The News That Matters November 4, 2009
“EMI and Apple Corps have announced they will be releasing a limited edition apple-shaped USB drive containing all 14 of the remastered Beatles albums as well as artwork, documentaries and other extras.
On 7 December, 30,000 of the drives will go on sale for £200 each.”
http://digg.com/d3196aj
[Something]’s Gonna Change My World September 11, 2009
I have about ten saved drafts of other posts I’ve started over the past couple weeks… but on this day, I feel more like starting anew.
You know how they tell you in high school that once you get into “the real world, then blah blah blah”? I never knew whether the Real World started after college, or before, or during, or at the moment of graduation from high school, or right when you became financially independent, or what. Who knows whether any of us are in the Real World at all. (I know that statement is a little too Matrix-y, but whether it’s a metaphor or not, sometimes there IS a world (or many other worlds) out there to which we are blind or deaf).
Occasionally, I know that I’m living in the world in my head. Occasionally, I know that I’m living in a fantasy world created by the media. Occasionally, I know that I’m living in the Real World.
This is what the real world is like: In college, they don’t hold a moment of silence for the lives lost during 9/11/01. I remember in middle and high school (gawd, I’m old) when we would stand with bowed heads, and I’m sure it happens still. But I’m not in an environment where that’s done, and I don’t know why. It’s not that I want that moment of silence…
I think I just want to comprehend the suffering of others. Or maybe I don’t, but I feel like I should. For instance, I have a friend who is in Ghana right now (her blog is at http://heidigroover.blogspot.com/. She updates often and her insight is really great–check it out). She’s sort of a participant observer in the third world/developing country scheme there, and she witnesses first hand the conditions in which the natives live.
It seems like things like that are really valued in our society, because we like to think we’re pretty privileged (when it’s put in perspective). On the other hand, being able to step back and have an honest, solid empathy for those who are suffering is “good.” When Hurricane Katrina happened, the rest of the United States felt sympathetic toward the victims and their loss.
When 9/11 happened, people all over the United States empathized and mourned (partly because it was a threat to everyone, not just those in NYC and the Pentagon).
But what if I can’t comprehend that?
I end up feeling completely heartless simply because I don’t understand suffering. I know what it is, of course, and I’ve experienced a tiny bit myself on a very small scale, but I just haven’t been able to look at suffering in terms of feelings. In other words, I can listen to specific stories of people’s losses around 9/11 and genuinely feel bad for them, but I can’t share their sorrow.
I look at Katrina as a mass loss of homes, pets, belongings, finances, loved ones… but not as a loss of hope or a loss of esteem.
I look at 9/11 as a mass loss of lives and loss of assets (buildings, money). I know it is symbolic, but I have some sort of emotional block from knowing what that really means for our country and for the people more directly affected by the attack.
And I won’t lie; I feel quite awful about all of this. It’s not like I’m apathetic toward everything. It’s just that I guess I have no way of translating that sorrow, so far removed from me, to something closer to home.
But how important is it, to share that burden of sorrow? I feel like it’s a duty for me as an American citizen to feel personally hurt and scared by the events of 9/11. I don’t. But is that something around which the United States really needs to rally?! Do we really need to take on some more pain, and remember it every year?
I may not be very adept [yet?] at feeling empathetic toward others’ pain, but I can sure as hell share their joy.
Heidi, my friend in Ghana, said that she witnessed a funeral procession in one Ghanian village where one of the elderly men in the town had just died. She says, “It was strange to see the way they celebrated the life of the 85-year-old man who had died instead of mourning the fact that he was gone. Even the signs posted around town announced the ‘Celebration of Life,’ not the ‘Funeral ‘or ‘Ceremony.’” (http://heidigroover.blogspot.com/2009/09/830-first-little-big-adventure.html).
I think joy is more universal than sorrow. Even with all the famine, disease, poverty, and other misfortunes ailing many parts of the world, those trials only make small things easier to appreciate, therefore creating more joy. Why don’t we rally around hope? Didn’t Barack Obama’s campaign prove that hope is a much more effective tool?
For a while, I remember plans being laid for an “uplifting” memorial to 9/11 at Ground Zero. While I do think it’s important to keep such an event in our history, I remember a line from one of my favorite movies saying something like, “the best way to forget something is by commemorating it.” Are we afraid of seeming heartless if we just move on? Are we not saving the victims still suffering from the effects of the attacks from enduring further strife?
In a way, it’s not so bad to not comprehend suffering. In fact, I think it’s pretty normal. I think confusion is a more natural and positive response than anger and hatred (but that’s not saying much).
How long did the people who started blaming others for the attacks stop to ruminate on what had actually happened? Life should not be a grand “whodunnit?” setup. Some things are mysteries, including the human brain, heart, and soul, as well as their feelings and functions.
I am not saying that we wouldn’t need to find out who was responsible for something like 9/11. I’m also not saying that anger is not part of the grieving process (i.e., anger IS part of the grieving process). But what do we need to do (personally and on a larger scale) to ensure that compassion is ALSO part of the process, enough to the point where we realize that anger and hatred are only bred from not understanding. We don’t understand death; it has always been mysterious. But we also know that to every time, there is a season. In the heat of the moment, it’s impossible to recognize something like that. I just wonder when blame has solved a problem, and whether it’s reliable enough to keep trying.
Though I may live in a bubble, and only venture into the Real World occasionally, my bubble does facilitate some self reflection. If I’m honest with myself in admitting that I don’t understand suffering and I don’t understand death, I can also realize that I share more common ground with people in joy than in sorrow. Rather than using ignorance in a way that is harmful to myself and others, I would like to exploit the similarity of joy, and breed compassion, hope, and love. Love can penetrate any personal bubble.
“Limitless, undying love which shines around me like a million suns, it calls me on and on, across the universe.” -The Beatles.
Yoko Oye. July 22, 2009
I also follow Yoko Ono on Twitter, which was an embarrassingly huge step for me. It has taken me years to recognize the profound love than she and John shared, no matter how much it may have negatively affected John’s other relationships.
Anyway, I love it when people recognize that the first step towards peace is letting people know it’s out there. Peace exists; let us find it within ourselves first, and then learn how to spread it. Yoko, at least from her Tweets, seems like that kind of person, and I can really respect that. Plus, whatever she’s doing for “art” is a step in the right direction, so I want to praise her for actually trying.
Come to think of it, [and please excuse the shameless way I say "we" through all this, as if I were there], I have a few things for which we can at least recognize, if not praise, her.
- Dealing with all of us Beatles freaks who wanted to do very un-Lennon/Ono-like things to her. People have been against her since the day she stepped into John’s life and came out of the woodwork. A part of me thinks that the world wouldn’t have reacted half as strongly if John had settled down with some gorgeous American blonde bimbo, just because it would have made more sense. After all, those were the “type” he’d fallen for before. But then came this Japanese slice of nothing, and suddenly he was head-over-heels for her. And instead of shaking our heads and sighing and just being happy for him, we were outraged. Not only were there tons of things wrong with her… there was nothing right about her! What did he see in her? blah blah blah. Then, to top it all off, The Beatles just *happened* to break up, and regardless of how much influence Yoko had over that in the studio, there was no mistaking the fact that John was obviously distracted and otherwise engaged. But… well, there is no “but.” The break-up was an absolute tragedy. If there was some good light about it all, though, it would be that John was [apparently] happier than ever. And as long as he was still making great music, we should have been thrilled that he had found love.
- Dealing with John’s passing as well as she did. I cannot imagine her devastation, and frankly I’m impressed that she was able to pull through it (especially since she sort of had to carry the weight of the rest of the world’s mourning as well).
- Pushing the boundaries. Since I haven’t really warmed up to her for very long, I haven’t seen any of the work she’s produced. I’ve heard about some of it, though, like the 8-hour video of a fly crawling up a naked woman’s body. You can’t tell me that had been done before. Yoko pushed the boundaries of art in a way that the Beatles pushed the boundaries of rock. …Ok, maybe not that much, but both are an inspiration.
- Staying in the public eye. I used to hate her for this. Why couldn’t she just disappear back into the woodwork from whence she came, so we wouldn’t have to deal with her always talking about how amazing John was and what her new project is? In fact, I think we all sort of wished she’d shut up altogether–about peace, about art, about the Beatles, about herself… I don’t really know why. Maybe because even though we’d had 10 or 11 years, we hadn’t quite gotten used to her. Maybe we were hoping that John would get bored and call the whole thing off or make it an extended fling. But she ended up his widow, and she wasn’t going to let us ignore that.
“Oye” means “listen” in Spanish (correct me if I’m wrong–I took French), and I think Yoko deserves that from us. She’s pretty much the closest remaining piece of John that we have; maybe we should cherish that. After all that she’s been through, she hasn’t turned bitter and she’s still preaching John’s message of peace. Far from excommunicating Yoko Ono, let’s join her in wanting war to be over.
Lucky. April 19, 2009
I had this moment of epiphany (among many, the other day) where I realized that this picture I had was of something very different than what I thought it was.
It’s the picture I uploaded for the pic of this site– the peace sign one. That was painted on the side of a building in Laurel Canyon in Hollywood, where many many stars have lived and live now.
It has been my desktop picture for some time now, so I’ve been looking at it for quite a while. And I always saw the white form on top of the peace sign as a white dove, which made sense since they’re the symbol of peace.
But the other day, while I was staring at my computer and shedding more tears over the dumb situation with my parents, I realized it was a hand holding the peace sign… and of course, in my weakened state my whole world came together at an apex at the moment I realized that and what it meant– we all hold peace in our hands, and when we don’t realize that, we keep “waiting for the world to change,” and nothing happens.
I have fewer doubts now that peace WILL spread, as long as individuals take advantage of the power of peace that each holds in his hands.
It’s not a joke that I believe in music so fully. It’s not just because I’m so at a loss for something else to believe in, it’s not just because I’m so lazy that all I do is listen to music anyway, so that might as well be what I have faith in. It’s not just because that’s what I grew up with instead of a religious background, so that’s all I know. All of those things may be true, but in my defense I will say that it’s not for lack of thought that I’ve come to the conclusion that music is the most real and most powerful thing we can believe in.
If I really wanted to go out on a limb, I would proclaim my belief that furthermore, the Beatles have everything one needs to live. Again, my ignorance is “at fault,” because I’m sure many people would say, “well, that’s because you haven’t heard ________.” I realize that the Beatles themselves aren’t the epitome of perfection (though they’re pretty damn close). I realize that they aren’t even very good musicians or musical geniuses, in comparison with people like Hendrix or Santana, or the classical greats like Bach or Tchaikovski. But personally, their music speaks to me more than anyone else I’ve ever heard.
Anyway, can I hear an Amen?! I’m sure there are others out there that have felt music resonate with them more than any sermon or revelation. Maybe not. Can I hear a Nay from the others?
I’m Lucky I’m in love with [the Beatles]. Ironically, I haven’t listened to the Beatles at all today… Jason Mraz (who is also a musical god) has been my soundtrack so far. And yes, I do go some days without listening to the Beatles at all. Just like many people go many days without going to church. It doesn’t mean we’re without worship or recognition of the Greatness.
Quartet for the End of Time April 18, 2009
Today was ironic because it was the date of the publication of the first-ever “Counter Point Journal,” which was created in obvious rebuttal to our formal school newspaper, and this week I designed almost three pages in our Cooper Point Journal.
Today was ironic because I’m writing this paper on faith, and I’m way behind. I figured out that I wanted to work in the idea of music, and that people can ultimately have faith in music. Then, I accidentally uncovered an email that my mom sent me months back that I’d never read, because it was a forward. But it was called “A Contemplation on Music,” and it was a welcome address given to freshmen at the Boston Conservatory by Karl Paulnack, who teaches there. It’s perfect–it has every tidbit I want and need for my paper. But it contains all the sentences I wish I could say. He recommends many classical pieces, one of which I’m listening to right now. It’s called “Quartet For The End Of Time,” by Olivier Messiaen. He was French and lived in the 1940s, when he was captured and sent to a German concentration camp. There, he wrote this piece, that was composed for four musicians– the four he found in the camp, including himself. It’s dark.
Today is ironic because, to couple with finding that paper in my email, I had one of the best classes ever. Our teachers brought in a panel of three other faculty members who could talk to us about faith. They spoke of their experiences and bared some parts of their pasts, which made them very vulnerable. Andrew, one of my seminar leaders, even said that he felt so uncomfortable with it that he wouldn’t have been able to talk like that at the beginning of the year. But now, he said, he trusts us more. I took that very personally, and was thrilled to hear that we were deserving of his stories.
That’s ironic, because I was very excited about my fantastic class time and all I wanted to do was tell my parents. And all I asked was that they be together so they could put me on speakerphone and we could all talk at the same time. But, my mother went to the lake AGAIN (which I don’t fault her for, really) which meant I couldn’t talk to them simultaneously. And I refuse to say everything twice! That always happens, and I hate it. It always sucks the second time and I leave things out and I’m not enthusiastic and it feels like a chore. If I was going to pick one to tell about my class, it would be my dad because he loves hearing that stuff, and he’s intellectual. Mom’s more “spiritual,” I guess (that’s a word that was discussed around faith in our class). But she would absolutely flip out if I only told dad or if I told dad first. And I don’t feel like rewarding their strange behavior that I don’t like with saying things twice or catering to them.
It’s not like they’re “separating,” and they’re certainly not getting a divorce. They’re not like that. And, ha, since my dad’s a divorce attorney, it’s pretty much out of the question. Anyway, nothing like that. But it bothers me that they spend so much time apart. I mean at times, it feels like they might as well be divorced for all the time they see each other. I always talk to each separately, and I always have to text the same things to both. And I KNOW that if I were to talk to someone about this, it would be that stupid talk all children get: “It’s not your fault in any way! Mommy and daddy love you very much, and you’re what holds them together!”
Because that’s exactly what I’m afraid of! I’m not there anymore! It’s like there’s nothing holding them together! And it’s not all about me, but come on… I am the only only only only only child, in a family of seven including me, and everyone else lives an hour away from my parents. I can’t imagine what they DO when I’m gone. All my parents have is work, and the dogs. Maybe the dogs are what is holding them together.
OH MY GAH I wish I could call Shadow up right now and talk to him about this! Then life would be perfect. Actually, if I had a sibling right about now it would make me SUPER happy. Mom always said that the most solid thing that helped her get through her parents’ divorce was her brother. I don’t have one. What now?
After my class on faith, I just keep thinking there’s something I need to turn to, if only I knew what it was. It’s an awful feeling. I racked my brain trying to think of who to call, and all my options were excellent (Rita, Erin, and Caleb), but all I wanted to do was call my daddy. I talk to my parents about EVERYTHING. Usually, even though I hate it, I make the sacrifice to say everything twice because I just always talk to them. When there’s conflict or stress in my life, I almost always call my parents to unload. So it gets horrendous when I have conflict about them, because I’m not ready to speak directly to them yet (and, well, I CAN’T, because I most certainly don’t want to do THAT twice, so I have to wait for them to be in the same room anyway) and I don’t know what else to do but sit and cry. Which I’ve tried.
I feel like I need to wean myself from them, but why? I mean, if (other than this hiccup) we have such a great relationship, why let that drop? I know people who go weeks without talking to their parents, and I don’t think I could do that. I think the longest I’ve gone is a week and a half. I feel so immature. And yet, I feel like there’s something else that I could reach out to to help balance things a bit, but I have no idea what it is. I’ll probably have some revelation where I realize it was God I was searching for all along, but I’m not ready for that yet.
Right now I just want to listen to Beatles and find the comfort I know.
