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Conquering Fears in 2013

Nobody visits the Arc de Triomphe by car. At least no one in their right mind does. There's a good reason.

 It's called Place de l'Etoile. Place of the Star. Not because it creates a quaint little 5 point star, but rather a 12 point star. And when TomTom the GPS says, "Enter the round about, then take the 17th exit..." things just get a little overwhelming.

For two years straight I've avoided it (and most round points like it) at all costs. But we drove into the city and I began to realize pretty early on just exactly where it was taking me. Not sure how to avoid it this time around, reactions ranged from nervous laughter to determined self-talk.

Heart began pounding. Palms sweating. When my jaw wasn't clenched tight, I began talking more loudly and excitedly. Screamed a little bit.

Got closer. Motorcycle rally all of a sudden surrounds my car, passing me on both sides.

Was reminded of one of our supporters who visited last year. When returning her rental car, much to her dismay, the GPS took her on the same route. As I entered, I yelled to myself, "IF SHE CAN DO IT, SO CAN I...."

E helped watch my passenger side blind spot a bit (when not documenting my panic). Bicycles doing n'importe quoi. Taxis. Honks and beeps. Limousine. Late decision to exit. It wasn't pretty, but it was a success, soon just a thing to spy in the rearview mirror. I laughed. No big deal.

It was a great way to start 2013. Now only thing left to ask is: what next?

Teaching Vicariously 1

The biggest trouble I think I ever got into in elementary school was second grade. Mrs. Frey, whom some of us were known to call Mrs. Fried-Eggs, had set up an independent learning station in one corner, where we'd go and put on the over-sized headphones of the cassette player and listen to tapes on the American Indians.

One day, a few too many of us congregated in the learning center and that's where the trouble started. One of us dared another to press the little red button. One thing led to another and of course it happened, and before we knew it, we were all recording our nonsense banter over top of the preciously crafted, long-time cherished, American Indian info-tapes.

To this day I can remember the strange feeling, and remain convinced, that all of us knew in general what we were doing, but none of us knew exactly what we were doing. We knew that sneaky red button nestled in the middle of the play button wasn't meant to be pressed, and I think we knew in general what the word "record" meant, but we really didn't understand what would happen next. It's quintessential group-think, mob-mentality, where a sort of haze takes over everyone and reduces the room to a bunch of mindless savages who should know better but ultimately don't.

Of course, we all claimed innocence and ignorance. No one really knew who pressed it and no one really knew what it did. An accident...of sorts. I don't think we were lying. I remember us--half the class--being in deep trouble. Writing something to the effect of, "I will not press the record button and disrespect American Indian history and ruin learning opportunities for decades of second graders to come" at least 100 times, and a letter explaining to our parents, and a formal apology to Mrs. Frey, and so on and so forth. As an adult with a grain of common sense though, some questions arise: What's she doing trusting a bunch of 7 year olds with a temptingly red colored record button? And doesn't she know about breaking those little tabs off the corners of the cassette so you can't record anymore?

And now that I've done some teaching myself, I look back on this episode with a certain amount of fondness, knowing that the kids whose necks you want to strangle are often the kids who, with a certain amount of distance anyway, are the ones you really love. It's the twinkle of mischief in their eyes. Most of the shenanigans are mostly harmless, not entirely intentional, and just part of growing up. By taking a step away, you can see the chaos of it all and just laugh. Laugh at them, laugh at yourself, laugh at humanity and this strange and messy process of maturity. I know quite well Mrs. Frey was furious with us, and yet, part of me thinks she took that silly cassette home and played it for her friends at dinner parties. It was surely comedic gold.

The only French book I've been succeeding in reading has been the tales of Little Nicolas. (It's no Victor Hugo but you gotta start somewhere.) And I think I've finally realized why I love it so much. In recounting all the grief Nicolas and his entourage cause the grownups, story after story, this mischievous group-think idea is captured perfectly. The boys all at once have no idea what they're doing and know exactly what they're doing. And it's chaos. And it's growing up. And now that I'm not the teacher anymore; I can laugh and love them all the more.
And so, I humbly offer here my best translation of a small excerpt that made me giggle, so that you can enjoy it with me. A truck of doctors is at the school giving the boys routine x-rays. Some students are pretty nervous about going, particularly Agnan, because his friends told him they were taking out kids' appendixes. Chaos ensues. Adults lose it.

Agnan began crying again and yelling that he wouldn't go and that, if he had been notified he would have brought an excuse from his parents, and that he'd bring one tomorrow, and he held onto his seat with two hands, and he was kicking everywhere. The teacher sighed and approached him.

"Listen, Agnan," said the teacher, "I assure you there's no reason to be scared. The doctors won't even touch you; then you'll see, it's fun, the doctors came in a big truck and we go into it on a small staircase, and it's prettier than anything you've ever seen. And then, hey, if you're good, I promise I'll quiz you with some math facts."

"On fractions?" asked Agnan. 

The teacher said yes, so he let go of his seat. But when we went down into the hallway, we ran into the big kids who were returning to class. "Hey, did it hurt?" asked Geoffroy. 

"Terrible!" responded one. "It burns! And it stings! And it scratches! And they go in with big knives and there's blood everywhere!"

And all the big kids left laughing and Agnan started rolling on the ground like he was really sick and the hall monitor came and picked him up to take him to the nurses office...

...The doctors assured the school director, "Don't worry, we're used to it, and with us they'll behave. Everything will happen in peace and quiet."

Then, we heard terrible screams. It was the hall monitor arriving, dragging Agnan behind by the arm. One doctor picked up Agnan and Agnan kicked him over and over, yelling to let go, that he was promised they wouldn't touch him, that everyone lied, and that he was going to call the police. The doctor went in the truck with Agnan and we heard more screams, and then a loud voice that said, "STOP MOVING! If you keep wiggling I'm taking you to the hospital!" Then we saw Agnan come out of the side door with a big smile, and he ran back into the school.

Favorites covering Favorites

Here's the other song I really like off the new Jurado album.


But when I pulled up this video of another favorite artist--Tallest Man on Earth--covering the song, well, I was just really, really excited. You can understand, can't you?

Mix Tape: Reliable and Prolific

I own more Damien Jurado albums than any other artist. Not because he's necessarily my favorite. More simply because all of his albums are worth owning and he's incredibly prolific.

The year was 1997. The first Jurado song I ever heard was "Frustrated" on a Tooth and Nail rock sampler which remains one of my favorite compilations to this day. I love how it captures the strange almost-Christian mostly-Seattle budding indie-rock scene of the day. And with me at 14 years of age, it opened my world to the music that would end up defining, well, pretty much the rest of my life. I latched on to very few of the artists on that disc, but it was the sound that I loved. From there, it was a hop-skip-and-a-jump to punk, to ska, to emo, to post-rock, to whatever word describes the collection I listen to today.

Fast-forward to April 29, 2002, the first time since 1997 I hear a new Damien Jurado song. I pile in a giant car that I remember being a Cadillac with a few other guys from college. We drive to the Metro in Chicago to see Pedro the Lion with TW Walsh and Damien Jurado & Gathered in Song. We hear Jurado playing an electric guitar, songs from his rock-pop self-described "radio-friendly" album. David Bazan plays drums. Jonathon Ford plays bass. "Never-Ending Tide" sweeps me away and convinces me. We get a flat tire leaving the show on one of Chicago's busiest highways. I purchase the album shortly thereafter, "Like Titanic" becomes Erica and my favorite song to listen to in the car throughout our dating years. (It still is.)

From there, Damien Jurado albums come from two places: CDs from parents and family members for Christmas and Vinyl records in shipments from Jared and Village Green records. The collection steadily grows. I play a role in getting him to Taylor, do a side-walk chalk campaign, run sound for him at the concert. I graduate from college and get a turntable from my in-laws. His Four Songs record gets me to collect all the other one-sided LPs from Burnt Toast Vinyl. And Now That I'm In Your Shadow puts me to sleep on the couch and helps me, in part, get through one of the toughest years of my life.

What more to say about the man than that he is reliable and prolific? As I write this I realize he has subtly, quietly, without me really even knowing it, been writing the soundtrack of my life from his upper-Northwest corner of the United States. Tastes have changed from grunge to punk to ska to emo to post-rock to indie to whatever, but Jurado has always been there, the steady presence, the common thread, the reference point.

There are two songs that strike me from last year's album. I offer you the one that I find myself humming in the morning. It's a slice of world-worn slinky adult pop. Its video includes scenes from Europe...what was I saying about him writing the soundtrack to my life?

Damien Jurado - "Museum of Flight" from Maraqopa


But because the man is best enjoyed live, alone, guitar and microphone, and because this song doesn't really get ever get old:

An Empty House

Houses each have their own sort of aura about them, a character, a life, a spirit, he told us.

And he was not incorrect.

Because now his house stands still in the grayness of misty January days.

Its shutters rest open but all is dark inside.

The creaks echo through its hollowness.

And every time we look out our windows, leave the front door, pull out of the driveway, we see a house meant to be dignified and full of life, now in a quiet state of mourning, almost looking dilapidated, as isolated and anxiously perplexed as its previous owner.

It's as though this abandoned shell can do nothing but repeat the words he once said to me from across the table:

les ténèbres qui entourent, les ténèbres qui entourent, les ténèbres qui entourent

Music in his Head

Kid: "There's music in my brother's head."
Me: "Oh yeah? Like what kind?"
Kid: "Well, when I hit him on the head, music comes out."
[gives a few knocks, brother giggles]
Kid: "Hear that?"
Me: "Yeah, but we probably shouldn't play his head."

New Year's Day in Dieppe

You who made this sea

what is it you want with me?