would go into denial mode: "That's not a dog, it's a cat!"

Dan and our classmate-pal Martha Dannery

Dan and I haven't been in touch in close to ten years, but I happened across his website tonight when I did a Google search for his name (imagine that!). One of the funniest guys I've ever known. Fine artist. Pretty good golfer. He told me once that he loved salt so much that he wanted to die of it.

Susan Sontag

Susan Sontag

I'm saddened to hear that Susan Sontag died... While I didn't read much of her work, I own one of her books – On Photography – which Sontag described as "a progress of essays about the meaning and career of photographs."

It seems to me that Sontag has taken a lot of flack over the years for her writing, but I found On Photography wonderful – engaging, insightful and inspiring.

James Wolcott so eloquently writes:

"One by one the lights go out. First, Edward Said and now Susan Sontag, dead at 71. Both were engaged intellectuals and cosmopolitan sensibilities, committed to art and justice with consciences that seldom slept, and with their loss the cultural life of the city becomes even more pallid and gray."

Jen Bernard and Songwriting

Wendy and Jen Bernard

The first time I came across Jen Bernard, she was singing with a friend of hers at the Hearthstone, a now-defunct bakery in Lansing, Michigan that hosted a weekly "coffeehouse" on Saturday nights.

That evening was the first time Penny and I had been to one of Hearthstone's coffeehouse nights (at Penny's behest) and because the bakery moved to East Lansing not long after, it was the only one we'd attend.

I recall that it was quite a cold winter night and that it was a fairly decent crowd – mostly friends of the two singers. The room was in its usual configuration – tables and chairs – and I believe that light snacks or soups were available in addition to tea and coffee.

The women were quite young. I guessed at the time that they were perhaps twenty at best; Jen's hair was long and flowing and her partner's was a shorter bright orange-red. They were dressed as – what I referred to at the time – neo-hippies. Their clothes were throw-backs (perhaps even hand-me-downs!) to the 60s, no doubt a time in which their parents had grown up.

They had lovely voices, though Jen appeared to be the force within the duo. She did most of the lead vocals, most of the song introductions and played guitar. I don't recall much else about their music that night except for the impact it was soon to have on me.

One of the songs that Jen sang toward the end of the evening was Michael Smith's "Spoon River" – one of my favorite songs of all time.

Spoon River

© by Michael P. Smith

All of the riverboat gamblers are losing their shirts
All of the brave Union soldier boys sleep in the dirt
You know and I know there never was reason to hurt
When all of our lives were entwined to begin with
Here in Spoon River

All of the calico dresses, the gingham and lace
Are up in the attic with grandfather's derringer case
There's words whispered down in the hallway, a shadowy face
The morning is heavy with one more beginning
Here in Spoon River

Come to the dance, Mary Perkins, I like you right well
The Union's preserved, if you listen, you'll hear all the bells
There must be a heaven, the Lord knows I've seen mostly hell
My rig is outside, let us ride through the morning
Here in Spoon River

I recall that when she introduced the song, she warned us that she didn't quite know the chord progression, and asked that we bear with her. In my seat, I thought to myself, "Ooh! Ooh! I know it! I know it!" and I wished I could leap from my seat to the rescue. I didn't, of course. I sat along with everyone else and enjoyed the song, although I think that I enjoyed it on a couple different levels.

First, she did a fine rendition of the song, so I enjoyed it in that sense. More importantly, however, I was elated that someone so young was performing a song that was not only one of my favorites, but was fairly obscure – even as folk music goes. Michael Smith is hardly a household name, and I suppose that had I not been a Steve Goodman fan, I'd probably not have heard of Smith myself, as Goodman's version of this song (as well as Smith's "The Dutchman") were my introduction to Smith's writing.

At the end of the evening, we came home and I – still in my "Ooh! Ooh! I know it! I know it!" frame of mind – got out my guitar for the mere purpose of proving to myself that I did know how to play the song.

My guitar was one that Penny had given to me as an anniversary gift a few years earlier. She had picked it up from her cartoon instructor/friend Dennis Preston for $75 as a matter of trying to encourage me to play again. I had sold the first guitar I'd ever owned a number of years earlier because I'd lost interest in playing it – mostly because it was a piece-o-crap Ovation guitar that just didn't sound to me like a guitar should sound. (Hey, what can I say?!? I was young and stupid when I bought it!)

The guitar had seen its day. It was a twelve-string model – not something I would have purchased for myself, although I think that Penny must have heard me talk about having played a twelve-string at one time and that – at the time – I'd liked the sound it made. The biggest problem with the guitar was its action (basically the distance between the strings and the fretboard) which made for a difficult time playing it. That there were two sets of strings to press down on didn't make it any easier.

Still, despite the guitar's deficiencies, I picked it up that night and I haven't stopped playing since. I got used to the bad action and began playing the guitar much like a six-string, picking individual strings a la Bob Dylan, John Prine or Loudon Wainwright III.

Jen, of course, wouldn't have known that night the role she'd played in my little personal renaissance. But later that year, I met her in one of those "colliding world" moments when she showed up at a Ten Pound Fiddle Coffeehouse concert (Eileen McGann) with her parents and her sister Wendy (I can't recall if her brother Seth was with them that night), whom I met that night as well. Penny had met her parents (Bob and Chris) earlier that year at the East Lansing Art Festival while drawing caricatures at Jane Rosemont's Toomuchfun Rubber Stamps store. They kept in touch and had let Penny know they'd be driving down from Lake City that night for the show as they were big fans of McGann's music.

Coincidences (or perhaps more fittingly, "conspiring incidents") continued to dominate my days as the Bernards told us about Blissfest, a music festival that they'd been attending for years. The first year Penny I attended (1991, I believe), Loudon was one of the headliners. I had been a fan of his since high school but had never seen him perform. Upon our return from the festival, I ran out and bought up every recording of his I'd neglected to buy since 1978. I continued to play guitar, mostly learning Loudon Wainwright III songs.

In the spring of 1992, my dad died, and after attending another Ten Pound Fiddle concert (Carla Sciaky), I came home and wrote what was probably only the second or third song I'd ever written. It dealt with the nonsense that occurred the week my dad died. Apparently, he'd requested that his grandchildren not see him while he was in the hospital. He often had a respirator covering much of his face and he supposedly didn't want them to remember him that way.

Ever the free-thinker, Penny ignored the request and we took Zachary and Allison in to see him. I'm glad we did but it really pissed off a few people in my family. It was a good thing – I could tell that my dad enjoyed their company more than he might ever have let on, and the kids, of course, never mentioned the respirator after that.

Coming Of Age

© 1992 by Patrick T. Power

We sit across from each other
At the trough – a hungry herd
We gobble up all our dinner
And we hardly say a word
This life is such a mystery
Can we turn another page
To the best part, our later years
When we'll have come of age

We sit cross from each other
With beer cans in our hands
Our eyes on the television
(Ain't it great to be a man!)
I suppose this ritual
Has trapped us in a cage
Where we pace around in circles
Until we've come of age

We sit across from each other
In the hospital crying tears
For all the time we never shared
Through all our growing years
Now Dad is dead and so begin
The battles we must wage
We watch our children growing up
Before we've come of age

While I don't subscribe to the "everything happens for a reason" way of thinking, it sure seems as if there was some grand collusion that had brought me to something I'd always wanted to do – songwriting.

Of course, there are many things in our lives which affect our paths from one day to the next; from one year to the next. Still, when I think of songwriting and how it came to be something that I consider a vital aspect of my life, I remember a cold night on Michigan Avenue in Lansing, listening to some young woman singing "Spoon River"...

Calling Me Home (Jen's Song)

© 1992 by Patrick T. Power

On a cold night in a very cold year
An old familiar tune came to my ear
And like the winter wind it chilled me to the bone
To hear an angel calling me home

     You didn't see, you couldn't have known
     You were an angel calling me home

There are some things we hardly ever see
And there are ways we just don't know how to be
We're so weak when we try to stand alone
Until an angel calls us home

     You didn't see, you couldn't have known
     You were an angel calling me home

It was a cold night in a very cold year
When your voice drifted out to me so clear
And this heart that I thought had turned to stone
Heard an angel calling me home

     You didn't see, you couldn't have known
     You were an angel calling me home

     You didn't see, you couldn't have known
     You were an angel calling me home

New Song

Funny how I won't write a song for a while, then all of a sudden two of them pop up almost out of nowhere.

Parts of this are based on fact (involving a friend of mine) – the rest of it is my active imagination at work (play?). It's sort of a companion song to one I wrote a few years ago.

James

© 2004 by Patrick T. Power

James has asked about you
He wonders who you are
He sees you in the pictures
Next to me with your guitar
And only for a moment
Do I think to speak your name
But I bite my tongue and stop myself
I'm just not ready to explain

James and I are happy
We call each other pal
He knows that he's my favorite guy
And I'm his favorite gal
We wake up in the morning
It's breakfast in the nook
Sometimes he sits up on my lap
And we read his favorite book

James and I love walking
We never get too far
He stops to pick up everything
He waves at ev'ry car
If we make it to the corner
Of 38th and Lake
I'll lift him to my shoulders
And my heart begins to ache
The last time that I saw you
You said you'd keep in touch
I should have known much better –
That your word ain't good for much

James has asked about you
He wonders where you are
He sees you in the pictures
Next to me – not your guitar

Download mp3 (please right-click and save to disc!)

Rilke

"So you must not be frightened... if a sadness rises up before you larger than any you have ever seen; if a restiveness, like light and cloud-shadows, passes over your hands and over all you do. You must think that something is happening with you, that life has not forgotten you, that it holds you in its hand; it will not let you fall."

— Rainer Maria Rilke (Letters to a Young Poet)

World Peace

peace (Originally uploaded by slogrl)

Everyone says they want it... there's really only one way to bring it on.

War On Alcohol

I've not been watching very much television of late – neither the news nor regular programming – but last night I happened to watch (tried to watch, I should say) a DVD before nodding off. After waking, I decided just to flip the TV back to local programming and watched a series of Spin City re-runs – all of them Christmas related.

Several times throughout the evening (and into early morning), a commercial caught my eye. The first time I saw it, the opening imagery of (and narration about) the September 11, 2001 attacks made me think I was in store for something entirely different. What followed in the next twenty seconds or so about knocked me off my chair, though, as the ad contrasted the approximately 3,000 deaths from September 11 to the nearly 8,000 alcoholism-related deaths a year in the United States.

Bravo!

It's about time that someone started putting the events of that day (horrible though they were) into perspective. It's about time that people stopped worrying about what someone else is going to do to us and start recognizing what it is that we're doing to ourselves.

The commercial is one of several that have been submitted to a project called Courageous Persuaders.

While its website has the rather dubious header which reads

Make a Commercial
Win Scholarship Money
Get Famous

it seems as though the project has good intentions. The project – a co-partnership between a Detroit-area judge and marketing firm ("the Detroit, Michigan office of the world's largest multinational advertising agency system") – solicits ads "targeted at middle school students to warn them about the dangers of underage drinking."

Ten winning entrants are posted at the Courageous Persuaders website, including the above-mentioned Grand Prize winner (which is entitled, "Why Haven't We Declared War?").

Christmas Morning

Allison is was asleep and Zachary is spending his first Christmas in his own place, and I couldn't help but pick up the guitar this morning. I was thinking of posting the lyrics to John Prine's "Souvenirs", but I thought, "Nah... it would appear as if I'm melancholy" – which I'm not. Then I thought about posting the lyrics to another Prine song, "Christmas In Prison", but I thought, "Nah... better not."

I've been thinking lately how for a number of years I'd written a Christmas-related song – thanks to the impetus created by my participation in my friend Oscar's A Winter's Tune shows in Grand Rapids (which I haven't been invited to participate in for a couple of years now, thankyouverymuch!). Every November, I'd begin thinking about what I would write, but my muse was often stubborn, not bestowing a song upon me until a day or two before I was to perform it.

Because of my inclination to look for a slightly askew view of Christmas, my songs have mostly dealt with a little darker or cynical side of the season – the last time I sang at Oscar's event, my song – "Home For Christmas (Raise Your Glass)" – dealt with two wayward brothers who bump into each other at a bar on Christmas Eve.

So, this morning, I noodled a bit more on the guitar, singing the aformentioned John Prine songs to myself when I looked out my window and saw the snow on the balcony, an overcast sky and, well... words started popping out.

Now, before you jump to conclusions, you need to know that as a songwriter, I make stuff up in my head. Sort of like mini-movies. Sometimes the stuff I make up is based on personal experiences; sometimes it's based on my imagination; sometimes it's a combination of the two (actually, most times it is). When the ideas start flowing, I generally don't stop them. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, don't read too much into this...

Merry Christmas Darlin'

by Patrick T. Power

Just look at that falling snow
Just look at that grey morning sky
Just look at those Christmas lights
I see reflecting in your eye
I promise I'll love you
Just as long as you never say goodbye...
Merry Christmas, darlin'

Just look as those shiny bows
Just look at those presents under the tree
Just look at those angels' eyes
Ain't this the way it oughta be?
I promise I'll love you
Just as long as you promise you'll love me...
Merry Christmas, darlin'

All around the living room
Is music, light and laughter
Fun from wall to wall to wall to wall
      (Wall to wall to wall)
Does anyone anticipate the
The dark days that come after
Could anyone imagine it at all?
      (Not at all)

Just look at the kids, dear
Just look at those faces we adore
Just look at this mess dear
Just look at the paper all over the floor
I promise I'll love you
Just as long as you never walk out that door...
Merry Christmas, darlin'
Merry Christmas, darlin'
Merry Christmas, darlin'

Download mp3 (please right-click and save to disc)

Balancing Act

I had an email discussion with a friend the other day about the turn this blog has taken lately – more to the personal side from what was predominantly political only a few months ago.

I suppose it comes more out of my need to write than anything else... I don't have a particular need to bare anything about my life, or to work out issues; I do have a need to create, however – whether the creation comes in the form of a song, a story or a photograph.

I guess it was rather synchronistic, then, that I happened across an article about one of my favorite songwriters, Loudon Wainwright III, in which he talks about his songs and their often very revealing nature.

In songwriting, it's a balancing act as to how much you reveal, he says.

You don't wanna gross an audience out. But on the other hand, sometimes you do. I like to affect an audience. I don't mind making them a bit uncomfortable,' he says. 'The idea is to engage a group of people for 75 minutes and make them squirm a little bit. Make 'em laugh. Think a bit. . . . There's no limitation on how far you can go. The songs have to be good at the end of the day.

So, I guess I feel a bit the same way – both with the songs I write as well as whatever I post here. I figure that if it happens to me, it's fair game for a song, a blog post, poem or whatever.

I've never really thought I was much of a storyteller – as classic storytellers go, that is – but I do believe I have some sort of a knack for it (or perhaps it's just an urge), wending my way from what is a very specific incident to a bigger, broader pool of thought. Sort of like a river.

Yeah, that's it... like a river.

Ballad Of Easy Rider

by Roger McGuinn*

The river flows, it flows to the sea
Wherever that river goes that's where I want to be
Flow river flow, let your waters wash down
Take me from this road to some other town

All he wanted was to be free
And that's the way it turned out to be
Flow river flow, let your waters wash down
Take me from this road to some other town

Flow river flow, past the shady trees
Go river go, go to the sea
Flow to the sea

The river flows, it flows to the sea
Wherever it goes that's where I want to be
Flow river flow, let your waters wash down
Take me from this road to some other town

*Supposedly, Bob Dylan wrote this and gave it to McGuinn

Is It Just Me...

Or did today seem a tad longer than yesterday?

Day In The Life Of...

Munn Trees, 21 December 2004  (See entire set).

Over at Flickr yesterday, the arrival of Winter Solstice was commemorated with a picture project: A Day In The Life Of...

I had forgotten about it until about 10:00 in the morning, but then took a couple of quick shots around the apartment, cleaned up and headed in to East Lansing. My plan was to shoot all the way to the CVS store at the corner of Albert Street and M.A.C. Avenue, drop off the film, grab something to eat, pick up the film, then come home to post the photos at Flickr.

I also planned on shooting only things that I might not have come in contact of an average day, although in the end, I didn't hold myself to that.

I made it to the Red Cedar River and decided to capture a bit of what winter in East Lansing can look like now that it seems to have finally arrived. Carefully sliding down the river bank to water's edge, I found that the river has finally begun to freeze at its edges, and that the rocks are becoming glazed with the spray of the rapids just south of MSU's Administration Building.

I also noticed – almost immediately – a dead crawfish partially buried in the fairly fresh snow. I don't know much about the creatures (is it a crawdad? crayfish? what?), so I don't know if its presence was a natural phenomenom or a result of some drunken student having fun.

The rapids are (is?) an oft-photographed area of campus, no doubt, so I was looking for something a little less common to photograph. I was looking for something a little less "oh, isn't that pretty!" but wasn't all too successful (if you don't include the crawfish). I was actually running short of film so I held off on doing another panoramic at river's edge, so I tried to find an interesting view of the ducks that hang around that area. I was happy to have a couple of them walk toward me as if they were going to check me out, but they stopped short of advancing far enough toward me to where I could shoot without a tree branch getting being between us. I eventually made my way closer to them and got a decent shot of a female at an angle that displayed her speckled breast.

Wrapping up there, I headed in to town and dropped off my film. While at the CVS I bought another roll, stepped outside the store and shot a panoramic of Ann Street Plaza. I took that back into the store and off I went to Georgio's for a couple of slices of pie (pepperoni/mushroom and potato with bacon and onion – no sour cream, as much as I would have wanted it!).

Heading back home, I took the sidewalk that makes its way through the above trees and passed by Breslin Center. I had my Holga plastic camera with me and I thought about taking a shot of the Magic Johnson statue (Ugh!) with it, but it was too dark for a decent shot. I crossed paths with MSU's basketball coach, Tom Izzo, as he walked out to his car and we exchanged hellos (Actually, I said, "Hi, coach!"). That's probably as close as I'll ever get to a millionaire, so it was worth noting here. Hah!

I made my way home to edit and post my photos and check out what the rest of the Flickr world had done.

I noticed that there is a vast preponderance of non-people images. I would have preferred shooting people, but I guess I wasn't quite in the mood. Early on, I had the chance to photograph my apartment complex's manager and opted not to – I should have. Ah, well...

No day in this life is ever really perfect, is it?

A Day In The Life

Winter Solstice: today is the beginning of winter. In honor of the occasion, I'll be participating in Flickr's A Day In The Life collaborative.

I guess I'd better head out into the cold and start s-s-s-snap-p-p-p-ping a-w-w-w-way!

I'm going to start walking to the CVS in town, taking pictures all the way, drop off the film and wait. I'll be posting some later.

Love and Photography

After posting this photo — one of my favorite portraits — at my Flickr site, I got to thinking a bit about it.

There was much bad communication, mis-communication and non-communication in my marriage with Penny (pictured here), and this portrait often reminds me of that. The night this was taken, we had the evening to ourselves and we went out to eat and see a movie. If I recall correctly, we hadn't made plans, we simply went to the theatre expecting to decide then and there what we'd see.

Well, either we didn't like any of the choices or we arrived too late for showtimes, so seeing a movie was out. Driving 'round, trying to come up with ideas as to what we could do, I suggested that we stop at my workplace; we hadn't come up with anything else and I thought that I could work on some portrait techniques with my favorite model — her. I was in the thick of a major creative spurt which — she, being an artist might understand, appreciate and enjoy. When Penny and I worked together on things, we tended to work well together.

You'd'a thought I'd asked her to stick needles into her eyes!

I was disappointed to say the least. We went home instead and I eventually convinced her to pose for me in the basement, using the photographic gear I'd recently purchased.

Now, it's funny how clearly we see can another person's point of view many years down the road, but at the time, I honestly thought that pursuing something that was creative (as well as possibly lucrative) would have not only pleased Penny but would have brought cheers of encouragement. Again, she being the artist, I halfway expected that she'd understand how important photography was to me outside the confines of my job as a photo lab supervisor.

In retrospect, my crime was that I bought the equipment on a whim. I decided that if I were to have the chance to pursue something outside photographic management, I needed to practice, practice, practice. I charged it without saying a word to her and waited for it all to arrive. I surely didn't expect everything that came with it.

Without getting into any further details (there are far too many to recount; it was all far too messy and complicated), the irony of the situation was that Penny regularly told me that I needed to do more beyond the rut of a day-in and day-out work life, yet resented the fact that I acted on her advice without discussing the photo purchases with her.

Do I regret what I did? Yes. If I could do it all over again, and if it would have made a difference as to whether or not I'd be married to Penny today, I would do it the right way.

But clearly, there was something else going on (or not going on) that eventually led to the demise of the marriage, but more importantly, led to the little moments that created our divide. You've got to have snowflakes in order to make an avalanche, I suppose, and had we recognized how significantly the little things would eventually affect our relationship, the bigger issues likely wouldn't have developed.

I honestly think that — going in — Penny had a better clue about what marriage should be. I, on the other hand, fell into the archetypal roll of breadwinner, with all of our expenses and bills and mortgages and you-name-it being paid by my wages. I mostly thought about staying afloat while Penny thought about swimming or flying. I didn't see how we were drifting; I didn't see that she began loosening the tethers very early on.

In the years following this night recorded on film — as well as with my sometimes-photographic memory — my desire to increase my skills continued. I read photographic books and magazines; scoured hundreds of images every week trying to understand lighting control; I practiced in the basement every chance I could; I bought book after book showcasing commercial photography. All I wanted was to get good enough to consider leaving a very heart-troubling job with the idea that it would somehow lead to a better marriage in the process.

There are too, too many dots to connect at this point, but simply, and to the point, I quit my job on 16 August 1994 as a matter of gaining my life back. I regretted what I'd done for about twenty-four hours, then realized that it had to be done — that there really was no other way. I don't know when I've done a more foolish thing or a more wise thing. How's that for a contradiction?

Thanks to one of my co-workers, I was able to land a couple of fairly lucrative freelance jobs initially after quitting. I got up enough nerve, eventually, to ask Karen Stock, director of the Lansing Art Gallery at the time, if she'd be willing to have me do a show of my portraits — none of which had been taken yet.

With a date set for the show (early-April to early-May of 1995), I began lining up visual artists (I dubbed it The Artist Project) — many of whom were people I'd met through Penny — and the work began before Christmas with a couple of sessions. I was fortunate to have had film and photographic paper donated to me by Kodak and a now-defunct Photo Connexion (a local photo supply store), as well as the use of a darkroom by Larry Carr at Photo Mart. The project was in full swing, and as I watched processed film turn into proof sheets then into 11" x 14" enlargements, I was thrilled beyond compare. What I had imagined in my head was becoming something I could behold with my eyes.

For the first time in my life, I truly got a glimpse of what it meant to be an artist, though I hesitated — and still hesitate — to call myself one. I was having the time of my life, and it didn't have anything to do with drugs, sex, or rock 'n roll!.

Oddly, Penny — the artist — seemed disinterested with the whole thing.

In February, not long before Zachary's 10th birthday, she announced that she wanted to separate.

And February was so long that it lasted into March
And found us walking a path alone together

Another year or more would pass before I learned these lyrics — by Dar Williams — but in the early winter of 1995, I surely knew whence they came.

I understood, too, that a much different life lay ahead, and recognizing the need for more financial stability, I applied for work at Abrams Aerial Survey Company in Lansing and was hired. I told them, however, that I'd scheduled a trip to Washington, D.C. to visit with a friend I'd met years before at a Bio-Photo conference in Rochester, New York. Barb Neuburger and I communicated off and on since that time — most often to rib each other about our baseball teams' woes (she was an avid Baltimore Orioles fan at the time and I'm a Tigers fan) — so when I needed a far-away place to find a proper space for thinking and, I guess, not thinking, she agreed to lend me her couch-bed for a week.

On the train ride out to D.C. — actually, on the bus which took me to Toledo to catch the train — I met an amazing woman who for the next twenty-two hours or so would become my best friend and confidante and counselor and hero — Camille Brightman.

Camille and I talked and talked and talked for most of the trip: the three or more hour ride to Toledo, the twelve to fifteen hours to Washington, then exploring D.C. together during her layover (she was on her way to Myrtle Beach, as I recall). Of course, a little part of me fell in love with the woman, but this was no romantic interlude — it was a lesson.

Camille was probably a good ten years younger than I was at the time (I suppose she still is... Heh!), which probably translated to 39 to 29. I was the one who felt younger, however. She seemed to have a maturity I'd not developed yet. She seemed so secure within the skin she wore, which at the time was as a nomad. She would work for spells in various parts of the country (and the world, I'd bet), earn enough to support herself and purchase transport to her next stop, then do it all over again. At least that's how I remembered (or imagined) it.

I think that the revelation for me occurred when I realized that I could fall for Camille, given the right circumstances. The revelation came as I realized how much she reminded me of Penny. I recognized that Penny could just as easily have been sitting there talking to me in her free-spirit way about life and love and people and places and books and movies and jobs.

The revelation came in recognizing the contradiction in thinking I could fall in love with someone who exhibited many of the same qualities as Penny — qualities which, of course, led to her decision to leave me.

I returned from D.C. somewhat refreshed, refueled and reinvigorated for the final weeks of preparation of my project. I didn't think at the time that a week off would throw me several weeks behind, but it did. I still had about a third of the show to photograph, print and get framed and I was getting a bit nervous.

Again, thanks to the charity of a local vendor, Bill Harrison at Custom Photographic, I was able to get back on track. While I had previously hand-processed my enlargements (at Photo Mart), Bill agreed to let me use his machine in addition to a more automated enlarger. Time was a bit more of a concern to me than whether or not the auto-processing was as archival as manual processing — I doubt that the show would have been completed otherwise.

The show went on without a hitch. My portrait of Penny was hung in its proper place — dead-center on the center wall, from which all the rest of the portraits originated, and to which all the other portraits led. Alongside each of the portraits, I mounted a small placard which either spoke to my impressions about the artist or had something to say about the portrait session. At the right is the placard that accompanied Penny's portrait. Looking at it now, I suppose my honesty was a bit too eager to find its way out into the public, but the show was a coming out of sorts, so honesty seemed appropriate.

At the time I began working on The Artist Project, I never would have suspected that I'd lose my interest in photography. Not even remotely. As the show came down, however, and as divorce proceedings got hairier and hairier, photography lost its charm with me. I became less and less interested in the "visual" aspects of life and began to delve into the deep dark places that songs and music (and my own introspection) brought me.

And now, ten years and a couple of loves later, photography has begun to make its way back into my life. Almost everywhere I go I look for photographs, and as I observe the light and shadows of the day, I see — at long last — a new love coming on.

*       *       *

If you're interested in commenting, please sign up at Blogger to do so. The spammers have yet again found a way to ruin something, so I've configured this blog to accept only comments I've read first.

School Days

Years ago, my mother assembled photos and documents for each of her four boys and put them into scrapbooks. They were presented to us on the Christmas following our respective marriages. At least I'm quite sure that was the case with me and my younger brother Jim.

Amongst the documents in my book, which includes reading achievement certificates (You wouldn't believe how many books I read about weapons and war machinery!), report cards, and birth certificate, is my letter of acceptance from Bowling Green State University. I was surprised to see that it was dated June of 1976 as I seem to recall starting my classes in January of that year. Ah well...

In any event, what I find most entertaining about the letter is that it notes that I was "Admitted based on high school record."

This makes me chuckle every time I think about it. I was in the bottom 25th of my class in high school. Not the bottom 25%, mind you... the bottom 25th! That means the bottom 4% of my class, which if you do the math, in a class of about 200 people, my grades were no better (or worse!) than about eight other people.

I suppose that just goes to show that education or intelligence can't always be judged by numbers. Grades are most surely a measurement of effort, but as far as I'm concerned, not much more.

I managed to make the Dean's List one time while at BG, but I fell back on my old study habits a bit more as socializing took up more of my time. Once I found my major in Visual Communications and filled up my schedule with those classes, I was more studious and interested in classwork.

One of the most amazing experiences I've ever had occurred while at BG, and it involved grades...

As part of our core coursework, I had to take the introductory Economics class. My girlfriend at the time had taken the same instructor's course a couple semesters earlier and raved about him as a teacher, even nominating him for a teaching award of some sort.

I had fun in the class, despite not seeming to really grasp the subject all that well. I suppose that had I read the material and tried to understand it, I might have had better test and quiz results. The professor gave out recitation points, however, and, as classes got into discussion, I began to understand things a bit better and made every effort to contribute. [A favorite, though less significant, memory of the class came after a student had made a very good point about something and Donald (the professor's first name, if I recall correctly) decided to announce that he was going to give recitation points for the comment. After a slight pause due to his looking up the student's name, I blurted out, "I was going to say that!" which brought a good laugh to the class and a chuckle from the front of the class.]

When finals came around, we were told that the final was optional. If we didn't take it, we'd receive the grade we'd earned through our essay work, homework, tests and quizzes. If we'd opted to take the test, of course, we had the opportunity to raise our grades.

On the day before finals, I stood to receive a high "C" in the class. If I were to score a perfect 100% on the essay final, I only stood to raise my grade to a middle to high "B". The class was at 9:00am. I think it might have even been a Friday.

I took the test.

Instead of staying in bed—after all, what sane college student without any real serious chance of raising his grade significantly would have gotten up early to take an exam if it weren't necessary?—I made my way to the Business School and took the exam. I finished up and handed it in. I thought I did pretty well. We were told when the results would be posted, so I made note and went on my way.

A couple of days later, I made my way to the prof's office to find my grade and he was in his office. I said hello and asked him about my grade. He sat me down and told me that there comes a time when an instructor has to ignore numbers and give a grade that he thinks is reflective of what the student has learned. He told me that I wrote such a good final that he was giving me an "A" for the class.

I was stunned and amazed and shocked. Yet, I was proud that I'd actually fought through my own laziness the second half of the term to find the interest in something that seemed as foreign as the Greek language to me (well, except for the alphabet!) and to write in a learned fashion. I was also proud to have known what is probably an exception in the world of academia.

Goonie Caps

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon with friends, Robert and Julia, who had invited me to their home for a game of Scrabble, dinner and a movie (DVD).

Julia is of Bangladeshi descent, and as I'd told her previously that I owned a VHS video of The Concert for Bangla Desh—something she said she'd like to see—I brought that with me as well as my newly-purchased, still-wrapped boxed DVD set of Krzysztof Kieslowski's Trois Couleurs.

The dinner, a traditional Bangladeshi cooked meal of chicken, beef, lentls and rice (with some mixed veggies and salad) was marvelous, and—as expected—I crushed the both of them in Scrabble. My Scrabble record remains unblemished, although I had a momentary concern when—feeling somewhat sorry for Robert's bad luck with words on the day—Julia and I agreed to allow "hobocrib" (yes, my left eyebrow raised in bemused wonder about the word!), a word that meant a 51-point increase in Robert's score. Julia and I agreed that it was more important to allow Robert his word since he'd been having such a rough time scoring, but I was secretly worried that it was just a bit too much charity on my part. I would have hated to have had my "Lifetime - 0" record shattered by "hobocrib," for crying out loud.

Thankfully, the word left him forty or so points shy of my winning score, although it meant bringing him up to a tie with Julia.

But wait... this was supposed to be about goonie caps.

During a scene in Blue, the ever-stunning, ever-talented Juliette Binoche dives into a swimming pool and swims a lap across the width of the pool—not its length.

At that moment, it flashed me back to something I haven't thought about in a long, long time...

When I was in grade school, I spent a great deal of time at the Boys Club (now Boys and Girls Club) in East Toledo. They had a pool, game rooms (I played many a game of pool, mostly the bumper variety), craft rooms and television. It was a really great place to hang out with friends and keep out of trouble. Not that I was apt to get into trouble, but still. I think that my mom still owns one of the ceramic pieces (an exotic bird of some type) I'd painted and shellacked for her. I was a pretty meticulous painter, and I was quite proud that my eye for color was better than most kids ("no brag, just fact"), and that my finished pieces were worthy of something better than being put away as mementos. My mom actually hung them in the house in not-so-obscure places.

Oh, yeah... goonie caps!

The rule of the swimming pool was that until a kid had been able to prove his ability to swim, he had to wear a rubber bathing cap, or shower cap, if you prefer. We knew them as "goonie caps;" there was no more appropriate term for them as far as a ten- to twelve-year-old kid was concerned. They were named precisely for the way we looked while wearing them.

Of course, there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for their use—they made the jobs of the lifeguards that much easier. They allowed the guards to more easily keep an eye on those who shouldn't be near the deep end of the pool.

A ten-year-old knows nothing of reason, however, and I knew how to swim dammit!—I wasn't about to wear one of those gawdawful goonie caps! Ugh!

Every day, just before the pool was made available for open swimming, several lifeguards would loosely organize swimming tests for those kids who wanted to shun the stigmatic, reputation-busting, humiliating goonie caps. We would line up at poolside at about the spot where the pool began its severe slope to very-deepness.

The test was simple: dive in and swim the entire width of the pool underwater. (Thinking about it further, I'm not certain it had to be underwater.)

Fifty, sixty feet... right? Piece of cake!

Now, you should know that I was a regular at the Boys Club. The management knew me well, my brother Mike and his friends all hung out there—they knew me... anyone who spent a lot of time there knew me and surely had seen me swimming. I was as much of a fish as any kid my age and swimming came as natural as breathing at that point in my life.

As I recall that day now, my brother was in attendance. A number of us lined up on the entrance side of the pool, near the lifeguard chair, and several older kids and lifeguards were on the opposite side of the pool to observe and go into action if needed.

I had swum the width of the pool many times previously (one doesn't take a test like this without knowing what the results are going to be), so as far as I was concerned it was all academic; a mere formality. I was twenty or so seconds away from a goonie-less life at the Boys Club—an almost Hilaryan feat for my age. And I didn't need no sherpa!

I did, however, need the help of a lifeguard (or my brother, I can't recall which) with a couple of feet to go.

In fact, I had traveled more distance than was required of me to complete the test successfully. The problem I had was that I made the attempt with my eyes closed and with about ten feet to go to the other side of the pool, I made a severe left turn that took me into water that was deeper than I was tall. My inner measuring stick—which many previous laps across the pool had calibrated—told me I was at pool's edge and that I could stop swimming, reach out and grab the concrete.

It wasn't there.

Nor was the bottom of the pool where I expected it to be.

I began gasping for air and swallowing water as I went down, completely bewildered by what was happening. "I'm not in the deep end, for crying out loud... what the hell (I probably didn't say "hell" at that time, actually) is going on?!?" Okay, so maybe "Help!" was more what I was thinking, or more likely "HE-E-E-E-ELP!" Or maybe it was "Ohmuhgawdimgonnadi-i-i-i-i-e!"

Lots of laughter welcomed my ascent from the pool. The thought of having to put the goonie cap on was, of course, more devastating to think about and I no doubt was on the verge of tears.

For some reason, however, I was deemed worthy of removing the goonie cap from my swimming attire. I was free! Free to use the diving board; free to swim in the deep end. I had reached what amounted to swimming adulthood.

*       *       *

My Favorite Sweater

Close to ten years ago, my friend Carol gave this sweater to me. I've worn it extremely ragged, but I still wear it. Whatever elasticity the ends of the sleeves once had is long gone; in fact a lot of the fabric seems to be long gone.

The neck is worn, too, and there are tiny stains sprinkled about its surface – I've eaten way too many meals that splashed one thing or another and I attacked the splash either too late or simply unsuccessfully. The brightness of the fabric has been lost with repeated washings and wearings and washings and wearings...

I still wear the sweater in public, too. It's my sweater... it's comfortable and I like wearing it, and if anybody wants to think ill of that, I suppose they can. If I wore a new sweater, no doubt someone would figure out a way to find fault with that, too.

Daydream (for RB)

by Patrick T. Power

Sometimes, it takes a daydream.
Sometimes, it takes imagining
that all the wonders of the world
wait outside the door.

You know... the natural wonders:
a kiss on the lips that sends a heart pounding to the moon and back;
a touch from fingers that have learned to whisper,
"Your heart is safe with me";
a smile that speaks a language known only to two.

Sometimes, it takes a daydream.
Sometimes, it takes believing
that all the wonders of the world
wait outside your door

Screaming Issue

Just about anyone who knows me knows that Loudon Wainwright III is one of my favorite songwriters of all time. In honor of my brother Jim's birthday, I'm posting one of Loudon's songs that is apropos in several ways. First, of course is the birth date Jim and Lucy (Loudon's daughter by Suzzy Roche) share; secondly, we also had a grandfather who lived in Manhattan; and thirdly, if there's a screamer in the family, it would be Jim.

It's one of Loudon's quirkier songs as melodies go, but I still love it. In fact, that's one of the reasons.

Happy Birthday, Beak!

Screaming Issue

By Loudon Wainwright III

You and Ludwig van Beethoven
And your Manhattan grandfather
Born on the 16th of December
Ludwig, grandfather and you

In Poland tanks were rolling
On Hudson street it was snowing
Taxi ride to the hospital
Laboring by centimeters

Lucy, when I hear you crying I don't know what I can do
You're so miserable lying next to me I can't help you

Who were you in your last life?
How come you came at Christmas?
If you had waited longer
You might have been Lady Di's baby

Lucy when I hear you crying I don't know what I can do
You're so miserable lying next to me I can't help you

It's New Year's Day your first one
What is your resolution?
It's raining, grey beginning
Here's to Ludwig, grandfather and

You and Ludwig van Beethoven
And your Manhattan grandfather
Born on the 16th of December
Ludwig, grandfather and you

Beaks

Tomorrow (December 16) is my brother Jim's 45th birthday and it occurred to me that I had this photograph handy.

I recall this day quite well. The photographer came to our house and draped his backdrop over our fireplace. (Actually, now that I think about it a bit, I think it was one of my dad's Navy blankets.) Jim (the youngest) cried virtually the entire time. If memory serves, this is possibly the only one of the proofs that I saw in which he either wasn't crying or with his hand shoved in his mouth!

Bob (the oldest) had a favorite nickname for us—"Beak". He didn't discriminate. He called us all "Beak". We had no idea what it meant but since it was what he called us, we assumed it must be bad.

So... we started calling each other "Beak" if ever we wanted to start trouble. Many a fight pursued over a name we knew nothing about. Eventually, the stigma associated with the name wore off and we now greet each other with "Hey, Beak".

At some point, I called Jim "Beak" in front of some of his friends in high school, and he has been known as "Beak" by all his friends since.

Bob has yet to reveal what it means.

The Abstract

As a kid, I would lie on the floor or hang my head off the edge of the couch and look at the ceilings in our house. I would imagine that the ceiling was a floor. I imagined having to step over the molded rectilinear archways between the rooms. The chandelier in the dining room would stand up straight.

While talking on the phone last week, I was lying on the floor looking at the ceiling of the hallway heading to my bedroom ("Ceiling Abstract #1") and was reminded of those long ago days.

Today, I took a series of shots I've organized at my Flickr site in a set called Ceiling Abstracts. With only a couple of exceptions, only some slight cropping and minimal re-touching has been added to the original imagery. I've also rotated, inverted or flipped the images in a few cases.

The one you see here is a view in our bathroom. The green wash in the room is from the plastic shower curtain section that keeps shower water from gathering on the window sill.

The Monstrosity

A new press box/luxury suite section is being added to Michigan State University's Spartan Stadium.

I call it The Monstrosity.

In the meantime, the state cuts to the arts (50%), the state's general funding cuts to University (7% to 10%), and the University's cuts to the Museum's general operating budget (30% to 50%) has eliminated a number of jobs (mine included) and has reduced the Museum's staff to what is near bare-bones. They can afford only a half-time development officer, whose hands are tied when it comes to soliciting funds from alumni and other University donors.

$60 million (wanna bet on overruns?) for this thing. That amount would fund 120 years worth of the project I work on—the Great Lakes Folk Festival.

Bitter? Me? Never!

Nostalgia

It seems I'm in that kind of groove of late, recalling moments that have stacked up to form my life.

American Poet Laureate Billy Collins is nostalgic, too...

Nostalgia

By Billy Collins

Remember the 1340's? We were doing a dance called the Catapult.
You always wore brown, the color craze of the decade,
and I was draped in one of those capes that were popular,
the ones with unicorns and pomegranates in needlework.
Everyone would pause for beer and onions in the afternoon,
and at night we would play a game called "Find the Cow."
Everything was hand-lettered then, not like today.

Where has the summer of 1572 gone? Brocade sonnet
marathons were the rage. We used to dress up in the flags
of rival baronies and conquer one another in cold rooms of stone.
Out on the dance floor we were all doing the Struggle
while your sister practiced the Daphne all alone in her room.
We borrowed the jargon of farriers for our slang.
These days language seems transparent a badly broken code.

The 1790's will never come again. Childhood was big.
People would take walks to the very tops of hills
and write down what they saw in their journals without speaking.
Our collars were high and our hats were extremely soft.
We would surprise each other with alphabets made of twigs.
It was a wonderful time to be alive, or even dead.

I am very fond of the period between 1815 and 1821.
Europe trembled while we sat still for our portraits.
And I would love to return to 1901 if only for a moment,
time enough to wind up a music box and do a few dance steps,
or shoot me back to 1922 or 1941, or at least let me
recapture the serenity of last month when we picked
berries and glided through afternoons in a canoe.

Even this morning would be an improvement over the present.
I was in the garden then, surrounded by the hum of bees
and the Latin names of flowers, watching the early light
flash off the slanted windows of the greenhouse
and silver the limbs on the rows of dark hemlocks.

As usual, I was thinking about the moments of the past,
letting my memory rush over them like water
rushing over the stones on the bottom of a stream.
I was even thinking a little about the future, that place
where people are doing a dance we cannot imagine,
a dance whose name we can only guess.

Me And The Mick

23 February 1987

Back when I used to wear ties on a regular basis, I met former Yankee great Mickey Mantle in Chicago at the Photo Marketing Association's annual conference & exhibition. He was shilling for Fuji Film, Inc., who set up the Yankee Stadium backdrop and armed a handful of sales reps with point-and-shoots and gobs of film to snap shots like this for several hours one day. Fuji had a color minilab on hand and the prints were made available within the hour.

I was a kindasorta a Yankee fan early on as a kid as the Toledo Mud Hens were the Yankees farm club at that time; when the Tigers and Yankees swapped farm teams, I changed loyalties.

As a Tiger fan, I too often watched Mantle step to the plate in the ninth inning of a and deliver a game-winning (or some other crucial) hit against the Tigers, but one of the greatest stories about Mantle that I've heard involves the Tigers' Denny McLain feeding his boyhood idle a home run pitch late in the 1968 season (the Tigers' won the World Series that year as well); late in Mantle's career (he retired in 1969).

From ESPN's Outside the Lines: Orchestrating a Record...

The Tigers' pitcher decided to help Mickey Mantle climb add to his home run total during the final series of Mantle's career.

Detroit led by five runs in the ninth when McLain shared his plan with Tiger's catcher Jim Price.

Denny McLain, 1968 AL MVP - I said I want you to tell Mantle to be ready. He said, what do you mean be ready? I said, you know, just let him hit the ball, but let him know that something is going on. He said, you mean cheat?

And I threw the first pitch literally on an arc, the ball came in on an arc. Strike one, Mantle takes it. He doesn't know what the hell is going on.

I throw the next pitch, Mantle takes it again for strike two. And I said, where the hell do you want the pitch. And he put his hand out about belt-high, in the middle inside part of the plate. I threw the ball there and he hit the home run.

I still believe that Mickey Mantle was the greatest baseball player ever. In the brief moment I shared with him, I managed to tell him that I had enjoyed reading his book, The Mick. He thanked me, shook my hand, grinned his big Mick grin, and then held his hand out for the next person in line.

He would die about eight years later.