My Rushmore

Periodically I'll hear a sports guy on ESPN named Erik Kuselias. He guest hosts Mike & Mike quite a bit as well as plays the role of Fantasy Football Guru for the network. One of his favorite little things is to get into discussions that involve "The Mt. Rushmore of ...NFL Coaches, NCAA Coaches, NCAA basketball programs, etc." It's quite an idea really. And this morning he did it again naming Vince Lombardi, Bill Bellichick and Chuck Noll. The banter between Erik and Rock Hoover go me to thinking - Who is on my Mt. Rushmore? What men or women have positively influenced my becoming a man, a fan, a husband, whatever? And for that matter who is on your Mt. Rushmore?

After about 7 seconds of soul searching, I came up with a few names.

Bill Gates - Microsoft revolutionized my life through Windows and the evolution of the affordable home PC. The likes of Gates and his archrival Steve Jobs have probably delivered more direct impact to our lives than anyone since the 1980's. The college drop-out who became the richest humanitarian on the planet definitely goes on my chiseled mountainside.

George Carlin - The Godfather of filthy comedy. He was the last man in the unholy trinity of comedy to pass away; Lenny Bruce and Richard Pryor round out the legs on that tripod. I remember the first time I saw his HBO special at Carnegie Hall. I never laughed more; I never appreciated anti-PC, brash truth more. His angst and bitterness became substantial in his last years; he lost his wife and health almost at once. But his "braindroppings" will be with me for as long as I live.

Teddy Roosevelt - He is the only 20th century president that is actually on the real Rushmore. And he has been my favorite president since 8th grade. He was the original and real rogue Republican. He was a war hero; he was a big game hunter who also drove the first genuine environmental protection pushes in the USA. If you have ever read the stories about him used by the Dale Carnegie Institute, you would know that he knew the name of every White House employee, the names of their spouses and children. He saw to it that the kids had birthday gifts from the Oval Office. Rudyard Kipling's poem IF says "...talk with kings nor lose the common touch". Teddy Roosevelt was the most powerful man in the free world. And he knew that was just a man who had fallen into a position of greatness. After all, he was selected as Vice President simply to get young votes (even though the old guard hated him). It just happened that President McKinley could not survive two gunshots. The rest (as they say) is history.

Cameron Crowe - The patron saint of Seattle off-beat thought. He is best known as a film maker. But many do not realize that he wrote Fasttimes at Ridgemont High. He and the late great John Hughes created the films that dictated the perspective of my generation. I nearly put Hughes on my Rushmore but Crowe introduced me to Lloyd Dobbler at a time when I was a smart kid without a drop of self-confidence. Crowe gave me Campbell Scott's identity crisis in Singles. And when I was embracing my transition to money-making adult, he had me screaming "Show me the money!" The truly great thing about Crowe that is extremely evident in later films (see Almost Famous and Elizabethtown) is the vital importance of music in his storytelling. His neverending love affair with song and his understanding that we all have a soundtrack of our lives makes me embrace his art in ways that I have not for other film makers. He was Rolling Stone at 16; he's a visionary every day. And he is on my Rushmore.

Who makes your mountain? And get ready for my next post The Soundtrack of My Life.

Cheers.

2010 (the bad sequel)

So I was at the store over the weekend and I noticed that 2010: The Year We make Contact was prominently displayed on Blu-Ray for less than the average standard DVD. I had to wonder what was so bad about this film that it squandered the legacy of Kubrick's great 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)? Lithgow, Scheider and Mirren were in the cast. It was strong as far as that goes. Technology was significantly better in 1984 than it was in 1968. So what was it? And why do so few sequels (regardless of the time between films) match their predecessor?

So I figured let's get some of the good, the bad and down right ugly listed:

The Good
The Empire Strikes Back (actually better than Episode IV)
The Godfather Part 2 (on par with the original easily)
Spiderman 2 & 3
The Dark Knight (giving credos to Bale's Batman Begins)
Scream 2 ( It's not the original by any means but for a horror sequel not bad)


The Bad
The Godfather Part 3 (the decades between 2 and 3 did not help at all)
Star Wars Episode I (sorry folks but Jar Jar Binks sucked donkey dong)
Scream 3


The Ugly
The Matrix Reload (for the love of all that is good and pure, the W Brothers destroyed what could have been the Gen Y Star Wars)
Highlander: The Quickening (The Sickening is more like it)
Species 2 (not even a very naked Natasha Henstridge could make it worth watching)
Batman Forever (only Val Kilmer could make me long for Michael Keaton as Bruce Wayne)
Batman and Robin (someone should have been fired for that one)

And the WHY, WHY, WHY???
The Bad News Bears (insert random title here)
Police Academy (3+)
Major League 2
Miss Congeniality 2

What am I missing? What would you defend? Talk to me...

Counting My Blessings

It’s that time of year when you are supposed to count your blessings. It’s the whole crossover between Thanksgiving and New Year’s resolutions, etc. So in honor of the season of thanks and family, I present the following little ditty:

Talent – (noun) a special natural ability or aptitude.
From Random House Unabridged Dictionary

Now you might be thinking “what the hell does talent have to do with being grateful?” Well I’ll tell ya what the hell it has to do with being grateful. I am not a talented person per say. But my greatest talent or gift may be that I have somehow acquired a laundry list of friends who’s artistic gifts so far outweigh my own that it borders on the ridiculous. In fact an observant eye might very well be amazed at how I managed to be so wealthy in my friendships given how little I have to give back artistically speaking. Of course such an observation could only be made in the event that serendipity gave way for all of my talented acquaintances to be together in one room. That would typically mean a funeral (and I have no intention of having one much less having one anytime soon).

So let’s count my blessings by genre.

Music

Neal Coomer – He was the ring bearer in my parent’s wedding. He sang in my youth choir as a kid. He has been on Broadway, Grammy nominated, Dove Award nominated, and multiple Top-10 singles on the Christian Music charts. He sang lead in a band that included the bass player for Rascal Flatts. And he is one of the voices on the 30 Rock (NBC) theme. And did I mention that he is a solid songwriter too.

Amy M.D. - Pianist. She is probably my oldest friend (something like 33 years now). Her parents were surrogate parents to many of us. And her family let me feel as if I belonged to them when times were their toughest. And on top of the great upbringing, she is a pianist who has performed on multiple continents; she has been featured on live albums certified Gold.

BJ Davis – Composer. Self-taught pianist who is now scoring films and creating religious musicals. When I met him he was just a minister’s kid who had embraced the faith in which he was raised and was professing the faith in the pulpit. He was a friend, a confidant and became my dad’s little brother. By the way, BJ’s eldest son is under contract to Disney.

The Stacey Brood - Now this is just plain sick.

Keith is a video game score composer. I actually watched him write out a stanza on a napkin in a restaurant once just because he liked something he heard over the intercom.

Becke is the only daughter, the middle child and has the voice of an angel.

And there is Phil. He was the Navy singer that made the final 5 or 6 on American Idol a few years back. Now he is a recording artist full time out of Nashville.

The Garner Twins – JP and JD have perfect pitch. They both are self-taught, left-handed musicians who started on the family piano at the age of 3. Now JP plays the guitar and JD plays bass. And neither one learned how to play strung upside down. And they are really strong songwriters.

Dennis Baker – I just call him drum god. He’s a music teacher these days but once upon a time he was First Chair in the Atlanta Drum Corps (at 15). He could do more on a 5 piece kit than most guys could do on something much larger.

I can name others like Pmat, Sean and the Embry boys. I am blessed.


Art

Lisa – My beloved enjoys photography more than just about anything in the world. She does it just for friends and for herself. But her eye is right; it’s innate. Her grandfather was a photographer.

Ace - Drawing. His Bachelor’s Degree is in Drawing. And it should be. This guy has been a good idea and portfolio away from being a graphic artist or better still a comic book artist for as long as I can remember. His family is my family. I literally had a stocking on the mantle at their house for more than a decade.

Danny Baker - Drawing. He has been under contract as a comic book artist for a few years now. And he is developing his own title in hopes of scoring a big deal. I actually have sketches on notebook pages that he did in the mid-90’s. I keep thinking that someday I’ll have an early Baker. And he designed my tattoo. He was one of the Three Musketeers along with Keith Stacey during my time living in TN. I was lucky to stumble into a great little trio where 2/3 was uber gifted. By the way he is also one dynamic actor.

Nihilance – Drawing, painting and writing. I have known Stoltz for about 5 years but only recently have I been privileged to get to know him. He’s a deep thinker who draws because he loves it, paints because he loves it and writes because his angst demands it. He’s eclectic.


Writing

Brent Z – He started writing novels in high school; he trusts me to read his manuscripts. And he even used a poem I once jotted down on a napkin as inspiration for a scene in his self-published novel Lynchville Pop. 5150. He’s incredibly dedicated to his craft. And for his efforts, his writings have been published in numerous anthologies and in Australia. I will forever have my fingers crossed for his big break in the USA. I have original BPZs on my book shelf.

B the P – You know him as Organic Meatbag on here. He is one of the most quick-witted people that I have ever met. His writing skill shows hints of comedic genius (perfect since he aspires to comedic writing). Our friendship was birthed out of what was probably the greatest tragedy of our youth, but after 17 years I still call him my brother. Did I mention that he has played drums since he was a little sperm in Reeboks?

There are others of course: Vicky Sue, Greg Fluhr (screenwriter), Dee B., Brent Pac-Man (film maker), Banahan and BigGameBradshaw.

The names mentioned are only a few examples of the truly gifted people that have somehow become a part of my life. I have never been a musician nor can I play an instrument. But I am privileged to know many who are. I can’t draw; my stick people have scoliosis. But I am privileged to know a good many that can. A camera in my hands is an invitation for blurriness, but I am privileged to have married a person who uses a camera like a carpenter uses a hammer. And I can use words but I am not a writer by any stretch of the imagination. Thank my lucky stars I have friends who are.

My circle is filled with Renaissance men and women. How can I not be grateful for my good fortune?

Cheers...

It's the Holiday Season...Make sure that you buckle everything.

You know what really grinds my gears? I am blown away by the degree to which our American community has slipped into the safety seat movement. I respect that some expert in some office or lab has concluded that the greatest marketing ploy for more money to car seat companies is to get legislation that requires it. From a business standpoint it is freakin' brilliant. And I am more than willing to bet that the kickbacks for some governmental voters are and/or were quite healthy. But seriously we are now required to keep kids in carseats that are well into elementary school. I am not harping on infants, babies or toddlers; the seats are required for a reason. But I am perplexed by a required contraption for children that are 7,8 and 9 years of age.

OK. These kids would actually be able to have their feet touch the floorboard if they weren't in a booster seat that raised them an extra 19 inches or whatever it is. And what is the answer to this for our geniuses in Washington and our state captiols? Well they are not heavy enough. So there is a height and weight limit.

Now don't get me wrong. I completely understand that everyone (especially parents) have to be responsible for the health, welfare and safety of their children. I get it. I respect it. I truly do. But anyone over the age of 30 can remember standing up in the front seat of the car (possibly playing with toys on the dashboard) while going warp speed down the highway. I rode in the front seat of a 1972 VW Beetle with my sisters standing behind me because all three of us wanted to ride up front and our size made a compromise entirely possible. And why am I writing this today? I am writing it because I am still breathing. You are reading because you are still alive. And a good portion of us were probably involved in car accidents without the added security of another expensive safety seat. It simply blows my mind. What's next?

Yep. This could be next. By the time my son or daughter is a 3 year old, it could be required of me to purchase a Barnie-colored porcelain prison complete with leg straps!

"I really have to go daddy."

"I know honey and I am sorry but you have to completely tied down before you can go. Please don't make a mess; we're almost there."

(And for the child's absolute safety, the photo also recommends that the child be allowed to piss or crap his pants in lieu of removing them and taking the risk of falling or something.)

A lot of people and even some readers may see this as insensitive or uneducated because I am not currently blessed with my own little bundle of joy. Clearly we all survived childhood by sheer, dumb luck. And our parents just did not know any better because we are more advanced now. I say that we are a conditioned, arrogant society that buys into the propaganda fed to us.

The title of this blog is An American Redneck in India because I have been there four times. And I can tell you that the rest of the world gets to and fro with far less than we. And here's your proof...



That is a family of 6 and a family of 4. And both are on motorcycles smaller than your average crotch rocket. That is the family car in India. And the car seats are the gas tank, a mom/pop sandwich and a mother's death grip while going side saddle through bumper to bumper traffic. You look at it and say "oh how unsafe". There are over 1 billion people there. And the nation is not much bigger in landmass than Texas. The population is not getting any smaller because of the lack of fun-colored, dungeon contraptions for kiddos. Much less for kiddo harnesses specifically designated for the youngsters under 40 inches in height or weighing less than 80 lbs.

Cheers...

Anecdotal BS

Considering the less than fun posts most recently found on this page, I thought that a Sunday Morning dose of humor would be genuinely appreciated by everyone. My personal sense of humor is quite spontaneous, often times dry and more zinger-like than substantive. I have the Chandler Bing thing going on. So for this morning's foray, I am going to share an anecdote or two.

B the P- This post's for you.

In far western Kentucky, there is a city that might as well be a part of Missouri or better still the Atlantis of the Mississippi River. And it's name is Paducah. It is named for a Chickasaw Indian Chief - Paduke. And it is the McCracken county seat; yes it was named after Big Ernie McCracken of bowling and comb-over haircut fame. It is also home to a nuclear power plant and one of the largest earthquake faults in the USA- the New Madrid Fault. (Way to go governmental planners!) But it's the phonetic description of the name that makes it the most laughed about metropolis in my little world.

Once upon a time a group of close friends used to set-up shop in the bedroom of a guy named Ace. There was up to 8 of us piled into his room playing video games, watching movies, etc at any given time. Well this night in 1996 was just like any other- the nomad, the pizza guy, B the P, Ace and me were all there. We were the core of the crew really. And what was going to happen next was best saved for only a chosen few.

We had probably indulged in a Papa John's pizza and a 12-pack of Killian's Irish Red just before embarking on what was sure to be a successful alternating of Play Station controllers for domination of whatever NBA game existed at the time. This was a common night for the fellas when there was no dating or whatever else to impede our caveman-like process.

Anyway we were going along with our usual banter, laughing away. Someone always had something to give the rest a good dose of laughter. In fact we took turns trying to one up each nother with our quick wit. But this night would be owned by B the P via one sentence.

I mentioned a trip that I would be taking to visit a friend in the Memphis area. That seems like nothing but the route designed by AAA is what was most funny to me. It was so out of the ordinary (in my eyes) that I wanted to share with the boys and see if they were just as perplexed. Memphis would traditionally involve a drive down Interstate-65 and then a sharp right turn toward the Tennessee-Mississippi border. However in this case the route took me through most of Western KY and then into TN using lesser known stretches of highway. The stretch would take me almost to Paducah. I am all but certain that I made a snide remark about my scenic trip to Memphis by way of Nuclear Atlantis.

B the P cut everyone off by thrusting his pelvis against the side of the bed and saying "Paducah is the sound a girl's head makes against the headboard. Pahhh-DUKE-ah, Pahhh-DUKE-ah, PAHHH-DUKE-AHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Needless to say we all collapsed in laughter. And what's more we have all collapsed in laughter at least once during coitus courtesy of that little zinger.

Now you can too.... Cheers!

Losing an Old Friend (and the angst thereafter)

Let me start this blog with a disclaimer: The words that follow are consistent with my personal angst surrounding some things that I recently observed and things that I suspect are going to happen. The words are not meant to insult, belittle or degrade anyone or anyone's beliefs.

Now on with the show.

Last month an old friend lost a swift battle for his life with a damnable virus. The virus. He was a victim of the 2009 Funk- H1N1. He turned 37 on Tuesday and passed away on Wednesday. The final cause of death was found to be a hybrid of an enlarged heart and pneumonia all exasperated by the Swine Flu. He left a wife husbandless; he left two precious little boys fatherless. His sons are 5 and under 2. So the greatest tragedy in all of this may be that his youngest never has any memory of the truly good man that spawned him.

Where is my angst (besides the obvious) in this you may ask? Well first let me give some background.

I met K at a Youth Camp sponsored by our Church in the early 90's. We both were raised in conservative, Pentecostal homes. He was from a small town about 2 hours from Louisville. So had it not been for the fortune of our annual week's excursion of daytime basketball and nighttime church our paths would not have crossed. K was a chubby guy who made lots of friends courtesy of a great personality and infectious smile. I was none of those things really. But we somehow complemented each other very well- we had a very Jake and Elwood Blues sort of thing working for us.

K went on to school in TN. And he chose to follow the faith directly by entering into the ministry. He was made for it. I am certain that he was a blessing to many, many people during his now short tenure as a fisher of men.

I have not seen K in at least 10 years. We did reconnect briefly on Facebook before I saw the horrible news of his sudden loss. It was this sudden death courtesy not of any accident but of a microscope blip that shook me to my very core, waking at night with cold sweats for more than one. And it was a few rather small things consistent with my upbringing that brings me to this moment of self-therapy.

A consistent pet answer for moments of grief (especially those from death) in my religious background is "God did not want him/her to suffer anymore. So He took him/her to Heaven." Keeping in mind that this is not doctrinal as much as it is a tradition- it's really a cliche for people to say this when there can not be any better comment. I saw this posted on messageboards a lot. And it hurt me to read it. It hurt me to see those words because they are heartfelt and mean well and cliche (like I said). K lost his life within a 10 day period to a microorganism that had been losing to thousands of others all over the world. This was not cancer; this was not Parkinson's; this was not Alzheimers; this was not (insert horrible long-term illness here). The playing field was different in this case. But the words of comfort were the same.

Now why does that bother me so very much (when I know it was because of a loss of words)? It bothers me because there is a very good possibility that his children are going to grow-up receiving that explanation for why daddy is gone. Now I could be wrong here and I hope sincerely that I am. But my experiences with religious kids of loss have shown my fears to be more accurate. K's boys have the right to grow-up knowing that a bastard virus played the biggest role in their parental loss. They have the right to grow with a chip on their shoulder. How much better for that chip to be pointed at a virus than at God?

The other part of my upbringing that was as consistent as the traditional comments is "Bad things happen. But you can not be angry or bitter at God." If you raise a child who lost his father and the explanation has always been that God took him to Heaven, you should know, understand and accept that at some point that young man may harbor some animosity toward the entity named as the source of the loss! It's not rocket science; it's human nature. I think that all too often pet answers are given lieu of the truth obvious truth without definitive thought about what impact that pet answer may have in the future. Trust me God can handle some angst from a hurting child, a hurting teenager, a hurting young man. After all the teachings state that He knows what is going to happen before it occurs. He's already prepared. Let the boys grieve according to the table that is set for them.

I miss you K. I hurt for your family. I know that the church has offered full support to them as they begin to rebuild life. And while I am critical of some things, I am grateful that care is close for them. My only hope is that compassion and truth will rule out over pet answers as your boys become men.

I know that some of my readers are very strict believers; I know that some are agnostic or atheist. But I appreciate that all lend me their eyes for a brief few minutes by reading these posts. I hope that someday I'll say something funny, witty, entertaining.

Fight, Flight or Freeze

I started reading about concepts around traditional martial arts and then the currently popular method of Krav Maga. The term is Hebrew. And it means "close combat". It's not a traditional self-defense program by any means. It does not center itself in principles of standard methodology rather it's fluid. It's about defending yourself on the streets. And at it's heart is the elimination of the freeze and flight portion of the 3 F's listed in the title.

So why am I writing about this? And why am I reading about it?

Well I pointed out at the beginning of my blogging experiment that I want to shed some demons, eliminate shortcoming and do some self-therapy. And this entry is self-therapy. I had run-ins with bullies when I was a kid. It was no more than 2-3 guys at a time. But I was more afraid of getting in trouble at school (and at home thereafter) than I was willing to stand-up to the mini mafia. I had a freeze mechanism that was engrained into my psyche. It was engrained by my mother, my grandparents and by the "turn the other cheek...don't return bad with bad" religious doctrine crap that was fed to me every Sunday and Wednesday. Now I am not saying that everything that I learned in church was useless or feces. In fact I hold many things to be constant values in my daily life (even now). But in this regard (bitter giggle) the teachings created a soft kid who needed to have an encouraged backbone.

I ask you. Does this look like the face of a man that grew up without a backbone? One would not think so (atleast I like to believe that is the case).



I can use words. I can use my intellect to a pretty strong degree when necessary. My work experience has been good to me with regard to formulating arguments, finding win-win situations and making things happen without a need for self-defense. But the fact remains that not everything in the world can be solved with words. And the person most prepared, fasted to smart reaction and possessing the biggest will wins out almost every time. My brother-in-law would say it like this: "It's not the size of the dog in the fight; it's the size of the fight in the dog."

So what's next? I am training my mind; I should give the same purpose to my instinct and body. A belief that everything can be solved without a physical need is a blind, lying belief. It's not reality. J-Double-D is committing to believing and living in reality. Do I want to be a fighter? No. But do I want to know that I can be as swift with my body as I can be with my mind (when the need presents)? You're damn right I do.

Cheers friends.

J

OK. I'll give it a shot.

My name's Jamie. But for the purposes of this little foray into my screwed-up mind you can call me J-Double-D. I am the schmuck in the lederhosen (alla Chevy Chase in European Vacation). The Swiss Miss is my wife; I am in a bi-facial relationship. That means that my partner is WAY hotter than me.



The title for this blog is An American Redneck in India. I am not in India. Though I have worked there on and off over the last four years. And for all intents and purposes, I am not a redneck. Though the majority of non-Southern readers might very well think otherwise simply because I am a Kentuckian.

The entries that will follow this one may be anecdotal bullshit. They may be true stories of misadventures. And frankly they may just be little doodles about life as I see it. I am a barstool prophet- well I was before I married. Now I am constantly somewhere between being an asshole and a genuine, loving person. You can decide from one day to the next which one that I am. However at the end of the day, I am just a guy that has always loved writing, never over-achieved a day in his life and frankly has more self-loathing and faux arrogance than anyone he has ever met.

Cheers.

J-Double-D