Glasvegas Live - The Past, Present and Future of Rock and Roll

On Tuesday, April 7, I had the fortunate opportunity to experience what could only be considered pure magic. I confess I was more excited to see Glasvegas at Minneapolis’ Varsity Theater than any concert I have attended in years. From the first time I heard the single, “Daddy’s Gone” seeing the powerful, atmospheric video for “Flowers and Football Tops” on an extra-caffeinated morning, I’ve been hooked. The few You Tube videos of Glasvegas live, including a blistering performance of “Geraldine,” showcase a band capable of almost indescribable emotion. It is the kind of feeling that makes you play a song over and over again, each time feeling something new inside yourself. The last time I recall a similar feeling was seeing Travis and Stereophonics in 2000, who were breaking the United States on the surge of the second wave of Britpop.

I have been to at least seventy concerts but this was the first time I bought a ticket by myself. I didn’t care if anyone went with me to see Glasvegas – I was jazzed just to have my golden ticket. My erstwhile, energetic wife decided a few weeks later to accompany me, probably after hearing incessant playing of the band on our computer. Playing Glasvegas for the past two months must have stuck something inside her as well. I told her I absolutely wanted to meet the band after the show. I did not care how long it took or if we drove home at the crack of dawn. I had to tell James Allan, Rab Allan, Paul Donoghue and Caroline McKay and tell them how much their music has moved me.

As I’ve gotten older, I noticed how few people I know continue to embrace new music and find something different in their lives. Many seem content to play songs from their youth or listen to their too obvious successors (reality check: Nickelback is Butt Rock part II – different butts, same crappy rock). Glasvegas is the most passionate band since the Libertines and possibly even Nirvana. Hefty praise, I know, but in an era of cookie-cutter, niche-ridden music, hearing a band making music on their own terms takes me back to my teenage years, listening the Clash and Sex Pistols for the first time. Glasvegas took this feeling one step further, incorporating the doo-wop and surf which was a staple of my mother’s record collection. James Allan seemed to be playing my jukebox and as we entered the Varsity Theater that Tuesday night, I felt like the ten-year-old kid who went to his first concert with his mom to see the Everly Brothers 25 years ago.

After we entered the Varsity, my wife, Andrea snagged a Glasvegas poster from a stairway and secured us a spot at the front of the stage. She was generous enough to loan her too-excited husband cash for a t-shirt, as in his excitement for the show he forgot there would be a merchandise table. I was able to see the set list beneath Paul’s microphone and supply of Stella and bottled water. Usually, it is exciting for the audience to be surprised at the song order, but seeing gave me more anticipation for what was to come. As Glasvegas took the stage amidst fog and the echo of doo-wop from the PA, the all too common army of cell phones and cameras raised in the air like lighters from an era long since passed. The opening notes of “Geraldine” sounded and as the full band joined in, I jumped like I was eighteen years old in the chaos of the early Lollapaloozas. Music has a way of transcending age and time; an ethereal experience which brings you outside yourself and into a world unlike any other. The fog was thick, Glasvegas was rocking and I knew at that moment, they would be the next big thing.

What followed was almost a blur; like how you feel on an amusement park ride you hope will never end. Glasvegas’ showmanship rivals Bruce Springsteen’s, bringing your emotions up and down, making you move and then dance slow. Like Springsteen, the live performance eclipses the record because of the raw feeling and belief emitting from the band. James Allan is in total command of the moment, sucked into the surreal world of impending fame. The concept of “Spectorism” (after famed yet now convicted genius Phil Spector) performed live is something rarely, if ever attempted. Yet the songs “Go Square Go”, “It’s My Own Cheating Heart that Makes Me Cry” and especially “Flowers and Football Tops” conjure a “wall of sound” that honestly is very hard to describe unless you experience it firsthand. As Glasvegas began their final song, the gut-wrenching “Daddy’s Gone”, Paul Donoghue’s amplified opening bass notes filled the Varsity. As James began singing, some in the audience knew the words, many didn’t but as the song creschendoed into it’s final chorus (as many Spector songs do) the entire Varsity Theater was mesmerized.

A friend of mine once told me of how he felt seeing Springsteen at the old Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis thirty years ago. Although “Born to Run” may not have much in common with “Daddy’s Gone” on the surface, both are anthems to a generation looking for identity and a voice. As Springsteen gave a voice to those disenfranchised from the Vietnam War and peace movement, James Allan is the voice of a new time and era: lives filled with heartbreak and hope but not the in idealization of “suicide machines” and “dirty arcades.” Instead, Allan conjures the sadness and aspirations inside our souls, challenging us to celebrate social workers and abhor mindless violence; recognize the love and loss in everyday lives without the grandeur of past glory days. As “Daddy’s Gone” ended, James kissed the girls and shook hands with the boys. In an age of despair and cynicism, it is the heart of the romantic that rings true.

I did get the pleasure of meeting Glasvegas after the show and enjoying their more than generous hospitality. But that is where the story ends. I don’t feel it is appropriate to be voyeuristic about such encounters. Although there were autographs and pictures, that was not why I was there; not to broadcast pictures and tour bus stories for the universe to see. It wasn’t why I stood outside a library which years before I huddled inside to hide my family from a storm. As the empty tour bus stood parked, I looked at the library and thought about how our past catches up with us, how the little things in life play such a big part if we only let them. I met Caroline, Paul, Rab and James, told each of them Glasvegas was “the next big thing.” Although their future may be unwritten, their present is filled with the excitement and surrealism of the unknown. As we drove home that night, my wife told me I should play music for my kids the same way my mom did for me. The next night, I did. I felt the ethereal circle of music, which binds all of us who believe in it; the same feeling Glasvegas feels every time they take the stage. They bring it all back home, which is exactly where our hearts need to be. The concert of a lifetime, a band for the ages. I have seen the past, present and future of rock and roll and its name is Glasvegas.

Shell Games

I’ve collected things ever since I was young. Collecting might not have been what I would have called it when I was six years old having to convince my mom not to throw away tattered comic books. My justification consisted of the unknown idea of “someday” I might want to read them again. The first comic I remember buying was Amazing Spider-Man #250, featuring Spidey fighting the Hobgoblin. How could I not want it? The Hobgoblin even proclaimed “It’s great, steal it!” on the cover. Although tempted, I did cough up the whopping sixty cents and probably had the issue read before I even got back home. Spider-Man #250 might have been the first thing I purchased with the specific intent on keeping it. There might be a lot of stolen issues, who knows? My juvenile definition of collecting meant to aquire more of the same type of items with the intent getting a larger, “cooler” collection. Monetary value never factored into the equation.

Those who know me well or even a little, know I collect quite a few things, having spent the majority of my disposable income on things such as baseball cards, comics, records and a bunch of other things too numerous to mention. My parents would often comment on the ever-increasing space my stuff was taking up in their house (which became a more vocal issue after I began collecting vinyl records). “That’s a bunch of junk” was a phrase I heard – and still do hear fairly often.
“These (insert item here) are worth three hundred dollars” would be my generic reply.
“You should sell (insert item here) if you can get good money for it.”
“If I sell it, then what should I do with the money?”
“You should invest it.”
Needless to say, I never followed Mom and Dad’s advice. I never collected anything for the sheer value of it. I bought comics because I loved reading them, baseball cards because I was obsessed with statistics and the great photography on the old cards, and records because I loved listening to music. I didn’t understand why anyone would spend their money on shares of a company they knew little, if anything about. I knew the stock market dogma of “buy low, sell high” but I could apply that concept just as easily to garage-sailing and going to the flea market. As I became older and more versed in the value of my stuff, I could recognize a bargain when I saw it. An original Buddy Holly “45” from 1957 for fifty cents? I think I can afford that. A 1951 issue of Bugs Bunny for five bucks? Easy. Trading a 1986 Jose Canseco rookie card for a few hundred mint baseball cards from the mid-70’s? Yes, I really did pull that one off.

In my early teens, I discovered the price guides associated with comic books and baseball cards. The Overstreet and Beckett guides were (and still are) the bibles by which these collectables are judges. Beckett published monthly updates while Overstreet was published annually. Many collectors viewed the price guides as a Wall Street investor would their portfolio – a financial statement for the value of their “stuff”. Indeed, it was fun for my twelve year old self to watch his 1969 Nolan Ryan purchased for thirty dollars skyrocket to approximately 800 dollars. I guess the feeling was similar to the millions of Americans who loved seeing their 401k’s and investments balloon to incomprehensible heights in the last five years. Interestingly, both the comic book and baseball card hobbies became pawns in market inflation scams in the early 1990’s designed to take advantage of excited collectors and burgeoning investors.

The comic book industry gained substantial mainstream notice in the late 1980’s with the publication of “Watchmen” by Alan Moore and “The Dark Knight Returns” by Frank Miller. The widely expanding popularity of Marvel Comics’ “X-Men” and the uncontrollable anti-hero, Wolverine, were also beginning to permeate popular culture. Deciding to capitalize on their most popular product, Marvel began to expand the “X-Men” comic line to almost ten titles and inserted Wolverine in as many monthly issues as possible as comics with Wolverine appearances tended to rise quickly in value. The expanded X-Men line quickly resulted in inferior products. Many fans were not willing to purchase ten comics to follow an incomprehensible storyline which attempted to resolve itself over a year later, usually to the satisfaction of few readers.

The final nail in the comic investment coffin was Marvel’s asinine attempt to convince collectors to buy the same comic twice. Marvel began publishing selected comics (usually X-books) in a pre-sealed bag which contained trading cards or something else irrelevant inside. This forced the collector who wanted to read the comic to purchase two copies: one to open and read and the other to keep for value. Initially, this sparked a significant sales increase and interest in comic collecting by non-fans. Investors soon found out the sealed comics had little resale value despite the inflated prices placed on them by the Overstreet guide. As a result, the comic market became flooded with product nobody wanted, resulting in Marvel’s filing for bankruptcy in 1996. The comic book industry never recovered from this debacle, which saw Spider-Man, Hulk and the X-Men disappear from drug store racks, taking permanent residence in comic specialty stores.

The baseball card industry attempted to inflate and expand their market in a fashion acutely similar to Marvel Comics by using the Beckett Price Guide as a means of attracting outside investors. In 1989, Beckett increased its practice of over-inflating the value of unproven prospects. I attended the first-ever Twinsfest that year and was surprised to witness so many supposed collectors purchasing and selling dozens of Gregg Jefferies rookie cards while I thumbed through vintage albums looking for old Sparky Lyle and Bill Lee cards. As the 1989 season unfolded, Jefferies succumbed to the massive pressure built up by the baseball card industry. It took Jefferies a handful of years to recover from these unrealistic expectations, although he never came close to achieving the potential valued by Beckett before his career really began.

Undeterred by this failure, baseball card companies started a new practice a few years later, the insertion of “insert cards” in random packs. Insert cards were (and still are) short-printed cards of star players randomly placed in packs. Intended to entice investors rather than boys who idolized their heroes, card companies subsequently jacked the price of many products, hoping the chance of finding one out of five hundred Derek Jeter inserts would justify the seven dollar per pack purchase price. In 1995, I was at a sportscard shop in Hutchinson, MN and I noticed a few older men sitting by the sales counter opening packs of baseball cards in the same way gamblers open pull-tabs. I watched these guys remove the insert cards and trade them back to the shop owner for more packs. These ramblin’ gamblin’ dudes kept this habit going for hours until they, like most gamblers, ran out of money. As a result, the shop owner had a little extra cash in his pocket and a massive inventory of cards to sell. Most card shop owners believed the Beckett guide was the Bible and priced their cards accordingly. In doing so, they began to alienate their traditional market. Kids seemed unwilling to fork over their entire allowance for just one card. In a few years, the insert card craze had run its course and those looking to make a quick profit moved on to other endeavors, leaving many shop owners with gigantic, over-priced inventories and few customers willing to pay for them. This resulted in many shop owners taking a massive loss and ultimately going bankrupt.

These types of schemes evolved over the next fifteen years, resulting in the massive fraud perpetrated by Wall Street firms and those connected with its success. Back in my ferverent collecting days, I asked myself why anyone would invest their money at an entity that, by current consensus, is impossible to explain how it exactly functions. The textbook caveat of stock market investing is one makes a profit by buying low and selling high. However, the advice continually spewed from supposed experts like Jim Cramer and Suze Orman implied that the investor should rarely, if ever, sell. The market’s just going to get bigger and bigger was the mantra of almost all advisors connected to Wall Street in the last decade. The average investor believed it was foolish to cash out and miss an even bigger payoff. The problem Americans are now realizing is this supposed payoff would never come and was never going to. Granted, a small percentage of individuals were able to benefit from the over-inflated stock market, cashed out their portfolios and helped their family achieve financial security. Many Americans are now facing financial ruin from this chicanery, from evaporated savings to losing their homes.

The question that continues to not be posed by anyone in the media is why did so many millions of people fall for this scam? Why were we convinced investing in Wall Street was the most assured path to financial freedom? Why didn’t people just buy Mickey Mantle cards and Beatles albums instead? Whether anyone wants to admit it or not, Americans fell for this scheme because they wanted to. They wanted to be rich, brag at cocktail parties about the size of their portfolio and pretend to be one of those high rollers they now universally despise. If someone such as myself questioned why I should invest in the stock market, the traditional reply would be I just didn’t understand how the market functions. This is why CEO’s like Warren Buffet are billionares and I have a bunch of worthless Trashmen records. I was constantly told this by my father, who has exactly as much knowledge of Wall Street as Mr. Buffet currently does which judging by his billion dollar losses amounts to absolutely zero.

The methodology of this great swindle has its roots in our collective cultural mythology. A few weeks ago, I was reading my little girl “The Emperor’s New Clothes” by Hans Christian Anderson as I put her to bed. For those not familiar with the fairy tale, it centers around two charlatans who pass themselves off as weavers to an unsuspecting and vain emperor. The weavers claimed they made clothes that could only be seen by the wisest of individuals. If one could not see the clothes, they were not sophisticated enough to do so. The emperor fell for this pitch and even though he could not see the clothes, he pretended to do so as not to appear stupid. One by one, his courtiers followed suit, unwilling to look unenlightened and thus lose their place in his court. The weavers’ fraud is ultimately exposed when a child points out the emperor is completely naked as he parades himself through town.

Anderson’s point, or moral, is there have always been weavers and there always will be people willing to believe them. The Old West tale of the traveling medicine doctor who provided cures to those willing to pay for them is the first modern example of the con artist who eventually gained himself a seat on the high court of Wall Street. The medicine man sold sugar packets and whiskey as cures for all ailments. Wall Street sold us cures for our financial insecurities. Investors believed these claims because they wanted to. They didn’t want to miss out on the opportunity of massive wealth. To do so would be considered foolish. If everyone else is doing it, why should investing be doubted?

Looking at those massive portfolios must have brought investors the same feeling I get when I look at X-Men #10, the 1969 Nolan Ryan or the Chuck Berry record mounted on my wall. It is abhorrent for so many to lose this paper value but the question has to be raised if it really existed at all? I never bought into the Wall Street game and I never will. While depressing paper statements offer little enjoyment other that means to start a fire, I can still read Stan Lee’s introduction of the Juggernaut or look at a picture of a skinny kid who would eventually strike fear in hitters for over twenty years. They may prove to be as worthless as stock in AIG, but I can at least state I got something from my investment. Monetary value may dissipate but I can still listen to that rock and roll music any old time I choose it. There has been an increase in vinyl purchasing the last few years. Apparently, the sound quality of digital music is quite inferior to that of the record. I’ve seen Queen records at music stores commanding prices three times what I paid for them. Maybe the weavers have found a new method of conning us. For me, it doesn’t matter. If history teaches us one thing (and it should teach us infinitely) it is there is no way to get rich quick without being dishonest with yourself or your neighbor. Invest in yourself, those you care for and the things which make you happy. Trust me, it’s sound advice. Take it to the bank.

Viva Glasvegas! The Return of Recession Rock and Roll

Since the advent of rock and roll in the 1950’s, people have attempted to declare it dead, that it has run its course and there is nothing more the medium can offer audiences. This has occurred since 1959’s Buddy Holly plane crash to the present day with John Mellencamp writing an article which theorized the music industry is responsible for his lack of album sales (please insert your own Mellencamp joke here). Mellencamp argued it was impossible for rock music to get airplay yet tales of hard times and Americana are a little tough believe when they are written from a millionaire’s mansion. Powerful songs or struggle and perseverance tend to be written by those who have experienced them recently. The debut album of Glasvegas, a quartet from Scotland, is the best record I’ve heard in years and seems the most likely artist to epitomize the current worldwide recession.

A quartet whose songs are majestic yet simple, Glasvegas has a stripped down look and sound, which accents the soaring harmonies in many of their songs. Singer/songwriter James Allan could be a dead ringer for Joe Strummer or a 1950’s rocker. The entire band usually dresses in simple, black clothes yet their sound resembles the Arcade Fire, albeit with ten fewer musicians. Singing with his natural Scottish accent, James Allan is almost challenging audiences to accept the philosophy of no compromise. Rarely, if ever, has any artist achieved mass popularity if had an accent as strong as Allan’s. U2’s Bono is Irish and Tom Jones is Welsh but if one were to listen to their recordings without this knowledge, they might as well have hailed from New York City. Glasvegas’ adherence to their Scottish heritage makes some of Allan’s lyrics unintelligible but in doing so makes the songs more alluring and draws the listener into his passionate vocals. Coincidentally, U2 has recently announced Glasvegas will open for them for part of their upcoming tour.

In tough economic times, most people tend to cut back on extravagances, which can be shown in popular music during various eras of recession. It seems hard times often bring the best music. The 2002 recession may have been short, but it brought the White Stripes to prominence. A duo of just guitar and drums, Jack and Meg White’s minimalism was a welcome shot in the arm to the rock industry. A decade earlier, as the United States was going through the Bush I recession, audiences rebelled against the excesses of hair bands like Motley Crue and flocked to an unknown Seattle trio, Nirvana, en masse. Nirvana’s “Nevermind” became the anthem of early 90’s angst and even knocked the King of Pop Michael Jackson from the top of the charts. Nirvana had a minimalist approach to music as well. Although it can be argued produced Butch Vig slicked up Nirvana’s sound, their blistering live performances showcase a band in total deafening control. If “Nevermind” was the angry record of the early 90’s, REM’s “Automatic for the People” was the sad record. Abandoning their traditional, bouncy sound for sparse, melancholy arrangements, REM crafted an album which reflected the attitude of a generation abandoned by their leaders. A stripped down sound filled the record, which is still considered the band’s greatest achievement.

The rise of punk music in 1970’s Britain stands as the ultimate example of music upheaval during an economic crisis. Chronicled in the Julien Temple film “The Filth and the Fury”, punk’s assault and takeover of British youth culture was a direct result of mass unemployment, despair and bitterness young people felt toward their government, elders and society. The Sex Pistols encapsulated these emotions in their first three singles “Anarchy in the U.K.,” “God Save the Queen” and “Pretty Vacant.” The political fury over the band’s popularity caused the BBC to ban playing of “God Save the Queen” to prevent it from becoming the number one song in the country. When the Pistols performed live, it was a live action disaster flick. It became debatable if the band could really play at all, which was a ruse spread by their manager, Malcolm McLaren. The concept of band with questionable musical ability somehow managing to become the most popular artist in Britain was indeed a slap in the face to society. Truthfully, all of the Sex Pistols (even Sid Vicious) had decent musical chops. Decent enough to convince critics they couldn’t play. Like Nirvana, the Sex Pistols’ existence was short (approximately eighteen months) but their one record is still considered one of the finest rock and roll albums ever made.

Glasvegas’ self-titled debut album reflects a society different from the three decades previously discussed. Most western cultures are no longer impoverished on a scale compared to yesteryear. Many people who consider themselves poor still have an Ipod, internet and a big T.V. Yet many are still sad, the disconnection brought on by modern convenience has left many lonely and unappreciated. Glasvegas’ first single, “Geraldine,” describes a social worker who wants to “be the angel on your shoulder” who talks people “back from the edge.” James Allan celebrates an occupation often underappreciated. Drummer Caroline McKay’s simple yet strong backbeat pounds against the falsetto of Rob Allan, James’ cousin. Combined with James Allan’s passionate, accented vocals, “Geraldine” is a fantastic debut single that recalls classic music from the 1950’s with punk bombast and pure pop melody.

“Daddy’s Gone”, the band’s second single is a different take on the far too common problem of absent fathers. James Allan describes his father as “my hero, but you were never here though,” a bittersweet admission of unconditional love. The lyrics, along with Allan’s incredible voice, conveys gutwrenching sadness yet the chorus has tone of defiant resolve:

“I wont be the lonely one
sitting on my own and sad
a fifty year old
reminiscing what I had”

The lyric can be interpreted two ways, as a statement of pity or one of self-determination, possibly both. Many sons of broken homes have resolved to raise their own families the best they can, refusing to subject their children or themselves to the fate given to them by their own father. The song’s arrangement is minimal, repeating motifs of guitar and bass until the emotional final chorus, which incorporates 50’s harmony with punk passion. This synthesis of old and new is epitome of great rock and roll. Glasvegas brings us a new interpretation of the past for our uncertain future. Unlike many of the recession rock artists of the past, Glasvegas inspires us to think, not destroy; to be passionate about life and not nihilistic.

We are in an era where many of us are contemplating our place and our future in this world; an inclusive, yet distant society that seems to long for real emotion rather than those manufactured on television or fabricated on the internet. James Allan and Glasvegas bring us back home, back to the place of unshielded feeling. Many of us need a little bit more of that human touch, the place inside us which makes us care and rage with all our power, suppressing nothing and ideologically uncompromising. Glasvegas challenges us to recognize the world around us for what it is and truly feel it in our gut. The world is not a just soundbite on CNN or gossip item on Perez Hilton. It is a real, evolving entity; one we can shape if we choose to do so. Glasvegas are a triumph of emotion over calculation, belief over doubt. It is this attitude, the same attitude of Elvis Presley, the Sex Pistols and Nirvana, that makes music truly alive for us all.

Keeping Time on the "Watchmen"

Zack Snyder’s adaptation of Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons’ 20th Century classic “Watchmen” is, depending on who you ask, visionary, uncompromising, confusing or nihilistic. Reviews thus far tend to rate this film as a classic (Roger Ebert’s four out of four stars) or a complete waste of almost three hours of your life (The New Yorker’s Anthony Lane). As a fan of the original graphic novel, I was interested mostly in how director Snyder would adapt certain portions of the text, what he would change and the potential justification in doing so. Although some purists may disagree, most of Snyder’s decisions enhance the overall “Watchmen” experience for those who have read the novel as well as delivering powerful cinematic entertainment for those who have not. Warning! The following contains spoilers! If you do not want to know that Dr. Manhattan has intense, philosophical discussions with Shrek, the outcome of a fight to the death between the Comedian and Chris Brown and why an exploding giant squid was left out entirely, please put this down and resume once you have viewed the film or just feel the need to spoil plot developments for someone else.

One of the major challenges facing Zack Snyder was to show the Watchmen in action. The novel itself is very talkie, with intermittent action scenes but the abilities of Nite Owl, Silk Spectre, Rorschach, Comedian, Ozymandias and Dr. Manhattan are left up to the imagination of the reader. Much of this may have had to do with the comics code, which was still enforced by DC Comics in 1987. The comics code placed limits on how much sex and violence could be shown in comic books. Artist Dave Gibbons mostly succeeded in implying the violent nature of the Watchmen, but the limitations of his era left some readers wondering how characters such as Nite Owl fought crime without getting their butts kicked. Snyder draws inspiration mostly from Batman, a hero with no real powers but physically gifted and possessing unreal combat skills. This is shown superbly in the fight sequence between Nite Owl, Silk Spectre and a group of thugs. Considered the two most relatable characters, the duo decimates the street gang with violent precision with little regard for the physical welfare of their opponents. Limbs are shattered with careless ease while our “heroes” are shown enjoying this combat. One of the few gaps in the novel left by Moore is how exactly the Watchmen become so hated and eventually outlawed. The alley action scene fills this in, albeit courting fanboy controversy in doing so. Nite Owl and Silk Spectre are shown to be more amoral than Batman. Imagine a few vigilante Bruce Lee’s patrolling the street. Not a pretty result.

The sadism in the behavior of Rorschach and Comedian is amplified to the tenth power as well. Snyder interprets Comedian as completely amoral, an anti-hero with the hero completely removed. Comedian Eddie Blake saves exactly zero people and kills hundreds, some just for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. He justifies his behavior by his belief that the world we live in is a complete joke, our sense of right and wrong is just a fallacy, the world is completely corrupt and he’s just enjoying the ride. Eddie Blake has no friends except his guns, his fists and desire to satisfy his unending appetite for violence. His murder is the framework around “Watchmen” is designed. Are we supposed to care that he was murdered or is his killing justification for all those he harmed in the name of justice?

Comedian’s trademark is the “smiley face” button affixed to his costume. The button is meant to symbolize the destruction and contradiction of the liberal lifestyle of the 1970’s. Smiley face buttons sold by the millions in that decade, yet the debauchery and free-spirited attitude brought on a revolt by the conservative population in the United States and Great Britain, with the elections of Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher. Zack Snyder wisely fought to keep Moore’s novel set in 1984, when much of the world was just recovering from a recession as severe as the one we are experiencing in 2009. Much of the world was in fear of nuclear war between the U.S. and Russia, which was used by Moore as the background for the conflicts which develop in “Watchmen.” The use of the “smiley-face” in both novel and film, implies that the world could never really achieve any kind of utopia and those who believe in it’s possibility are as crazy as the Comedian, just on the opposite spectrum. Allusions to Thomas More’s classic “Utopia” are implied later, as the Watchmen are faced with a fateful decision, which will alter not only their lives but also all of humanity.

Rorschach (excellently played by Jackie Earl Haley) is the most realized character in the film. Almost Shakespearian in nature, Rorschach is the ill-fated hero, obsessed with justice no matter the cost. Haley’s interpretation of the character evokes more sympathy than Rorschach is given in the novel. Snyder sets up Comedian as the amoral hero and Rorschach as the heroic “Dirty Harry,” who blames liberal society for the proliferation of criminal activities. Rorschach only kills “bad guys” while Comedian kills just because he can. His past is similar to that of Bruce Wayne with his hatred for those who abuse others consuming his obsession for total justice without compromise. Snyder makes the viewer empathize with Rorschach’s behavior and abhor that of the Comedian. These lines are much more blurry in Moore’s novel but Snyder must have thought film needed a character to represent justice in a more overt way. Nite Owl is far too much a wuss for the audience to identify with, in more ways than one. Much credit should be given the Jackie Earl Haley, whose few scenes of facial expression are easily the most moving in the film. Haley’s final scene is more powerful than the one in Moore’s novel. Those with knowledge of the original novel must have felt they were experiencing the demise of Hamlet. Although the end is certain, the portrayal by the actor makes the scene new and jolting.

Possibly the biggest disappointment in “Watchmen” are the characters of Dr. Manhattan and Ozymandias. Although proficiently acted, we are left wanting more from these intertwined characters. Admittedly, these characters are hard to crack in the novel. How do you really get inside someone who knows all realities, past, present and future like Dr. Manhattan or the world’s smartest person, Ozymandias? Both characters have a parallel staleness about them, a detachment that must be perceived as a lack of connection to humanity. Dr. Manhattan no longer understands it, while Ozymandias believes he is above it. Zack Snyder takes liberties with both characters, making Manhattan more human and Ozymandias more despicable. Similar to emphasizing Rorschach as a fated hero, Ozymandias is the flawed villain. This decision must have been made to give audiences a more emotional climax as Moore’s novel ends on an almost emotionless note. Granted, these characters and their motivations were probably the hardest to realize on film, but marginalizing their complexities results in a different emotional climax. Snyder’s biggest error may have been including Ozymandias’ mutant cat. All plot points revolving around it were omitted from the film, so why include the cat except to avoid fanboy scrutiny?

The biggest change Zack Snyder made to the source material of “Watchmen” and the one most likely to be debated, is the altering of Ozymandias’ utopia. Admittedly, a giant exploding squid would not be very believable for 2009 audiences, but his amplification of Ozymandias’ plan. In 1987, Alan Moore theorized one tragic event of human destruction would be enough to unite the world in peace. September 11th, 2001 and the subsequent political events following it changed this idea. Moore believed the world would unite after a significant part of New York was destroyed, forging a peace between all industrial super-powers. The fallout of 9/11 showed this theory was not feasible. Although the United States initially received outpourings of empathy and aid, this worldwide goodwill was squandered by excessive nationalism, suppression and over-reaching military activity by the George W. Bush administration. Snyder realized the catastrophic event which culminates “Watchmen” had to be farther reaching and affect each world power in the same fashion. Our world is far different than the one Alan Moore inhabited in 1987. We are more connected yet farther apart. There are several more powerful, influential countries in 2009. In his one time jump, the fallout of Ozymandias’ plan affects all the nations in play today, not those in 1984 where we were just worrying about the Russians. Snyder repeatedly shows the World Trade Center in his film, inviting the viewer to draw comparisons between 9/11 and the events in “Watchmen.” If all the world’s most powerful nations are attacked equally, will they unite, as Ozymandias theorizes, or we still doomed to the comedy of our humanity?

The film and novel of “Watchmen” end on the same note. Can we pretend to live in a peace that really doesn’t exist or will the knowledge of its fallacy consume our thoughts? Is an orchestrated peace better than a world filled with war? Is there a universal utopia or will it always be just a modern extension of Thomas More’s theory? Is the diary of a lunatic the voice of truth and justice? Are we doomed to repeat our errors regardless of intention? The question “Who watches the Watchmen?” permeates both works with little explanation on its inclusion. The answer (at least my interpretation of it) can be found in a subtle difference between novel and film. In his novel, Alan Moore never calls the group of crime fighters that succeed the minutemen “Watchmen.” In fact, it is implied the group never really formed at all, their one meeting turned into disarray by ideological differences between Ozymandias and Comedian. I spent a long time wondering why Alan Moore would remove his name from association with the film, but I think I’ve figured it out. “Who watches the Watchmen” is not a reference to a group of costumed avengers, but a question put forth to us. Who are our Watchmen? Do we trust them? Do we put our faith in their ability to right wrongs and look out for us? Who watches them, those we believe will lead us into a better world? Do we not put them on a pedestal when they are actually just like us: good, bad, lonely and lovelorn, simultaneously chaos and order, intelligent and ignorant, confident yet contradictive? If we are the Watchmen, then who watches us?

You Say You Want a Revolution?

“It ain't that big. The whole United States ain't that big. It ain't that big. It ain't big enough. There ain't room enough for you an' me, for your kind an' my kind, for rich and poor together all in one country, for thieves and honest men. For hunger and fat.”
– John Steinbeck, The Grapes of Wrath.

When Barack Obama was elected president last November, he stated, “Change is coming.” Change, as many of us know, is an ambiguous term and can be interpreted countless different ways, kinda like the term “hope.” To many Americans who voted for Obama, change simply meant “not Bush.” If there is anyone out there who actually thinks few voters cast their ballot based on this rather baseless reasoning, I have a new flavor of ice cream to sell you – “dairy delusional”. In 2004, the activist group “Vote for Change” assaulted people throughout Minneapolis with the pitch “Do you want to help get George Bush out of the White House?” Although young, earnest and well-intentioned, I tended to question the volunteers depth of knowledge considering they could state little regarding the candidate they supported at the time (John Kerry) and relied on voter dissatisfaction on the current administration to achieve their goal. Fast-forward to 2008, the average citizen is disgusted with the economy, Bush cronyism and the concept of politics as usual in Washington. The media covered the election like a bizzaro reality show starring a charming, eloquent 47-year-old senator named Barack Obama. Obama was able to successfully use television and the internet to combine the concepts of “change”, “hope” and “not Bush” en route to a definitive victory. However, for the millions of Americans who voted for the “not Bush”, many of whom voted with their almost-empty pocketbooks, the change coming from the new administration is far different from the vagueness left up to their imaginations months earlier.

When President Obama unveiled his housing rescue program last week, many Americans were dismayed at the apparent concept of rewarding people who bit off more than they could financially chew. Although Obama stated his program would not help laid off yuppies stay in their McMansions, press secretary Robert Gibbs confessed the program will more than likely aid some undeserving homeowners. In what is probably President Obama’s first major policy flop, the concept of American taxpayers subsidizing their foolish neighbors in addition to paying for arrogant, money-hoarding banks and clueless auto companies is too much to fathom after giving the new president a basic pass on his stimulus package. Time for another lesson from the wonderful world of Adam Koeppe Simple Math. First, the cost of living is much more expensive in Florida, New York and California than the rest of the country. A $500,000 home in Florida could equate to a $150,000 property in Minnesota, Wisconsin or many other parts of the country. Secondly, Florida and California are two of the states hit hardest by the mortgage meltdown, so there’s a lot of rich or wanna be rich people with their hands out. Third, proportionally, it will be much more expensive to help out the well-dressed beautiful people than the majority of the country. In other words, for every one home that is bailed out in Florida or California, the government could help almost five in other states. Five to one, one to five. Are we going to get out of this mess alive?

I have nothing against palm tree huggers; I just want them to understand the rest of the country would like them to live within their means. If you can afford to live it up in Miami or Los Angeles, great. Party on. Say hi to Jeremy Piven for me. If you can’t afford your rock and roll lifestyle, load up your car and move into Jed Clampett’s old digs in hillbilly land. President Obama has indicated our decades long belief in a culture of entitlement is ending. Using this philosophy could place the new President at odds with many of the same people who voted for him. My trusted sources have informed me that Fox News, Matt Drudge and every conservative talk radio host across the country will expose each and every undeserving home owner who is bailed out and will shove it in Obama’s face alongside pictures of said mansions and their swimming pools day after day until the public is in compete disgust of those who think they are entitled to a certain standard of living, even though they do not deserve it. Octomom: THIS IS YOU.

As President Obama pushes for billions of dollars to fund long-needed health care reform, he will continually remind us it is our duty as citizens to care for our own and that no family should lose everything they own because of out of control health care costs. I could not agree more. If I didn’t have insurance, my last visit to the doctor’s office would have been $118, and that was with no tests, x-rays or other stuff. That was just to walk in the door. Americans are bombarded with heath-care horror stories from both sides, but the majority agrees the costs are out of control and the insurance industry is a joke. However, this legislation will have a negative impact on the stock market, as pretty much everything Obama has done so far has distressed the not so mighty minds of Wall Street. There are many companies dependant on the health insurance industry to function and as that dependence is eroded, so will investor confidence in said companies. I know many businesses that provide heath insurance for enticement to work for their company in a sweatshop-like atmosphere just so their family can afford doctor and dentist visits. Similar to the General Motors, these companies will be forced to alter their business model to accommodate workers who will no longer need to labor under adverse conditions to afford heath care. There are tens of thousands of companies like this and they will make their feelings heard through a stagnant stock market.

Many Americans are concerned over the fate of Wall Street and their incredibly shrinking portfolios. As much as the declining market is a result of Obama’s policies, it also reflects a complete lack of confidence in big business and the individuals who speculate on their future. The public is given a new charlatan on a weekly basis; a person who has swindled people from their earnings so they can live like kings. The latest dirtbag in a thousand-dollar suit, R. Allen Stanford, actually liked to be called “Sir”, a title used in his official biography on Stanfordfinancial.com. Stanford is accused of a nine billon dollar Ponzi scheme, which is still dwarfed by Bernie Madoff’s fifty billion dollar fraud. President Obama has not called out these individuals by name, only stating that these are actions of a few and not indicative of investors and bankers in general. The President may be correct in this generalization, but the anger surrounding these individuals continues to mount. The FBI and SEC are facing massive pressure to root out these bad guys, a process which began at the tail end of the Bush presidency. As more Stanfords are added to the list of real-life J.R. Ewings, citizens will become far less likely to invest their savings in a stock market they no longer trust.

In order for the free market to function properly, there has to be an implicit assurance of trust and honesty. This trust has been decimated by the behavior of banks, the auto industry and greedy slimeballs in general. Like any relationship, once trust is violated, it is very difficult to earn back. Many people just choose to cut their losses and move on. This means less investing of income by Americans, providing they have any income left to invest. Retrospectively, it was not really feasible for the stock market to double its value in ten years, nor should it be a complete surprise that it returns to levels predating the spike. Frank Rich pointed out the increase in bank craziness runs parallel to the departure of the last Wall Street executives who were affected by the Great Depression. After they retired, Gordon Gekko was free to swindle, lie and buy as he pleased, as long as he had a nice compensation package waiting for him after he ran his company into the ground. The guaranteed contracts of high-ranking executives have become a burden on investors. The more there are, the less likely more capital will be put into the system. If the general public no longer trusts business to take care or itself, it’s hard to invest in their future. To his credit, Barack Obama has not used his bully pulpit to incite further anger towards these institutions. Maybe he realizes Americans are ticked off enough. In his speech Tuesday night, he stated he “gets it.” If this is indeed so, we are in for a rude awakening surrounding our culture of “gimme gimme gimme.”

Our country elected a man who does not support the game as it has been played for the last few decades. He is moving the chess board in a permanent sort of way. The opposition to his policies has few leaders and no one that can match the oratorical abilities of Barack Obama. When he takes his show on the road, as he did to promote support for the stimulus, our president has no peer. The Republican Party is in sad disarray, suffering from the fallout of Bush cronyism and videotaped handshakes with the ex-president used in campaigns of years past. They have little, if any knowledge of internet communications, an allegation made by Senator John McCain’s daughter Meghan, in a relavatory piece posted on The Daily Beast. President Obama will use this advantage, along with his super-speaking power, for the foreseeable future. This may not be the change the “not-Bushes” voted for or wanted, but it is the change that has arrived, for better or worse. Our world is shifting, true believers, but it is still up to us if we choose to believe in ourselves and not politicians, pundits and posers.

Meanwhile, conservatives are huddled together enmasse at the Conservative Political Action Conference (CPAC), trying to redefine themselves as constitutionalists, fiscally responsible and generally “not Bush.” Even the esteemed, portly, pompous Rush Limbaugh stated the road ahead for the Republican Party will be tough. “Not Bush” won, not only destroying the Karl Rove ideal of a permanent Republican majority, but making it a concept as laughable as Al Gore inventing the internet. Republicans had little to fear if Hillary Clinton would have been elected, as was widely presumed a year ago. She plays the game traditionally and would have enacted business as usual in centrist Democratic policymaking. However, Clinton did not win the nomination and Barack Obama won the presidency. He has such a head start on fundraising, monetarily and technologically, Republicans do not only resemble a tortoise, they resemble a tortoise with its head three feet up its backside. Until they realize they have to move beyond lobbying their message to radio and broadcast T.V., they risk further marginalizing themselves while President Obama has his way with his party majorities in congress, which if I may remind some forgetful readers, exist because the Republican Party marched lock and step with George…who? As I watch the CPAC convention, no-one seems to know this guy. George…Foreman? Jetson? Phyllis George? Ask anyone at CPAC, the last Republican president was Reagan, not “whatsisname.”

As the CPAC crew does the time warp, the rest of the country is left with the fallout of electing a man who wants to change the economic landscape dramatically. If “not Bush” is what many voters wanted, they have received it to the 10th power. If the political landscape shifts toward an era of big government and helping the infinitely stupid, the incompetence of the administration of George W. Bush played just as large a part in its ascendance as the speaking abilities of a first-term U.S. Senator. Many of us do not like some (if any) proposals in Barack Obama’s agenda, but he is in charge for the next few years and won by a decisive majority. We’re going to have to live with his decisions and hope for the best, as we did when some other guy babbled about imaginary WMD’s. President Obama has political capital and he is going to use it. His promise of change is here, but it may not be sunshine, lollipops and rainbows for some of us. Nobody said change was going to be easy or even slightly bumpy. Fasten your seatbelts, kiddos. We’re in for a completely off-road experience.

And the Winner Is...

By the time I’ve finished posting this, “Slumdog Millionaire” will more than likely have been named Best Picture at the 2009 Oscars. It’s easy to see why the film has been given such accolades thus far. It possesses a tight, well-structured screenplay and is masterfully directed by Danny Boyle. “Slumdog” is paced well, keeps the audience involved with the three main characters and provides an emotional, if slightly predictable climax. I guess you’ve noticed my words aren’t drooling with admiration. I loved “Slumdog” but I have a tough time placing it above films such as “WALL-E” and “Gran Torino” as the best picture of the year. The fact that the latter two films were not even nominated for the category calls into question the politics of the academy and award shows in general.

“Slumdog Millionaire” represents the culmination of many themes represented in Danny Boyle’s work, beginning with 1994’s “Shallow Grave” and continued with the cult favorite “Trainspotting”, the apocalyptic horror film “28 Days Later” and 2004’s “Millions”, Boyle’s first foray into more mainstream filmmaking. Many characters in these films live on the edges of society and choose crime as a way of life as their existence has provided no other plausible outlet for success. In “Slumdog” Jamal and his brother Salim spend most of their youth as thieves and con artists, yet we never call into question their motives, as they were penniless orphans with no other logical means of surviving. Boyle covered similar ground in 1996’s “Trainspotting”, his images of welfare-stricken England slightly similar in tone to that of Mumbai. We tend not to criticize the questionable acts of Renton during the movie, as we believe he is doing what he can to make a living, even if it is stealing and selling drugs.

It is understood that the crappiest parts of England are preferable to the slums of Mumbai, India. However, Boyle has progressively been using impoverished archetypes to show how nice, likable people do things they shouldn’t due to destiny or fate. Coincidentally, Boyle uses a clip from “Who Wants to be a Millionaire?” in “Millions”, where a young boy finds a sack of money that he believes fell from the sky. “Millions” is lighter in tone than “Slumdog Millionaire” but begins many themes that Boyle perfects in the latter film. In “Slumdog”, the sacrifices endured by several key characters are far greater than those in any of Boyle’s previous works, making their redemption more powerful and fully realized than in any of his other films.

Like Martin Scorsese’s “The Departed” and Clint Eastwood’s “Unforgiven”, “Slumdog Millionaire” is the ultimate Danny Boyle movie. In addition to the script and themes, Boyle synthesizes his quick-flash action cinematography used in “28 Days Later”, the psychedelic imagery shown in “Trainspotting” and 2000’s “The Beach”. “Slumdog” is a work of a master craftsman at his peak, who may possibly have over two decades of filmmaking left in his tank. Boyle, 53, is far younger than Scorsese and Eastwood when they received this honor. Maybe this is the academy’s method of rectifying previous errors like the snubbing of Scorsese and Eastwood much of their careers. “The Departed” is a great film, but most film buffs prefer “Goodfellas” as the ultimate Scorsese gangster flick. “Unforgiven” may have given Clint his first statue, but “The Outlaw Josey Wales” is in many eyes, a far superior Western. With a lack of new blood in the Hollywood star system, it is possible many voters want to make a new celebrity any which way they can, be they actors or directors. Peter Jackson’s Oscar for 2003’s “The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King” gave him superstar-director status and the right to pick any project he chooses, no matter how astronomical the budget. It remains to be seen how Boyle will handle his celebrity status if “Slumdog” takes “Best Director” and “Best Picture”. I hope he eventually makes his sequel to “Trainspotting”, which has hinted at from time to time. Who doesn’t want to see how “Spud” and “SickBoy” handle middle-age?

The two films I mentioned as Best Picture snubs, “WALL-E” and “Gran Torino”, may have been passed on for political reasons. “WALL-E”, by far the best reviewed film of 2008, is not only animated, but forgoes the “star-system” of voiceovers (unless you count John Ratzenberger, Kathy Najimy and an almost unrecognizable Sigourney Weaver). “Wall-E” made millions for Disney/Pixar but did not feed the Hollywood system, which loves to pat itself on the back. It’s understood that “Slumdog Millionaire” doesn’t either, but the end goal may be making a star out of the director who may then “feed the system” for the next twenty years or so. It may also be the academy is doing to Pixar what they did to Scorsese, Eastwood and many others: have them wait decades until they get the award as an almost-thank you as opposed to earning it for a truly deserving film.

While “WALL-E” is an almost shoo-in for Best Animated Feature, Clint Eastwood’s “Gran Torino” was snubbed entirely, mostly for political reasons. Seen by many as Eastwood’s return to the “Dirty Harry” mentality, “Torino” epitomizes the type of film many of the Hollywood elite do not want to reward. The Film Comment review of “Gran Torino” trashed the acting of the young, mostly Hmong performers in the film. Ironically, no such criticism was leveled at any of the cast of “Slumdog” as they were mostly film veterans while Eastwood chose to use mostly amateurs. However, the performances of the characters in “Slumdog” could be seen as almost too polished whereas the inexperience of the young actors in “Torino” emphasizes the shyness of outsiders trying to fit in. If “Slumdog Millionaire” is Oscar’s darling, “Gran Torino” is surely its pariah. It is a pity the academy chose not to recognize Eastwood, whose film is a culmination of many of his themes regarding justice, pain and redemption. These same themes, interestingly, are dealt with by Danny Boyle in “Slumdog Millionaire” but in a much more politically correct fashion. Hey, who said Hollywood wasn’t hypocritical?

When the Oscars are finished, it will not really matter which 2008 films win or lose, but which ones will go on to engrain themselves into the public movie consciousness. I watched a goodly chunk of TCM’s “31 Days of Oscar” and am always surprised at how few films I recognize. An award does not always guarantee immortality or a wide audience, just a line in a history book. Sometimes the sentimentality of the present overwhelms the concept of posterity for the future. If we look at the nominees from 25 years ago, only “The Big Chill” stands out as a film still watched by contemporary audiences. Conversely, the two best-known films from 1983, “Return of the Jedi” and “National Lampoon’s Vacation” are aired regularly and are part of the average movie-lover’s collection. Time is the ultimate judge of a film’s durability and influence, not the political motivations of an elite few. If we use this standard, the 2009 award for “Film Most Likely to be Remembered” is: “WALL-E” with “The Dark Knight” in second place. Time as always, will determine the films remembered, the ones forgotten and the ones doomed to air at 2AM on bad TV stations (thank you, Razzies!).

Artifacts

My grandparents’ house is a fascinating place. Seemingly out of time, almost everything in it is 25 years old or older, except for a cable box purchased in anticipation of the end of analog broadcasts. The refrigerator, stove, bedrooms and dining room remain similar as I have always remembered. An era where radios were furniture with lamps and magazines on an oak top preserved like an interactive protest against time itself. The record player is over thirty years old yet still contains the original receipt and warranty inside. My grandfather passed away eleven years ago and much of the house has stopped since his passing. Storage boxes surround the foot of his bed, stacked in haphazard fashion, but his ashtray is beside the bed next to the same brown rectangular clock, which has kept time for decades. Occasionally, I take a nap or sleep in the bed and I always feel his smell and aura around me.

Recently, I brought my two little ones to visit Great Grandma. Although the house is too small for their enthusiasm, they seem to enjoy it tremendously. There are always cookies in the kitchen, chips in the living room and ice cream in the freezer. Upon arriving, my son, Shane was intent on breaking into the door leading to the attic steps, an endeavor attempted many times by yours truly when I was his age. The door is a pathway to the past, a means to access the unknown somethings which connect us through time. Shane pulled away the boxes blocking the door, intent on finding a box of toys I’d found a year earlier. The box contained toys from my childhood, things I probably played with while the rest of the world was jiving to the Bee Gees.

Shane dived in and pulled out a Fisher Price toy T.V. It played scrolling pictures to “London Bridges” and “Row Your Boat.” Winding the tuning knob caused the pictures to move and the music to play. He was fascinated by this primitive music box, wondering how the knob he turned could cause the music to play. While he played with it, I realized I knew basically how the toy worked. Spring, rubber band and torque? I wasn’t sure if I was right but at least I had an explanation. I have no idea how “Tickle Me Elmo” works and part of me never wants to. My toys from thirty years ago captivated him as he went back to the attic steps for another. He pulled out a Tonka Toys tractor with a working loader and bucket. Shane asked how it worked and my Dad and I demonstrated the levers which lifted the loader and emptied the bucket. He was happy with the answer, which is better than I could hope to describe how the DVD player operates. His excavation continued from the box and around the house, resulting in wood nesting puzzles, a hand-made cloth book and a magnifying glass. Eventually, he came across a metal bar with two wheels in the front and back.
“What’s that, Daddy?”
“It’s a car.”
“No it’s not,” said Dad. “That’s a pulley for a barn door.”
“Granddad always said it was a car.”

A pulley pulls the curtain open to a ballet of memories. A music box is the key to the universe twirling in the mind. Bouncing on the bed, ring around the rosie, hiding under covers afraid of monsters – and the monsters attack! A doll that opens its eyes if you love it that much. An imagination filled with a hug, a kiss and nursery rhymes.

A baby grandfather clock sits on the fireplace mantle. It hasn’t chimed in years but I hear its echo now. Grandma had let it go quiet, the quarter hour signal silenced. White ceiling paint peels above it, an implicit signal of the breaking of the past, a desire not to fix, but leave behind. She will be ninety-one this year and longs for a world that was probably just as corrupt, but a little easier to believe in. Connected to my Grandfather in an eternal, ethereal bond, which one has with a true love, a feeling that flows through time and space, past and future. The instinct which bonds us with one other, the one we’re supposed to spend time with. A decade is a long time to wait for a connection, a signal that the little something called love lasts forever.

The echo of the clock became a noise. Grandma found a new energy as my little two year old, Romana, pulled her from room to room, bouncing on the beds with gleeful abandon. Shane is grabbing cookies, taking marshmallows from the stovetop and somersaulting on the carpet. The stagnant clock rewinds, cracks in the ceiling are sealed as the house becomes filled with smiles and laughter. I could smell my grandfather’s pipe in the air. What was old is eternally new, present and alive. I laid back in his chair, taking in the timeslip as I had many times since his passing. Transcending time is like watching a waterfall. It flows with metronome momentum, occurring continually throughout the conscious. These are the places we’re meant to be at because we’ve always been there, the places that are pure as the first breath we take.

It is still close to impossible for me to picture Grandma at ninety-one. To me, she is still the person I could see gazing out of the kitchen window, washing dishes, watching me play in the sandbox or mow the lawn with Grandpa. The person who gave me a bowl of vanilla ice cream with chocolate on top and played Rummy and Pinochle with me for hours was the same person that Saturday. Time may be cruel but it also can be kind, providing mirror-flashes of faces un-aged and bodies still vibrant. We are only as old as the images of ourselves reflected in our subconscious. I smelled the pipe tobacco of Grandpa. Maybe it’s real, maybe it’s not but I relished it just the same. I think Grandma felt it too, that day. I’ve had this feeling before, a sense of a distant world gone by seeping into the present, almost always at the farm but there are other waterfalls flowing into the river of reality but the only one I can verify is the farm I grew up on. There are places and moments that put you out of time, into a spectrum wider than existence itself. These instincts could be chalked up to déjà vu, divine intervention or delusions of grandeur. I cannot claim to know, only that I suspect many of us have these experiences as well. It’s our choice if we accept them or bury them inside.

As I left the farmhouse, I looked across the lake and inhaled the crisp air. It felt old, new yet changing and evolving. Simultaneously, I felt like I was in 1959, 1969, 1979, 1989, 1999 and 2009 and all the years in-between. The universe is intertwined in ways so intricate we can barely comprehend them in our wildest fantasies. I can take my Fisher Price T.V., rewind the boat and float gently down the stream. My Grandma experiences this every day when she thinks about her life spent with Grandpa, the family and friends who are passed on, yet through the power of memory they continue to breathe. Like artifacts in a museum on display, memories are an idolization of the past, a pretense of the present and a portent of the future. Although she is often alone, I hope Grandma is in good company with her past, greeting each new day with a desire that the present isn’t so dire and the future gives her a hug when they say goodbye. As she falls asleep in her rocking chair, Granddad is still there smoking his pipe and making sure she is all right. It is the comfort of a life well led and loved which overcomes the void, the feeling that you’re never really alone as long as someone loves you throughout eternity.