108. Notebooks
Notebooks have been really important to me for a long time. I kept a diary from 7th grade on, and was very picky about the notebooks I honored with that role in my life. After I started going to therapy, I started keeping a journal pretty regularly, recording my thoughts about what was hard, what was easy, and just what was going on. Initially, I focused mostly on my mental health. I had a lot to say, and I filled up many of these composition books, in different colors.
:great notebooks, i still use them for classes:
After that, I moved on to smaller models, so that I could write lists and take notes and record good quotes, along with my therapeutic writings. My favorite journals these days are by Writersblok. They come in a pack of 4 for about $6. They’re maybe 3′ by 5′, so they’re perfect to keep in the front pocket of my purse or back pack for convenience’s sake. I use them just about every day, whether to jot down a friend’s favorite song, what I want for my birthday, or just To Do lists.
:perfect companion:
About a week ago, Curtis bought me some Moleskine notebooks. I haven’t opened them yet, but Moleskines are supposed to be the trendy-best. As they advertise, they were the chosen notebook of Ernest Hemingway. Mine are navy and in the “cahier” style.
:beaucoup de cahiers:
For a while I also used a gorgeous Florentine notebook to keep track of money I spent – I recorded every expense for a month so I could reconsider how I spent money, considering what was worthwhile and what wasn’t. This experiment was part of what convinced me to stop smoking (so expensive!)
:classic florentine style:
What are my readers’ favorite notebooks and journals? This is such an exciting topic.
103. Gone and Forgotten
Here’s a blog all about comic books – which are most definitely rectangles. I’m sure there are about 12 million of these comic blogs, each with millions of nerds sitting at home reading. But this one is actually kinda cool.
I first heard about Gone and Forgotten on This American Life (listen to the episode here). I was so intrigued that I had to look it up. The author, Jonathan Morris, who likes to go by Your Humble Editor, picks out comics and characters that didn’t pan out, for whatever reason. Gone and Forgotten describes itself as “a blog dedicated to the bottom of the comic book barrel; the Secret Wars IIs, the Kitty Pryde and Wolverines, the Green Teams and John Targitts and the one time Krypto swore like a drunken sailor on shore leave.”
None of that means anything to me, I guess those are inside comic book junkie jokes.
Most of what Morris posts are old “activity pages:”
:really?:
And “Batman leads an interesting life” Fridays:
:well, she is a redhead:
But there is a category for “Classic Gone & Forgotten” which gives the reader plenty of silly-named superheroes and descriptions of their “superpowers.” Here’s an excerpt from Skateman:
:luv:
“…Billy also befriends a local neighborhood “Beaner” (his words, not mine, folks) Paco, whom he teaches to “defend himself AND ride a skateboard.” Teach what you know, I guess. This starts to help Billy out of his depression, until BIKERS KILL ANGEL [his girlfriend]! Thanks for being in the Dramatis Personae, hon, we really cared deeply for you as a character.
This sends Billy over the edge, and inspired by Paco’s comic book collection, our flaxen-haired derby jockey adopts a disguise to strike terror into criminal’s hearts – assuming the criminals live in Venice Beach and are easily scared – SKATEMAN!”
:in full regalia:
“…As an aside, all the hispanic people in this book are apparently migrant workers. This alone is just not right. Then all the white people are either bikers or disco dancers. And all the black people in this book aren’t anywhere to be seen at all. (Okay, except for Rudy). This is just one of many things that are chronically not right with this book.”
The best thing about this site is not that I could spend hours perusing the silliness of it, but that Morris is a really good writer. Enjoy!
101. Bookshelf Porn
This website has sweet pictures of rectangular books in cool spaces, arrangements or states of mind.
These are all from August.
I like this one because of the 70′s hair vibe.
This, of course, because of the tussle it must take to find anything.
Cool, although triangular.
Trompe L’oeil bookshelves.
And, of course, a sweet little nerdy note.
:note is a rectangle:
And these guys are from July.
Here’s a rainbow rectangle attack.
:books by color:
And a face made out of booktangles.
And, finally, pretty rectangular frames with books in them. I love this look, I wish I could have it for myself.
Check out the site, there’s plenty more. I could spent hours just perusing the rectangles and their displays. Here’s a reason to keep reading the real deal and keep those old books around. They can be so pretty, and rectangular.
95. The Odyssey
:row, bro, row:
I hadn’t read the Odyssey, Homer’s epicly legendary epic, since ninth grade. Of course, I hated it then – it was a horrible chore to get through, the language was dense and the poetic structure grueling. And it was long as shit. I always thought of it as something good to have read and interesting to talk about, but awful to actually read. Like Milton’s Paradise Lost. But I’ve read it again, for a class in college this time, and I really enjoyed it.
5 Reasons to Re-Read The Odyssey
1. Dude goes everywhere. Seriously. Everywhere. It’s one big trippy dream adventure. Kind of like the Yellow Submarine. Odysseus goes to the land of the Lotus Eaters, where the natives feed his crewmen flowers and they never want to leave. Circe turns his men into pigs. Odysseus goes down to hell to talk to a prophet who has to drink cow’s blood to talk to him. It’s trippy, man.
2. First person narrative. Most of the book is told in the first person, which is hard for any author to craft, let alone an epic storyteller with hundreds of pages worth of material. However, Homer also masterfully handles the third person, when he uses it, and just has such a grip on language.
3. Compelling protagonist. Odysseus is fascinating, but in no way is he perfect. His overwhelming pride and hubris is always present. He knows that he’s the “master trickster”, and it takes him most of his journey to figure out that he needs to humble himself a bit to live in the world and get back home. The transformation is great to watch.
4. Sharp imagery. Okay. Read this passage from the Cyclops’ cave.
He carried a huge load of dry wood to make a fire for his supper and heaved it down with a crash inside the cave. We were terrified and scurried back into a corner. He drove his fat flocks into the wide cavern, at least those that he milked, leaving the males – the rams and the goats – outside in the yard. Then he lifted up a great doorstone, a huge slab of rock, and set it in place. Two sturdy wagons – twenty sturdy wagons – couldn’t pry it from the ground – that’s how big the stone was he set in the doorway. (Od. 9)
I, at least, have a perfect mental image of the fire, the sheep, the huge cave and the men cowering in the corner. Of course a storyteller this great has to have great imagery, but I didn’t realize how sharp it was until this time around. That’s how we do, Homer. Very nice.
5. Cultural cross-references. Okay, everything references the Odyssey, from Joyce’s Ulysses to the Coen brothers’ O Brother Where Art Thou. George Clooney makes a hot Odysseus, by the way. Other works based on the Odyssey include 2001: A Space Odyssey (a film) and Cold Mountain (a novel). Some serious cultural masterpieces.
As draining as it sounds, read the Odyssey again. I think you’ll find that it’s not only interesting and clear but way less dry than you remember it being.
94. Placemats
I recently classed up my apartment with some nice Ikea placemats:
:klistrig:
They make me feel like someone’s mom (in a good way), and they make our lovely pre-furnished furniture look a little more homey and a little less college-y.
Recently, Curtis and I went to Ten-Ren Teatime, a lovely restaurant in College Park. Their placemats were covered in pictures of tea. I couldn’t find a picture, but their rectangular menu was similar in artistic vision.
:might as well be a placemat:
We stopped there because I had been to the Ten Ren’s Teahouse in New York’s Chinatown, right next to my favorite restaurant – Big Wong.
:order the roast pork and noodle soup, it'll make you want to cry:
I’d bought bulk tea there (jasmine green, orchid oolong) and it was very good. I’d never, however, eaten their food.
Here I should mention the food situation in College Park. Curtis and I have tried lots and lots of restaurants, trying to find something edible. The College Park Diner has proved both delicious and affordable, and the staff is absolutely adorable. We’re partial to a few of the waitresses who already know us as regulars.
:love it.:
Other than the CP Diner, however, we’ve gotten disappointment after disappointment. I do not recommend the Tandoori House, for example, right on Route One across from my apartment building. Plato’s Diner is vile. Which brings us to Ten Ren’s.
:plato's placemats:
Curtis ordered Kung Pao Tofu. I ordered Pork and Noodle Soup. And I got a huge surprise.
First, some Alice, in the house of the Duchess:
“The door led right into a large kitchen, which was full of smoke from one end to the other: the Duchess was sitting on a three-legged stool in the middle, nursing a baby; the cook was leaning over the fire, stirring a large cauldron which seemed to be full of soup.
“There’s certainly too much pepper in that soup!” Alice said to herself, as well as she could for sneezing.
There was certainly too much of it in the air. Even the Duchess sneezed occasionally; and the baby was sneezing and howling alternately without a moment’s pause. The only things in the kitchen that did not sneeze were the cook, and a large cat which was sitting on the hearth and grinning from ear to ear.”
This was almost precisely my reaction. My soup was pepper soup, and not much else. The noodles, cabbage and carrots couldn’t hide it – it was pepper soup. My face hurt for hours after the ordeal (because, of course, I ate it – can’t waste food when there are children starving in Africa). And this (more Alice) was stuck in my head:
The Duchess sings to her child:
““Speak roughly to your little boy,
And beat him when he sneezes:
He only does it to annoy,
Because he knows it teases.”
Chorus
(In which the cook and baby joined):—
“Wow! wow! Wow!”
While the Duchess sang the second verse of the song, she kept tossing the baby violently up and down, and the poor little thing howled so, that Alice could hardly hear the words:—
“I speak severely to my boy,
I beat him when he sneezes;
For he can thoroughly enjoy
The pepper when he pleases!”
Chorus
“Wow! wow! Wow!””
:alice, the duchess, and pepper soup:
Finally, an Alice in Wonderland placemat for the road (although I think the above image would be much nicer in placemat form).
:and a happy birthday indeed.:
70. Indian Hill
Wait for the Lord;
Be strong, and take heart,
And wait for the Lord.
- Psalms 27:14
**
The sky was full of clouds when Sara woke up. She looked at a series of X’s on her calendar. Her hands started to shake with anticipation. She let out a little scream.
She picked up her phone and called Jeremy.
“Hello?” he said, after the first ring.
“Jeremy!” she said. “It’s today! Today!”
“I know, I know, I know.”
“We’ve been waiting for so long!”
“I know,” he said.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you,” Sara said back.
She hung up the phone. A moment later it rang.
“Hey, it’s me,” Jeremy said. “I forgot. Do you want me to pick you up? We can sit on Indian Hill and watch the storm as it builds. And imagine waiting for Jesus in such a beautiful place.”
“Perfect,” she said. “Should I bring my raincoat?”
“I guess so. But you won’t need it for long.”
**
Jeremy had met Sara at a party thrown by a secular friend of his. His parents had encouraged him not to go.
“Those people aren’t like us,” they had said. “They don’t have our values. Satan will be all around you.”
But Jeremy had insisted on going. He wanted to test his strength, he said. After all – Jesus had spent forty days tortured by Satan. And Moses, too, was sent to wander in the desert. Why shouldn’t Jeremy put himself to the same test?
So at 10:00 he drove his little green car to his friend’s house. He opened the door and was immediately confronted with debauchery.
Sodom and Gomorrah, he thought. Couples kissed in the living room. People drank and then vomited. Everyone danced too close. They talked too loud. But Jeremy had to admit that the party was exciting, despite its ugliness. It was fresh. And he was proud, too, that he could resist the temptation all around him.
He walked into the kitchen. A beautiful brown-haired girl stood quietly by a bowl of potato chips. Jeremy noticed that she wasn’t holding a drink in her hands. He walked over.
“Can I have some?” he said, pointing to the bowl.
“Sure,” she said, “go for it.”
Jeremy filled a red cup with potato chips. He leaned against the wall, next to the girl.
“I’m Jeremy,” he said.
“Sara.” She covered her mouth with her hand.
“Nice to meet you.”
“I don’t really know anyone here,” she said, opening a can of soda.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I came with a friend but she disappeared. Went upstairs with some guy or something.”
Jeremy nodded.
“I don’t really know anyone either. This isn’t exactly my scene.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
Jeremy hesitated, unsure whether he should witness to the girl.
“I – I’m a Christian,” he said finally.
Sara looked up from her soda.
“So am I,” she said.
“Wanna go sit outside? Away from these people?”
“Yes, please,” Jeremy said. “It’s awful in here.”
“I know,” she said, and they both laughed.
They sat down on the back steps of the house, the cup of chips between them. They talked about God, and their stories, and about everyone else. Sara knew a lot of theology. Jeremy noted how graceful her collarbone was, just above the neck of her dress. Her skin was translucent.
“Do you think we’re in the end-times?” Sara asked.
“Absolutely,” Jeremy said.
He pulled out the small notebook that he always carried in his back pocket.
“I’m sort of an amateur prophecy scholar.”
“That’s wonderful!” Sara said.
Jeremy smiled.
“I’ve made a list. All the signs, all the biblical prophecies – they point to now. This year, even. I’m pretty sure of it. I have it down to the day, I think.”
“Wow.” Sara rubbed her arms. “That’s really impressive. Really.”
“Thanks,” Jeremy said. His palms were clammy. And a ray of light shot through him, even though the night was dark.
**
It turned out that they lived only five minutes away from each other. They went on dates – traditional ones – drinking milkshakes and sharing cheeseburgers. They talked a lot. They would take walks in the woods behind Jeremy’s house. There they pointed out birds and tried to mimic their calls. Sometimes they held hands as they picked their way through the twigs and small plants that covered the ground.
One evening, Sara’s father knocked on her bedroom door.
“Sara?” he said.
“Yes, Daddy?”
“Can I come in?”
“Yes,” his daughter answered.
Sara’s father opened the door and sat down on her bed. Sara turned around in her desk chair and looked at him expectantly. Mr. Calvert looked at his beautiful little girl. He and his wife had raised a good daughter. He looked around her room – a poster of Jesus above her bed, her Bible on her nightstand – and he couldn’t help but smile. Sara loved to read and she did well in school. She loved Jesus truly and went faithfully to Bible Study each Wednesday night. But he could not shirk his fatherly duties in discussing the relationship questions that all Christian children struggle with.
He had come to talk to Sara about Jeremy. He liked the kid – a good kid, he thought. He was happy that Sara had found a reputable Christian boy to date.
“Sara,” Mr. Calvert said, “I wanted to talk to you about love.”
“Okay,” Sara said.
“You know that – as Christians – we love Jesus first.”
“Yes, Daddy,” Sara said.
Mr. Calvert shifted his position. This was not an easy conversation for him, although he had practiced it many times in the shower that morning.
“Well” – he cleared his throat – “that kind of love is not just spiritual. It’s corporeal as well. That means ‘of the body.’ And it means that, in loving Christ, we choose not to love anyone else in a way that could dishonor Him.”
Sara nodded.
“As you know,” he continued, “love of the flesh not only dishonors the Lord, but is Satan’s way of working himself into our souls.”
He paused for Sara’s nod.
“Love – physical love – is a commitment between a man, a woman and God. And God only condones that within – well, within the holy bonds of marriage.”
Mr. Calvert sat back and breathed. His speech was finished.
“Don’t worry, Daddy,” Sara said. “Jesus is in my thoughts always. And my body, soul and mind are His.”
“Good,” Mr. Calvert said. “Good.”
He stood up and kissed his daughter on the head.
“I love you, sweetheart. And Mom does too. And we like Jeremy an awful lot.”
Sara smiled.
“Love you, Dad,” she said.
**
Jeremy sat in his room studying prophecy. He had started with Revelation, and then Isaiah, and then interpretations of the books by leading prophecy scholars. He played around with numbers and ideas, interpreting them as he thought wisest – always making sure that he did nothing Satanic. Jeremy loved his prophecy, though. It wasn’t a game to him, but it was his greatest hobby. If you could call it that, that is. He didn’t like to.
First Corinthians ran through his head:
“Love never fails. Where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears…
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.”
The greatest of these is love, Jeremy thought. Paul’s own words.
He put down his notebook and lay back in his bed.
“I love you, Sara,” Jeremy whispered. His eyes were open and he looked, through his window, at the moon. It was beautiful behind the trees, and half full.
**
One Sunday evening Sara and Jeremy were walking through the woods behind his house. Sara held a bunch of red and yellow leaves in one hand. She held Jeremy’s hand in the other. Jeremy was reciting from Romans, and the moment was perfect.
They stopped to rest on a log.
“Look at the sky,” Jeremy said.
Then he leaned in and kissed Sara on the mouth. Sara pulled back and they looked at each other – just for a moment – and then they kissed again.
Sara didn’t feel real. She closed her eyes as his tongue intertwined with hers. Jeremy’s body against hers left her with a sensation that was strong, and intense, and unfamiliar. Their lips held a kiss that both were afraid to break.
Sara closed her eyes and let herself become just a body – just a body on the log, while her soul and her mind sat behind a tree and looked at leaves. The next few minutes coasted hazily over her. She and Jeremy continued to kiss. With her eyes closed, Sara watched her body moving against Jeremy’s. They took each other’s clothes off, ritualistically, and then they were naked. Jeremy’s skin felt soft and his arms were strong as they held her. He kissed her face, her stomach, and Sara watched as her body responded, moving closer to Jeremy’s. Her breasts pressed against his chest as she kissed him. Her hands moved along Jeremy’s back, pulling him closer. She saw his nakedness, and her own. She saw herself lie down and she saw Jeremy climb on top of her – and it was perfect, and it felt so good – and then he was inside of her. It was like Love Meringue Pie or a warm cup of Life and Beauty, mixed with milk.
Suddenly Sara pulled herself back from behind the tree. She opened her eyes.
“Jeremy,” she said. Her voice was strained and thin.
Jeremy jerked back as if he had been burned. He climbed off of her, turned around to pull on his pants and then crouched in the dirt, shaking.
“Oh my God,” he said. “Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.”
He leaned his head against the log.
Sara started to cry.
“I need to go,” Jeremy said. “I – I don’t – one of us should go. I don’t know what to do right now.”
“I know,” Sara said, “It’s not Christian.”
Jeremy nodded.
“What do we do, Jem?” she whispered.
Tears dripped into her mouth.
“I don’t know.”
“Do I go now?”
“I don’t know.”
“I guess I should go,” Sara said.
“Ok,” he said. He didn’t look at her.
Sara put her clothes on, and with each item she felt a piercing note of shame. She started walking down the path. As soon as she was out of Jeremy’s sight, she stopped and threw up three times.
“Oh, Lord,” she said, resting her head on the soft ground. “Forgive us, Lord. Please.” She lifted her head off the ground and vomited again.
**
Sara and Jeremy walked together to Indian Hill, watching the storm gather. The first drops of rain spotted Jeremy’s t-shirt. Sara could feel the energy crackling through her hair.
“Do you think it’s happening?” she said, squeezing his hand.
Jeremy nodded.
“I hope so,” he said.
They sat down at the top of the hill. Jeremy held his notebook in his lap. He ran his fingers absently over the words.
“What do you think Heaven will be like?” Sara asked.
“I don’t know. I guess I’ve always pictured Jesus. The feel of His hands on our shoulders, the smell of honey in the air…”
Sara nodded. She tucked her knees to her chest and looked up at the sky. It was dark, and getting darker.
“Look,” she said. “The clouds are edged with red. It’s beautiful.”
“And Heaven will be better. Just imagine. Heaven will be thousands of times better than this.”
Jeremy turned to Sara. He took a strand of her hair in his fingers.
“It’s gonna be so beautiful. And we’ll see it. Tonight. And we’ll finally be surrounded by our Brothers and Sisters.”
Sara looked into Jeremy’s eyes and smiled.
“Everyone will be like us.”
**
They didn’t talk for a week, overwhelmed by the weight of their mistake. But after eight days, Jeremy called Sara.
“I miss you,” he said.
“I miss you, too,” she said. “What if we prayed together?”
Jeremy agreed, and the two of them developed a new routine. Every day they knelt side by side in the woods behind Jeremy’s house, their Bibles spread across their knees. They read important verses on repentance, on forgiveness, and on sin.
They spoke about living too much in the corporeal world. They recited a simple prayer that both had learned early in their lives, as they came to accept Jesus into their hearts:
Dear Jesus,
I admit that I am a sinner and I know that nothing I can do will save myself. I come to You in faith believing that You died for my sins. I invite You into my heart and accept You as the Savior and Lord of my life. By Your Grace, I will follow and obey You in all that I do.
In Your Name,
Amen
Over and over they repeated these words. Jeremy liked having Sara beside him, whispering the same things he did. They were working hard. And, he reminded himself, Our God is a loving God. He is the Good Shepherd, and He will not let His flock stray too far.
But each night, when he was alone, Jeremy was plagued by his weakness. He repeated Psalms to hammer out the images of Sara’s naked body next to his.
“I’m sorry, God,” Jeremy whispered. “I shouldn’t have slept with her. I shouldn’t have touched her. I shouldn’t have let her touch me back.”
But a flame licked at the back of Jeremy’s mind. He couldn’t shake the idea that love – physical love, love not just for God – could be something beautiful. It hadn’t been dirty or lustful – not for them. What they had done – they had made love. And he’d done it with a woman, a Christian woman, who he loved. He wasn’t sure that Jesus hadn’t been with them that evening; that He hadn’t been a player in their lovemaking.
And then Jeremy would turn back to his Bible. He searched for a verse that could offer an explanation of their passion: something that would separate them from the evils of earthly desire. But even as he looked, he knew he wouldn’t find anything.
**
Lightning cut bright gashes into the dark sky. The rain began to sting Sara’s legs. They had been sitting on the hill for two or three hours, waiting. Sara glanced down at Jeremy’s notebook. The pages were soggy and no longer legible.
“Jeremy?” Sara said.
He opened his eyes.
“Yeah?”
“What if He doesn’t take us?”
Thunder rocked the sky, the sound resonating through their bodies.
“What did you say?” Jeremy said.
“What if He doesn’t take us?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think we could be left behind? For what we did?”
Jeremy didn’t answer for a few seconds.
“I don’t know,” he said, exhaling. “I’m scared, too.”
Water was falling in rivers onto their heads. Sara and Jeremy continued to sit, watching the sky. Their clothing stuck to their skin. They were quieter than before. They both had their eyes closed. Sara focused on the sound of the rain hitting the grass. Eventually the two sat in complete silence.
Within an hour, the deluge stopped. The sky began to turn blue. The earth smelled damp and rich beneath them.
Sara blinked and wiped her face with her forearm. She reached for Jeremy’s hand.
“I think it’s over,” she said.
“I guess so.”
“He didn’t come.”
“I guess we should go down,” Jeremy said.
Sara nodded. Jeremy gripped her hand. They walked down the hill, marching back to their lives. The storm was over, and they were still waiting.
49. Books on Fire
:so fucking perverted:
The Amazing Grace Baptist Church in North Carolina is celebrating Halloween in a slightly different way – they’re burning all “perversions of God’s word.”
According to their website, there will be:
“Great Preaching and Singing”
:this looks great to me:
and lots of burning!
Unfortunately, the website makes it very clear that this event is invitation only. So, if you wanna, you can recreate it on your own.
Here’s a list of what to burn, thanks to the AGBC:
“We are burning Satan’s bibles like the NIV, RSV, NKJV, TLB, NASB, NEV, NRSV, ASV, NWT, Good News for Modern Man, The Evidence Bible, The Message Bible, The Green Bible, ect. These are perversions of God’s Word the King James Bible.
We will also be burning Satan’s music such ascountry , rap , rock, pop, heavy metal,western, soft and easy, southern gospel ,contemporary Christian , jazz, soul, oldies butgoldies, etc.
We will also be burning Satan’s popular books written by heretics like Westcott & Hort, Bruce Metzger, Billy Graham, Rick Warren, Bill Hybels, John McArthur, James Dobson, Charles Swindoll, John Piper, Chuck Colson, Tony Evans, Oral Roberts, Jimmy Swagart, Mark Driskol, Franklin Graham, Bill Bright, Tim Lahaye, Paula White, T.D. Jakes, Benny Hinn, Joyce Myers, Brian McLaren, Robert Schuller, Mother Teresa, The Pope, Rob Bell, Erwin McManus, Donald Miller, Shane Claiborne, Brennan Manning, William Young, Will Graham, and many more.”
However, these are the books they are not burning – just to keep you straight:
“We are not burning Bibles written in other languages that are based on the TR. We are not burning the Wycliffe, Tyndale, Geneva or other translations that are based on the TR.”
Also, the website says that they will be serving “fried chicken, and all the sides.”
:some fried chicken (i bet my mom's is better):
:but check those sides, bitches!:
There are a couple factors that make this particular book burning really interesting.
:feast your eyes on the amazing grace baptist church:
First, they have a long list of scriptural reasons to burn these books. I won’t list them here, but check it out (scroll down). The first explanation, however, is a Bible verse:
“And many that believe came, and confessed, and shewed their deeds. Many of them also which used curious arts brought their books together and burned them beofer all men: and they counted the price of them, and found it fifty thousand pieces of silver. So mightily grew the word of God and prevailed” (Acts 19:18-20).”
But let’s look at the books they’re burning. First, they’re burning my bud Tim LaHaye, author of the bestselling Left Behind Series. This pulls at my heartstrings, I must admit. However, this is the opposite of the evangelical fundamentalist worldview that America has lately been exposed to – a great effort to expose Megachurch culture as a positive phenomenon and an attempt to spread “the Word” in any way possible.
The folks at AGBC, however, are also burning works by Mother Teresa and the Pope. This seems like a really interesting split in the church – a rejection both of modern evangelical theology and also traditional Catholicism. In a sense, this is an old-fashioned Protestant church – King James is the only option, and no other writings or interpretations are either valid or necessary. The AGBC sees this questioning as Satan’s way into God’s world.
:i heard god hates those fuckers:
“The first step of Satan,” the author writes, is to “try and get man to question God’s word.” The questioning, here, is what is threatening. How fascinating. Seriously. How can you study the Bible and ask no questions? I’d love to sit in on one of their Bible Studies. I’m not being facetious, this seems really interesting.
This is a short explanation, from their website, on what they stand for:
“We believe that the Bible is the Word of God, and it is our final authority in all matters. We believe in teaching “no other doctrine”, like Paul told Timothy, and that is our stand. We stand on God’s Word and not man ideas or “scholarship.” We make no apology for our stand. We are an old fashion Independent Fundamental Baptist Church. To read in more detail of what we believe go to the “What we Believe” tab. Thanks.”
Salvation is also a big part of their focus, and the website encourages readers to admit their sins and accept Jesus, much like my experience reading Tim LaHaye. Anyway, I would highly recommend checking out the website and reading through – it’s a great look into a world we don’t see much.
(Props to Aaron for the tip-off)
:and, appropriately, king james gets the last word:
43. Coffee Table Books
My Aunt Idette recently posted the following on my Facebook wall:
“I am absolutely LOVING the blog, E. You should try to get it published. I’d buy it.”
I told her that I appreciated the sentiment, and would accept any contributions she wished to make toward the fulfillment of my rectangular dreams. After all, checks, bills and credit cards are all rectangles.
:dolladollabillz - the quintessential rectangle?:
Later I mentioned the idea to my friend Aaron. He was all for “Things That Are Rectangles” : The Coffee Table Book. Of course, he said, the first entry would have to be “This Book.” And then the second would have to be “This Table.”
:round coffee tables wouldn't be allowed:
Then we started talking marketability. After all, no one buys a coffeetable book for themselves. So we’d have to start catering to special holiday or lifetime experiences – in rectangular format.
For the Bar/Bat Mitzvah set, I could address “The Tallis” as a rectangle.
:fringy, but rectangular nonetheless:
For weddings? Maybe a special addressing of the “Photo Memory,” complete with a plastic sleeve for newlyweds to customize the page into their own Rectangular memory-slot.
:here's hoping these two are still together:
Divorces could be “The Papers You Were Served.” Catholic religious experiences could be “The Confessional.” Graduation? “The Books You Hit,” or just “Tests.” How about Christmas? The formation that the reindeer hold? Or perhaps the chimney, Santa’s entry-way of choice.
:perfect quadrilateral, guys:
:looks like a tight squeeze, santy:
See, now that all of these ideas are on the (figurative) table, the proposition starts to sound pretty sweet. But I shouldn’t go down this path completely ignorant of my competition. Let’s look at some successful Coffee Table Rectangles:
:this one looks fascinating:
:hmmm...celeb journeys to far off places:
:music and a glimpse into an exotic culture:
:sweet aerial views of nature:
Well. There is quite the variety out there, huh?
This is all very confusing. Luckily Aaron is some sort of consultant on the feasibility of ideas or something like that. I’ve never been clear on the details. But at least I know, should I decide to develop a Coffee Table Rectangle of my own, I’ll get reliable calculations and solid advice.
Once again, contributions are always welcome.
:and i'd even settle for less than $2700:
42. “When We Were Very Young” & “Now We Are Six”
:i threw a lot of tantrums like that:
When I was a tiny little girl, even tinier than I am now, my mom and I used to read two books of poems very regularly - When We Were Very Young and Now We Are Six, both by A.A. Milne (of Winnie-the-Pooh fame). The first book of poetry was published in 1924 and the second in 1927.
:not quite sure what's happening in this one:
Of course, I have to address Milne’s role as the creator of Winnie-the-Pooh (actually, Pooh Bear makes his world debut in a poem called “Teddy Bear” in When We Were Very Young). Winnie was the actual teddy of Milne’s actual son, who was actually named Christopher Robin. It follows, without much explanation, that Milne wrote the Pooh books for Christopher Robin. Christopher Robin also appears in many of the poems in When We Were Very Young and Now We Are Six.
:christopher robin, winnie-the-pooh and aa milne:
Now back to the poetry, please.
One time, for a talent show themed birthday party, I recited the following poem, entitled:
Disobedience
James James
Morrison Morrison
Weatherby George Dupree
Took great
Care of his Mother,
Though he was only three.James James
Said to his Mother,
“Mother,” he said, said he;
“You must never go down
to the end of the town,
if you don’t go down with me.”James James
Morrison’s Mother
Put on a golden gown.
James James Morrison’s Mother
Drove to the end of the town.James James
Morrison’s Mother
Said to herself, said she:
“I can get right down
to the end of the town
and be back in time for tea.”King John
Put up a notice,
“LOST or STOLEN or STRAYED!
JAMES JAMES MORRISON’S MOTHER
SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN MISLAID.
LAST SEEN
WANDERING VAGUELY:
QUITE OF HER OWN ACCORD,
SHE TRIED TO GET DOWN
TO THE END OF THE TOWN -
FORTY SHILLINGS REWARD!”James James
Morrison Morrison
(Commonly known as Jim)
Told his
Other relations
Not to go blaming him.James James
Said to his Mother,
“Mother,” he said, said he:
“You must never go down to the end of the town
without consulting me.”James James
Morrison’s mother
Hasn’t been heard of since.
King John said he was sorry,
So did the Queen and Prince.King John
(Somebody told me)
Said to a man he knew:
“If people go down to the end of the town, well,
what can anyone do?”(Now then, very softly)
J.J.
M.M.
W.G.Du P.
Took great
C/O his M*****
Though he was only 3.J.J. said to his M*****
“M*****,” he said, said he:
“You-must-never-go-down-to-the-end-of-the-town-
if-you-don’t-go-down-with-ME!”
My recitation was flawless and full of feeling. Some of the adults present may have been in tears. I won first place. I think I got a dollar.
:the dollar i got was a rectangle:
When I read “Disobedience” today, I still hear it in my head the way my Mama used to read it to me. It lilts to a very particular rhythm, with certain words emphasized in a certain way. Like “Disobedience,” all of these poems have stuck with me (or to me – to my bones, like a good bowl of mac ‘n’ cheese). I used to memorize them, just for the fun of it. At one point I could recite five or six of them without looking.
To be honest, I’ve never been a big fan of poetry. I don’t like oblique imagery, or the verbose nature of the Romantics. I don’t get visceral joy from complex rhyming schemes. I don’t like the stark rules of the villanelle.
But – I like poems that don’t rhyme. I like poems that break structure. I like nonsense words. Maybe this is just a perversity in my character. But I’d like to think that it’s thanks to Lewis Carroll and, primarily, Alan Alexander Milne.
:isn't the rectangular paneling beautiful?:
When We Were Very Young contains 44 poems. I think I read this volume most often, since I feel a stronger connection to more of the poems in here than those in Now We Are Six. But I will address them both, nonetheless. Now We Are Six contains 35 poems, in which Winnie plays a much bigger role. I remember less of these poems, but the ones that do pique my heart are just as loved as those in Milne’s other collection.
Whenever I feel sad, I pull out my tattered old copies of these two books. I turn to my favorite, yellowed pages and read a poem or two. I love the musicality and the lilt of Milne’s work. I love his depiction of childhood. It’s a world of innocence and dreams and – of course – fears. But it’s also a world that – ultimately – we can live in, and blithely.
Perhaps most impressively, Milne manages to invite everyone in. One doesn’t have to be six, or seven, or even eight or ten to feel the life of these poems in an honest and beautiful way. They have charmed children and adults alike for generations, and I expect that they will forever.
Now – today, in Washington, DC, it is a very rainy day. And on rainy days, it’s easy to feel low. So, out of love for my readers (and also for myself) I’m going to post some poems. Because, no matter how old the patient, a dose (or two, or seven) of A.A. Milne’s poetry is often the best antidote, whether for sad feelings or broken hearts or fears of aging or thoughts of anguish. And for as long as one is immersed in Milne’s gentle world, all grown-up concerns get to disappear.
:rain, but not in washington:
Please, just sit and read.
The Dormouse and The Doctor
There once was a Dormouse who lived in a bed
Of delphiniums (blue) and geraniums (red),
And all the day long he’d a wonderful view
Of geraniums (red) and delphiniums (blue).A Doctor came hurrying round, and he said:
“Tut-tut, I am sorry to find you in bed.
Just say ‘Ninety-nine’ while I look at your chest….
Don’t you find that chrysanthemums answer the best?”The Dormouse looked round at the view and replied
(When he’d said “Ninety-nine”) that he’d tried and he’d tried,
And much the most answering things that he knew
Were geraniums (red) and delphiniums (blue).The Doctor stood frowning and shaking his head,
And he took up his shiny silk hat as he said:
“What the patient requires is a change,” and he went
To see some chrysanthemum people in Kent.The Dormouse lay there, and he gazed at the view
Of geraniums (red) and delphiniums (blue),
And he knew there was nothing he wanted instead
Of delphiniums (blue) and geraniums (red).The Doctor came back and, to show what he meant,
He had brought some chrysanthemum cuttings from Kent.
“Now these,” he remarked, “give a much better view
Than geraniums (red) and delphiniums (blue).”They took out their spades and they dug up the bed
Of delphiniums (blue) and geraniums (red),
And they planted chrysanthemums (yellow and white).
“And now,” said the Doctor, “we’ll soon have you right.”The Dormouse looked out, and he said with a sigh:
“I suppose all these people know better than I.
It was silly, perhaps, but I did like the view
Of geraniums (red) and delphiniums (blue).”The Doctor came round and examined his chest,
And ordered him Nourishment, Tonics, and Rest.
“How very effective,” he said, as he shook
The thermometer, “all these chrysanthemums look!”The Dormouse turned over to shut out the sight
Of the endless chrysanthemums (yellow and white).
“How lovely,” he thought, “to be back in a bed
Of delphiniums (blue) and geraniums (red.)”The Doctor said, “Tut! It’s another attack!”
And ordered him Milk and Massage-of-the-back,
And Freedom-from-worry and Drives-in-a-car,
And murmured, “How sweet your chrysanthemums are!”The Dormouse lay there with his paws to his eyes,
And imagined himself such a pleasant surprise:
“I’ll pretend the chrysanthemums turn to a bed
Of delphiniums (blue) and geraniums (red)!”The Doctor next morning was rubbing his hands,
And saying, “There’s nobody quite understands
These cases as I do! The cure has begun!
How fresh the chrysanthemums look in the sun!”The Dormouse lay happy, his eyes were so tight
He could see no chrysanthemums, yellow or white.
And all that he felt at the back of his head
Were delphiniums (blue) and geraniums (red).And that is the reason (Aunt Emily said)
If a Dormouse gets in a chrysanthemum bed,
You will find (so Aunt Emily says) that he lies
Fast asleep on his front with his paws to his eyes.
:the books are also full of sweet illustrations:
Buckingham Palace
They’re changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
Alice is marrying one of the guard.
“A soldier’s life is terrible hard,”
Says Alice.They’re changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
We saw a guard in a sentry-box.
“One of the sergeants looks after their socks,”
Says Alice.They’re changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
We looked for the King, but he never came.
“Well, God take care of him, all the same,”
Says Alice.They’re changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
They’ve great big parties inside the grounds.
“I wouldn’t be King for a hundred pounds,”
Says Alice.They’re changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
A face looked out, but it wasn’t the King’s.
“He’s much too busy a-signing things,”
Says Alice.They’re changing guard at Buckingham Palace -
Christopher Robin went down with Alice.
“Do you think the King knows all about me?”
“Sure to, dear, but it’s time for tea,”
Says Alice.
Happiness
John had
Great Big
Waterproof
Boots on;
John had a
Great Big
Waterproof
Hat;
John had a
Great Big
Waterproof
Mackintosh –
And that
(Said John)
Is
That.
Brownie
In a corner of the bedroom is a great big curtain,
Someone lives behind it, but I don’t know who;
I think it is a Brownie, but I’m not quite certain.
(Nanny isn’t certain, too.)I looked behind the curtain, but he went so quickly-
Brownies never wait to say, “How do you do?”
They wriggle off at once because they’re all so tickly.
(Nanny says they’re tickly too.)
Vespers
Little Boy kneels at the foot of the bed,
Droops on the little hands little gold head.
Hush! Hush! Whisper who dares!
Christopher Robin is saying his prayers.God bless Mummy. I know that’s right.
Wasn’t it fun in the bath tonight?
The cold’s so cold, and the hot’s so hot.
Oh! God bless Daddy – I quite forgot.If I open my fingers a little bit more,
I can see Nanny’s dressing-gown on the door.
It’s a beautiful blue, but it hasn’t a hood.
Oh! God bless Nanny and make her good.Mine has a hood, and I lie in bed,
And pull the hood right over my head,
And I shut my eyes, and I curl up small,
And nobody knows that I’m there at all.Oh! Thank you, God, for a lovely day.
And what was the other I had to say?
I said “Bless Daddy,” so what can it be?
Oh! now I remember it. God bless Me.Little Boy kneels at the foot of the bed,
Droops on the little hands little gold head.
Hush! Hush! Whisper who dares!
Christopher Robin is saying his prayers.
“Vespers” is the last poem in When We Were Very Young. I’ve never in my life said prayers before bed. I don’t think I ever knew what “Vespers” was supposed to mean (I don’t think I know now), but for some reason this poem always felt hauntingly beautiful to me. Maybe because it was such an honest image drawn of a son by a loving father.
Now, let’s move on to a few gems from Now We Are Six.
Solitude
I have a house where I go
When there’s too many people,
I have a house where I go
Where no one can be;I have a house where I go,
Where nobody ever says “No”;
Where no one says anything-so
There is no one but me.
:christopher robin in his bed, a-sneezling:
Sneezles
Christopher Robin
Had wheezles
And sneezles,
They bundled him
Into
His bed.
They gave him what goes
With a cold in the nose,
And some more for a cold
In the head.
They wondered
If wheezles
Could turn
Into measles,
If sneezles
Would turn
Into mumps;
They examined his chest
For a rash,
And the rest
Of his body for swellings and lumps.
They sent for some doctors
In sneezles
And wheezles
To tell them what ought
To be done.
All sorts and conditions
Of famous physicians
Came hurrying round
At a run.
They all made a note
Of the state of his throat,
They asked if he suffered from thirst;
They asked if the sneezles
Came after the wheezles,
Or if the first sneezle
Came first.
They said, “If you teazle
A sneezle
Or wheezle,
A measle
May easily grow.
But humour or pleazle
The wheezle
Or sneezle,
The measle
Will certainly go.”
They expounded the reazles
For sneezles
And wheezles,
The manner of measles
When new.
They said “If he freezles
In draughts and in breezles,
Then PHTHEEZLES
May even ensue.”Christopher Robin
Got up in the morning,
The sneezles had vanished away.
And the look in his eye
Seemed to say to the sky,
“Now, how to amuse them to-day?”
And, finally:
The End
When I was One,
I had just begun.When I was Two,
I was nearly new.When I was Three,
I was hardly Me.When I was Four,
I was not much more.When I was Five,
I was just alive.But now I am Six, I’m as clever as clever.
So I think I’ll be six now for ever and ever.
And that’s the last poem in Now We Are Six. And the end, as well, of this post. May we all take a note from A. A. Milne and stay a little bit six – for ever and ever.
37. The Protest Singer by Alec Wilkinson
“One day I arrived toward the end of the morning, and Seeger and I talked in the yard for a while and then we went into the house. Toshi [his wife] said, ‘Pete, you didn’t have any breakfast,’ and he said, ‘I had a cookie.’”
- Alec Wilkinson, The Protest Singer
:a tender record of a role model for us all:
Folk music is in my bones. Mixed into the double helixes of my DNA I have banjo chord progressions – G, C, and D7. I’m pretty sure that I have some sort of Fetal Folk Syndrome (related to Fetal Alcohol Syndrome), due to my mother taking in too much Joni Mitchell while I was in the womb. In fact, my middle name was almost “Guthrie.” Luckily my parents went with Lily instead. But the Guthrie/folk legacy was implanted in my being nonetheless.
When I was little, my parents used to take my brother and I to county fairs all over the tri-state area. We didn’t go on any rides. We didn’t play any games. We went to watch Arlo Guthrie and Pete Seeger sing their songs. I remember mistaking their hippie clothes for wizard outfits.
:a very young pete and even younger arlo in "alice's restaurant":
In our little hatchback Honda, we listened to cassette tapes of Pete and Arlo and Cat Stevens and Joni Mitchell and Bob Dylan. We also listened to lots of musicals, but my brother and I try to forget that, for the most part.
I feel like I should note here that my family’s roots go back to Brooklyn and – before that – Eastern Europe. No Appalachia runs naturally in my veins. But enough about me. Now – a transition to Pete Seeger, “The Protest Singer.”
I would recommend this book to anyone. It’s short and manageable and incredibly well-written. The author, Alec Wilkinson, is a writer for the New Yorker. When he asked Pete if he could write a book about him, Pete told him that there were already enough long biographies about him – he needed “a book that could be read in one sitting.” The full title of the book is “The Protest Singer: An Intimate Portrait of Pete Seeger.” The book is certainly intimate. Most of it is made up of direct quotes from the author’s interactions with Pete on his farm in upstate New York. Wilkinson succeeds in writing a beautiful, concise book that not only highlights how badass Pete Seeger is, but is also easy and pleasurable to read.
:pete and his banjo:
Pete Seeger, perhaps the most influential and unbelievable American folk singer of the 20th century, was born in Manhattan. He went to the Avon Old Farms boarding school in Connecticut. Pete comes from a seriously privileged background. His mother was a preeminent composer. His father was also a composer and worked with the Library of Congress, pioneering in the field of ethnomusicology. Family members were founders of schools (including Julliard) and wealthy members of society, rubbing shoulders with the likes of Aaron Copland.
Although Pete grew up with this legacy of privilege, he truly managed to become one of The People. He is humble and authentic, and these qualities are some of those that I love most about him. On his first impression of real folk music, Pete says:
“…The words of [the] songs had all the meat of human life in them. They sang of heroes, outlaws, murderers, fools. They weren’t afraid of being tragic instead of just sentimental. They weren’t afraid of being scandalous instead of giggly or cute. Above all, they seemed frank, straight-forward, honest. By comparison, it seemed to me that too many art songs were concerned with being elegant and too many pop songs were concerned with being clever.”
:is there anyone cuter?:
Pete pretty much invented a technique to get crowds to sing along to his songs. In Arlo Guthrie’s words (on the album “Precious Friend), ”I’ve been watching Pete now for a few years, and he does something I can’t do, which is – he sings the song twice, at the same time…He sings the song once, in front of the song, and then once with everybody. That’s hard.” This leading-style doesn’t seem so revolutionary now, but Pete invented it out of his insistence on the power of shared song. And Pete managed to engage and share with everybody he sang for.
(If that’s not badass enough, Pete built a log cabin for his family to live in. On his own. He looked up “log cabins” at the library. He cut down trees and split logs. He did the stonework around each fireplace. And, at ninety, Pete still splits wood every day.)
:(log cabins are rectangles):
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Pete Seeger. He was born in 1919, to privilege. Went to boarding school, and then went to Harvard briefly. He left Harvard in his sophomore year to study folk music in the field. In 1939 he got a job with his father’s friend John Lomax at the Library of Congress, sorting through folk records. John Lomax and his son, Alan, contributed to Pete’s career as a musician, supporting him and giving him exposure.
Pete met Woody Guthrie in 1939 at a “midnight benefit.” They then traveled around the country together, playing when they could. Pete says that Guthrie allowed him to “tag along because [Seeger] could accompany [Guthrie] on anything he played.” Eventually the two split and Pete started hopping trains. Pete traveled all over the country, studying indigenous tunes and meeting people. He wanted to glean real American music straight from the dirt.
About Guthrie, Seeger said “I can’t stand him when he’s around, but I miss him when he’s gone.”
:pete and woody in 1940:
Eventually Seeger and Guthrie met up again and formed a group called the Almanac Singers, with Lee Hays and Mill Lampell. Lee Hays, like Woody Guthrie, was a hugely influential folk singer. The combination of these three is (and was) pretty electric. The Almanac Singers often played as an incomplete group or with additional singers playing along, acting as a fluid body. They named themselves “The Almanac Singers” because “most farmers had only two books in their houses – a Bible and an Almanac, one book for the next world and one for this one.” The Almanacs really launched Pete’s career on a credible note. After the break-up of the Almanac Singers, Pete and Lee Hays founded The Weavers in 1948. Both groups were extremely influential, although their tenure playing together was short.
I’m sorry. This shouldn’t be another biography of Pete. I’ll wrap the history lesson up quickly. So – Pete made a name for himself with Guthrie and Hays. He became a fan of Communism, although he was disinclined to officially affiliate himself with any political group – he says he played for “everybody.” Seeger also fought in World War II for three years – a significant contribution to the country that Pete so loved.
In 1955, Pete was called to testify in front of the House Un-American Affairs Committee. His complete testimony is included in Wilkinson’s book. There are some absolutely fabulous quotes from this hearing that I just have to include.
As a form of introduction, Pete told the Committee the following:
“I am not going to answer any questions as to my association, my philosophical or religious beliefs or my political beliefs, or how I voted in any election, or any of these private affairs. I think these are very improper questions for any American to be asked, especially under such compulsion as this. I would be very glad to tell you my life if you want to hear of it.”
Pete’s responses to questioning not only proved that he is a total badass, but also emphasized a truth that he maintains to this day – that Pete Seeger loves his country, and he holds the values that he sees as American above almost anything else.
Here are some of those fabulous responses to Committee questioning:
“I have sung for Americans of every political persuasion, and I am proud that I never refuse to sing to an audience, no matter what religion or color of their skin, or situation in life. I have sung in hobo jungles, and I have sung for the Rockefellers, and I am proud that I have never refused to sing for anybody. That is the only answer I can give along that line.”
“…I am proud that I have sung for Americans of every political persuasion, and I have never refused to sing for anybody because I disagreed with their political opinion, and I am proud of the fact that my songs seem to cut across and find perhaps a unifying thing, basic humanity,and that is why I would love to be able to tell you about these songs, because I feel that you would agree with me more, sir.”
And, my favorite:
“I decline to discuss, under compulsion, where I have sung, and who has sung my songs, and who else has sung with me, and the people I have known. I love my country very dearly, and I greatly resent this implication that some of the places that I have sung and some of the people that I have known, and some of my opinions, whether they are religious or philosophical, or I might be a vegetarian, make me any less of an American. I will tell you about my songs, but I am not interested in telling you who wrote them, and I will tell you about my songs, and I am not interested in who listened to them.”
:pete all dressed up for congress:
After his appearance in front of the HUAC, Pete was sentenced to a year in prison for contempt of Congress, but he appealed and the decision was overturned – seven years later, in 1962.
:sailin' up (or down):
In 1969, Pete turned his attention to cleaning up the Hudson River. He organized funding for an old-fashioned Hudson River sloop that he named Clearwater. The Clearwater is now both an organization and a boat, dedicated to improving the environment and cleaning up the Hudson. People sailed along the river, singing songs and encouraging people to pay attention to environmental causes.
We used to listen to a song in the car called “Sailin’ Up, Sailin’ Down” about the Clearwater cause. Pete wrote it, obviously. On the track, before he starts singing, Pete says, “You know, you bring people together for any purpose whatsoever, you’re in politics. You can bring ‘em together to drink beer, to watch a football game, but you’re affecting the body politic. And the river’s got cleaner – we’re swimming in the Hudson again.”
:pickin' by his river:
Pete, if nothing else, is a believer in the power of music to bring the people together. He worked hard for the Civil Rights movement. Pete wrote the version of “We Shall Overcome” that became Martin Luther King’s primary call to (peaceful) arms. In fact, most influential folk music has ties to Pete Seeger. With The Weavers, Pete wrote “If I Had A Hammer.” They also made Leadbelly’s “Goodnight, Irene” famous – one of the most beautiful songs ever. He made “Kumbaya” big. “Waist Deep In The Big Muddy” was an iconic song of the Vietnam War era. “Solidarity Forever” is still the song of the IWW. And there are so many more.
Pete wrote two books – “How to Play the Five-String Banjo” and “Where Have All the Flowers Gone?” Both of these are phenomenal, and his instructional banjo book pretty much taught me (along with many banjo players before me) how to play the banjo, singlehandedly.
:better than any tutor or lesson:
The most wonderful thing about Pete, which “The Protest Singer” makes clear, is that he has lived his life according to the firm belief that music can change the world. And he was right - Pete Seeger created legitimate change through music.
:singin' his heart out for civil rights:
On Woody Guthrie’s guitar were the words “This Machine Kills Fascists.” Pete’s banjo reads, “This Machine Surrounds Hate and Forces It to Surrender.”
:pete, with the banjo, at 86:
In summation – please read this book. It’s the best book I’ve read in a while. I am usually partial to fiction, but this book is written so well that I easily made the non-fiction exception. It’s aesthetically pleasing, with a pretty cover and lots of great photographs. But, most importantly, it provides a glimpse into the life of an absolutely inspirational, unbelievable man. It’s Pete-Fucking-Seeger, yo! The most magically modest, underrated, influential dude of the 20th century.
:look at the pure love on that face:
I love folk music and Americana because it’s real – it’s the truth; it’s organically grown on front porches and in back yards. And the reason that we get to see this perspective on America is largely because of Pete Seeger and his work.
One last gorgeous quote:
“People ask, is there one word that you have more faith in than any other word…and I say it’s participation. I feel that this takes on so many meanings. The composer John Philip Sousa said,’What will happen to the American voice now that the phonograph has been invented? Women used to sing lullabies to their children.’ It’s been my life work, to get participation, whether it’s a union song, or a peace song, civil rights, or a women’s movement, or gay liberation. When you sing, you feel a kind of strength; you think, I’m not alone, there’s a whole bunch of us who feel this way. I’m just one person, but it’s almost my religion now to persuade people that even if it’s only you and three others, do something. You and one other, do something. If it’s only you, and you do a good job as a songwriter, people will sing it.”
Thank you, Pete. Still changing the world through twice-sung songs and chutzpah, even at 90.
:and he's still smiling:
