Sunday, May 20, 2012

Happy Sunday. May Thoughts of Little or No Concern

Interested in hearing first-hand what happened in the neighborhood overnight (or in my case, where the NATO encampments are located nearby), catch up with the cops when your local Starbuck's opens. You'll hear more about your neighbors than you thought you needed to know.

Have you ever taken a road, bus or train trip across the US? Remember when you'd fall off the face of the earth for a stretch of time, immersed in the beauty of the Great Plains, in the culture of a small-town diner and their amazing biscuits and gravy or watching the sun rise over the Arizona dessert in all it's magnificent glory? Traveling alone is a transcendent experience,  I wonder if I could do it again with mobile technology. I don't think so. I'll keep you updated when I find out.

I've loved Baseball for awhile. I don't know why nor remember who got me interested. We didn't play the game as children nor went to too many games. Somewhere, somehow it clicked. Was it the Big Red Machine, watching Charlie Hustle diving head-first into 3rd? By early adulthood, I'd written my college thesis on it's place in society, read every book I could get my hands on from Only the Ball Was White, The Boys of Summer, The Pitch that Killed and of course Ball Four.
Over the last decade, while living in Chicago, my interest has waned considerably. It took me awhile to finally get why - and there's two reasons. The first being radio. Imagine having dinner with, doing homework besides or completing chores with Joe NuxhallDave Niehaus or Ron Santo in the room, chatting away about anything and everything. They could whip a up story about some old player, instantaneously produce the most random statistic or crack a really bad joke - and then keep you informed of the baseball game in the background. I don't listen enough anymore, all of my friends have gone and died.
And here's the last reason - and one that is easily repairable. My ex, when I finally asked her, after enough feigned indifference to the sport, why she didn't care about baseball, said "women who like sports have low self-esteem and are only trying to please a guy." Try living with that perspective.

I've never thought of myself as that creative. Fortunately being self-aware means knowing my shortcomings and where I fit in the realm or artistic possibilities. When I experience a moving piece, I'm immediately in awe of their discipline, dedication to their passion and covet their talent. I too wish I could be that amazing singer, actor, chef, filmmaker, painter or even writer. On the other hand, when I have painted, sketched, written or even taken a photograph, I don't get that satisfaction that I wanted upon completion. Nor have I been internally encouraged to share this others. To me, it's not really art.
Or is it?
I view art as an ultimate form of narcissism - Expressing a point of view, an image, a perspective in the form of a medium or action (it could be personal, political, social, comical, etc.). Am I close? When you watch a movie, eat a meal at an amazing restaurant, attend an art opening, we are, with total free will letting the artist know we accept their form of narcissism and willing to pay for it.

Someday I too wish I could step out, let loose my inner narcissism.

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