“But then they danced down the street like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after people who interest me…” Jack Kerouac
As Memorial Day looms on the horizon, a young (well, middle aged) man’s thoughts turn to… festivals! Anyone who knows me can confirm that I often write of my enthusiasm for public gatherings that center on the mutual celebration of creativity. These can range from functions that have art as their focus, such as Parade the Circle, to events that celebrate more esoteric arts, like horticulture at The Great Geauga County Fair. I always try to get to new events every year, dragging my family and friends to the full range of out-and-about activities that our incredibly eclectic region can offer.
This past weekend I added a new entry to my list; despite the fact that the event was celebrating its 41st year and that it happens only a couple of blocks from where I have worked for more than 12 years of my life: the Hessler Street Fair. I can’t explain why it’s taken me so long to get over to one of Cleveland’s most unique celebrations. I’ve been aware of it for more than 20 years, and each year pledge to go, but life gets in the way, I guess. The event reminded me of the old Coventry Road Street Fairs that I used to attend, as it was a true counter-culture experience in every way.
A couple of factors I look for in festivals are that they have a unique and definable theme and that they feature top-of-the-line people watching opportunities. In truth, county fairs, civic celebrations, and arts & crafts fairs tend to look alike after a while. There are only so many strung beads you can look at, funnel cakes you can eat, and bar bands you can hear before your eyes start to glaze over. This is definitely not the case with the two days in May that make up the Hessler Fair each year.
Let’s start with the theme, if it can be called such. The event celebrates a spontaneous gathering of like minds in a picturesque city neighborhood a generation ago. The themes you encounter include open mindedness, freedom of speech, and alternative approaches to food, clothing, transportation, politics, and everything else. The Fair even seems to encourage a sense of being part of an unplanned happening, even after all these years and despite the presence of a funnel cake stand. Some folks might argue that the event is a bit dated, targeting sensibilities and points of view that disappeared with bell bottoms and granny glasses, but I disagree. The two small blocks that make up the site were crowded with young people just starting to make their way in the world, and many of the issues and ideas being promoted or proclaimed were as pertinent as oil spills in the Gulf of Mexico or the right for individuals and organizations to disagree with current leadership. And hey, bell bottoms and tie dye are back in a big way anyhow.
But the real fun this past weekend was the people watching. In fact it was more like “people meeting” rather than people watching. The street is pretty narrow, and the day was very hot and sunny. If you want to get a sense of just what a broad mix of people makes up Northeast Ohio, this is the place to see it. A wonderful blend of inner city, near suburbs, and far-flung folks, the crowd (and it was packed) was as colorful and engaging as the clothes for sale in the booths. Many of them were accompanied by their dogs, which were as diverse as their owners: a mix of tiny to large, pure-bred to mongrel, and all of them friendly. You constantly heard the exclamations of folks who had just run into an old friend, a friend they may only see once a year, at this celebration. Many of the vendor booths featured folks from exotic locales or points of view as well, as proven by my step-daughter’s new henna tattoo running up her right wrist and arm. I must admit that the Hessler Street Fair wins the award for people watching, with more interesting people per square foot than any place I’ve yet experienced.
You would think that an event like this one - small quartered, somewhat politicized, and featuring a broad socio-economic mix of patrons - might feature an atmosphere that was either closed to the outsider or confrontational, but it was neither. In the parlance of the day, it was a true “love-in,” full of smiles and handshakes and embraces; a very welcoming trip back in time to remind us that “love is all you need” is not such a naïve sentiment after all.
I would be remiss if I did not take the opportunity to mention the passing of a great leader and patron of The Music Settlement and the arts in Northeast Ohio, Allan Zambie, who passed away last week. All of us who knew him recognized the dedication and energy that Allan brought to his role as a current member and former Chair of our Board of Directors. His voice was one of vision tempered by reason in the board room, and no one could question his love for the arts and music in particular. Though he was in failing health recently, he overcame great personal difficulty to keep his attendance active and his voice heard right up until the last month or so. The Music Settlement and much of the arts and culture community owe a great debt to Allan and we join together to say, “Safe journey and Godspeed, faithful servant” to this very special man.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Thursday, May 13, 2010
We have met the enemy, and he is us
“We have met the enemy, and he is us.” Walt Kelly
Someone recently brought to my attention an article found on Yahoo! the other day. Its headline was the “Ten Worst-Paying College Degrees,” and I thought, “Uh-oh, this could be bad.” Well, that’s an understatement. The ten worst degrees according to Payscale.com (that noted source of irrefutable truths) were, in order:
1. Social Work
2. Elementary Education
3. Theology
4. Music
5. Spanish
6. Horticulture
7. Education
8. Hospitality/ Tourism
9. Fine Arts
10. Theatre
My first thought was, “What, no philosophy or large animal husbandry?” No, actually, my first thought was “what a poor commentary on the priorities of this world we live in.” Now I know if I looked up the highest paying degrees, I would see many of the usual suspects, and I don’t pretend to begrudge these fields their worthiness, but must the caring and creative arts always land so far down the line? Is there really so little value placed by our society on the fields that most often have direct contact with our children and families? Must the most creative and empathic people in our culture be marginalized not only by their medium, but also their moola?
I want to make a stand right here in this blog and take issue with a few points in this report, the first being the idea that the economic strata assigned to those in the categories listed above are appropriate, market-driven, and reflect truth. What they really reflect are what the Hopi Indians of the southwest referred to as Koyaanisqatsi, translated roughly as “world out of balance.” They reflect a culture that seems bent on denying that it has any culture, that it places no value on those who enlighten, inspire, and advocate. To me, this data reflects a country where there is little effort to steer the best and the brightest to positions where the emphasis tends to be on interpersonal skills and empathy. Why would we assign less value to a person who educates our children than one who markets products to them? Why is a profession which profits from interpersonal conflict considered to be of more value than one which is dedicated to providing solutions to conflicts before they begin? Again, my point is not to disparage those professions, but to ask the question, “why?” World out of balance, indeed.
I work in arts education and have done so consistently for my entire adult life. Let’s see, that puts me in roughly five of the top ten categories above, and if you factor in my nearest family and closest friends, we’ve pretty much got all ten covered. Do my friends and family and I represent an unproductive subculture of our highly productive world? Far from it. Each of us brings value, joy, and hope to the lives of many, every day. Is it frustrating to do so in a context of receiving less in return? No doubt.
But this is not just a rant; there is more to this story, which leads to my second point. I am constantly asked by anxious parents to assure them that their children who have identified the arts and related nonprofit fields as their profession will either a) snap out of it soon and come to their senses, or b) discover that pot-o-gold that awaits the very fortunate few who transition from undervalued to uber-valued in these professions, despite the odds that are stacked against them. I take a different tack in answering them: I tell them that the opportunity their children have before them is to achieve a different kind of value - personal value. The unreported flip side of stories like “America’s Ten Worst-Paying Degrees” is “America’s Highest Self-Worth Professions.” When such reports are published, one after another lists many of the professions in the caring and curing arts as having some of the highest satisfaction levels measured, indicating that there really is more to work than just compensation, and could explain why many top business executives seek out volunteer opportunities or arts-related avocations in their “off-time.”
What does this tell us? It tells us that individually, we tend to choose the heart over the wallet. We derive true value and satisfaction from making a difference in the lives of others, not just from making a dollar. The real tragedy is that when the collective mind converges, somehow the wires get crossed. This doesn’t have to be the status quo; it begins with each of us. Support working artists and arts educators, public and private school teachers, and those who battle for a healthy social balance in our world. Don’t discourage young folks from pursuing important professions that happen to pay less than others. Instead, advocate for a society that bases its values more on the difference one makes. But also remember to back off on ranking the dollar as the ultimate measure of things. There really is more to life.
By the way, Koyaanisqatsi is also the title of a terrific dialogue-free movie that features the music of the composer Philip Glass, and which presents a truly moving photographic portrait of our cockeyed world. Check it out and be reminded of the eloquent voice of the arts in our upside-down world.
Someone recently brought to my attention an article found on Yahoo! the other day. Its headline was the “Ten Worst-Paying College Degrees,” and I thought, “Uh-oh, this could be bad.” Well, that’s an understatement. The ten worst degrees according to Payscale.com (that noted source of irrefutable truths) were, in order:
1. Social Work
2. Elementary Education
3. Theology
4. Music
5. Spanish
6. Horticulture
7. Education
8. Hospitality/ Tourism
9. Fine Arts
10. Theatre
My first thought was, “What, no philosophy or large animal husbandry?” No, actually, my first thought was “what a poor commentary on the priorities of this world we live in.” Now I know if I looked up the highest paying degrees, I would see many of the usual suspects, and I don’t pretend to begrudge these fields their worthiness, but must the caring and creative arts always land so far down the line? Is there really so little value placed by our society on the fields that most often have direct contact with our children and families? Must the most creative and empathic people in our culture be marginalized not only by their medium, but also their moola?
I want to make a stand right here in this blog and take issue with a few points in this report, the first being the idea that the economic strata assigned to those in the categories listed above are appropriate, market-driven, and reflect truth. What they really reflect are what the Hopi Indians of the southwest referred to as Koyaanisqatsi, translated roughly as “world out of balance.” They reflect a culture that seems bent on denying that it has any culture, that it places no value on those who enlighten, inspire, and advocate. To me, this data reflects a country where there is little effort to steer the best and the brightest to positions where the emphasis tends to be on interpersonal skills and empathy. Why would we assign less value to a person who educates our children than one who markets products to them? Why is a profession which profits from interpersonal conflict considered to be of more value than one which is dedicated to providing solutions to conflicts before they begin? Again, my point is not to disparage those professions, but to ask the question, “why?” World out of balance, indeed.
I work in arts education and have done so consistently for my entire adult life. Let’s see, that puts me in roughly five of the top ten categories above, and if you factor in my nearest family and closest friends, we’ve pretty much got all ten covered. Do my friends and family and I represent an unproductive subculture of our highly productive world? Far from it. Each of us brings value, joy, and hope to the lives of many, every day. Is it frustrating to do so in a context of receiving less in return? No doubt.
But this is not just a rant; there is more to this story, which leads to my second point. I am constantly asked by anxious parents to assure them that their children who have identified the arts and related nonprofit fields as their profession will either a) snap out of it soon and come to their senses, or b) discover that pot-o-gold that awaits the very fortunate few who transition from undervalued to uber-valued in these professions, despite the odds that are stacked against them. I take a different tack in answering them: I tell them that the opportunity their children have before them is to achieve a different kind of value - personal value. The unreported flip side of stories like “America’s Ten Worst-Paying Degrees” is “America’s Highest Self-Worth Professions.” When such reports are published, one after another lists many of the professions in the caring and curing arts as having some of the highest satisfaction levels measured, indicating that there really is more to work than just compensation, and could explain why many top business executives seek out volunteer opportunities or arts-related avocations in their “off-time.”
What does this tell us? It tells us that individually, we tend to choose the heart over the wallet. We derive true value and satisfaction from making a difference in the lives of others, not just from making a dollar. The real tragedy is that when the collective mind converges, somehow the wires get crossed. This doesn’t have to be the status quo; it begins with each of us. Support working artists and arts educators, public and private school teachers, and those who battle for a healthy social balance in our world. Don’t discourage young folks from pursuing important professions that happen to pay less than others. Instead, advocate for a society that bases its values more on the difference one makes. But also remember to back off on ranking the dollar as the ultimate measure of things. There really is more to life.
By the way, Koyaanisqatsi is also the title of a terrific dialogue-free movie that features the music of the composer Philip Glass, and which presents a truly moving photographic portrait of our cockeyed world. Check it out and be reminded of the eloquent voice of the arts in our upside-down world.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
“The human race is challenged more than ever before to demonstrate our mastery - not over nature but of ourselves.” Rachel Carson
I think we have all come a long way in our awareness of the difference each of us can make in taking better care of the earth. At The Music Settlement we have worked hard to be greener, with efforts that range from a shift to mostly electronic communication and information distribution, to replacing incandescent light bulbs with energy efficient fluorescent ones. But the change really starts with each of us, and it is requires diligence to change habits and ways of life.
When I look at the environmental movement from that personal perspective, I certainly see progress being made. As a youngster, I recall that my family often spent pleasant summer weekend days engaged in an activity known as the “Sunday drive,” a now-archaic effort that has been replaced by malls and DVD players and gas at nearly $4 a gallon, or so it seems. Now don’t get me wrong, aimlessly driving around the countryside in a carbon monoxide spewing old station wagon is hardly the best way to “go green,” unless of course you mean me sitting in the way back seat, sucking in fumes and getting green in the gills. But I distinctly remember that even if our drive took us out into the wilds of Cattaraugus County, NY (and that’s pretty wild), it would not be unusual to see lots of trash along the side of the road. I know this is hard to believe for some of you younger folks, but back then the average American treated the shoulder of the road as their own personal trash can. The unfortunate convergence of the fast food craze with the automobile really exacerbated this, by the way; cups and wrappers and napkins would find their way out the window and onto the flora without a second thought! Hard to believe now, isn’t it? At some level, the country’s relatively successful campaign against littering was one of the first real beachheads in the battle against pollution.
Nowadays, of course, we realize there is a lot more required for success than just the level of behavioral modification that resulted from the national Litter Bug campaign. If all we do is remember to bring in from the car the wrappers of our Big Mac and toss them in the trash can, it won’t be enough, to which the ever rising mountains of landfills across this country attest. Every one of us needs to change our habits and our lifestyles. If our conspicuous consumption is not altered, history tells us the result will not be pretty. Indeed, I was watching the history of the Earth Day movement on American Experience on PBS last week, and there was a revelatory message that hit home with me on several fronts.
If you happened to see the show, it featured first person interviews with many of the folks at the vanguard of the movement in the early seventies. Many of them were “hippy-dippy” counterculture folks with odd names and even odder dress codes, who nonetheless worked through the systems and the hearts of America to foster real change. They saw it as a higher calling and were spurred on by concerns and events that focused attention on the gathering evidence that our world was sending us an urgent SOS. Interestingly, many of the individuals also mentioned that a seminal moment in the movement was when Apollo 8 astronauts sent back to Earth the famous photo of Earthrise, the first image of our planet taken by man from outside its orbit. This life-changing artwork forever redefined our planet as finite - a small, fragile, dot in the celestial heavens, and one whose balance could easily and irreparably be upset.
This wasn’t the only reference in the PBS show to the central place of art in the story of mankind and the environment. A researcher who was one of the first to identify the threat of catastrophic climate change cited the example of other great cultures on our planet that appear to have fallen due to unwise environmental practices. As he rattled off the examples of Incan, Babylonian, Egyptian, Greek, and Roman civilizations, each was accompanied by a photo of all that remains of their glory: artworks, great and small. Those who look for irony in this life would be quick to note that art and culture not only inspire us to great things, but they also may be ultimately all that is left to tell of our passing. The rest of us can cling to the fact that great art represents truth that transcends and inspires; it’s something that raises our sights and opens our eyes when mere words and actions fall short. We just need to be open to the message.
Let’s hope that our new worldwide civilization can grasp the lessons contained in that photo of Earth before our legacy is one of silent structures and colossal statues to events long forgotten and buried in the sand. We should incorporate good stewardship of the planet into everything we do, making everyday Earth Day for our little blue dot in the universe.
Have a great week!
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
“The history of an art is the history of masterwork, not of failures, or mediocrity.” Ezra Pound
The Music Settlement is in full celebration mode this month as we find ourselves surrounded by reminders of the impact we have made throughout our history on the people of our community. It’s an interesting alignment of the stars, because this time of year is traditionally when our students are presenting recitals and performances that exhibit their growth as musicians, and many of our faculty members are out performing as well.
There are many things for us to be really excited about as we move through the month. On Wednesday the 21st, a representation of instructors, staff, board members, and friends will join us in Columbus as we gather to support our beloved Director of Early Childhood Education, Sylvia Easley, when she will be awarded the Governor’s Award for the Arts in Arts Education. I wrote in detail about the OAC committee’s selection of Sylvia for this prestigious honor in a previous blog, but I want to spend a few more minutes on it because she has meant so much to so many people throughout her 44 years of service at The Music Settlement. It doesn’t matter where I go or who I talk to across the area, there will be someone in the crowd with a connection to Sylvia, and they always say the most wonderful things! She has been a key player in the early development of so many people, either through our programs or through her own advocacy, that she truly can be called one of the most influential people in Northeast Ohio over the past half century. That’s something to celebrate!
We also should raise a big cheer for our jazz faculty and students, who continue to reap accolades for their mastery of this unique American art form. Last week, piano faculty member Jackie Warren (who was chosen as “Best Keyboardist” by the readers of Cleveland Scene magazine this year), was a featured performer in the Women in Jazz concert at Mount Zion Church. Our Settlement Jazz Orchestra (SJO), Jazz @ The Music Settlement (J@MS) ensemble, and the Jazz Impact ensemble were featured prominently at the Tri-C JazzFest where they enjoyed master classes and blew the roof off in performance.
At The Cleveland Museum of Art (CMA) earlier this month, four members of our cello faculty were featured in the Viva & Gala series performance by renowned Finnish cellist Anssi Karttunen. Nick Diodore, Ida Mercer, Julie Meyers King, and Robert Nicholson made up four of the seven members of I Cellisti, the resident ensemble of the Cleveland Cello Society, which joined Mr. Karttunen in a truly magical evening of performance that ranged from J. S. Bach to Kaija Saariaho. It is our hope that we will continue to partner with CMA and the roster of international performing artists they bring in for their concert series as we launch our World Music curriculum this summer.
April and May are months in which many of our students perform in the culmination of a year of dedicated music study. Hardly an evening or weekend will go by without the sound of accomplishment ringing through the campus; it’s a sound I never get enough of! I guess it’s particularly fitting that April is the month that The Music Settlement was founded so long ago.
By the end of April, we will have begun our 98th year of providing meaningful personal experiences to our community through the joy of music. When Almeda Adams, an accomplished vocalist and educator who happened to be blind since the age of 6 months, founded The Cleveland Music School Settlement in 1912, she must have had future Aprils in mind - rooms and hallways full of music made by folks of all ages, on all manners of instruments and in all kinds of styles. Won’t you join in the fun?
Have a great week!
The Music Settlement is in full celebration mode this month as we find ourselves surrounded by reminders of the impact we have made throughout our history on the people of our community. It’s an interesting alignment of the stars, because this time of year is traditionally when our students are presenting recitals and performances that exhibit their growth as musicians, and many of our faculty members are out performing as well.
There are many things for us to be really excited about as we move through the month. On Wednesday the 21st, a representation of instructors, staff, board members, and friends will join us in Columbus as we gather to support our beloved Director of Early Childhood Education, Sylvia Easley, when she will be awarded the Governor’s Award for the Arts in Arts Education. I wrote in detail about the OAC committee’s selection of Sylvia for this prestigious honor in a previous blog, but I want to spend a few more minutes on it because she has meant so much to so many people throughout her 44 years of service at The Music Settlement. It doesn’t matter where I go or who I talk to across the area, there will be someone in the crowd with a connection to Sylvia, and they always say the most wonderful things! She has been a key player in the early development of so many people, either through our programs or through her own advocacy, that she truly can be called one of the most influential people in Northeast Ohio over the past half century. That’s something to celebrate!
We also should raise a big cheer for our jazz faculty and students, who continue to reap accolades for their mastery of this unique American art form. Last week, piano faculty member Jackie Warren (who was chosen as “Best Keyboardist” by the readers of Cleveland Scene magazine this year), was a featured performer in the Women in Jazz concert at Mount Zion Church. Our Settlement Jazz Orchestra (SJO), Jazz @ The Music Settlement (J@MS) ensemble, and the Jazz Impact ensemble were featured prominently at the Tri-C JazzFest where they enjoyed master classes and blew the roof off in performance.
At The Cleveland Museum of Art (CMA) earlier this month, four members of our cello faculty were featured in the Viva & Gala series performance by renowned Finnish cellist Anssi Karttunen. Nick Diodore, Ida Mercer, Julie Meyers King, and Robert Nicholson made up four of the seven members of I Cellisti, the resident ensemble of the Cleveland Cello Society, which joined Mr. Karttunen in a truly magical evening of performance that ranged from J. S. Bach to Kaija Saariaho. It is our hope that we will continue to partner with CMA and the roster of international performing artists they bring in for their concert series as we launch our World Music curriculum this summer.
April and May are months in which many of our students perform in the culmination of a year of dedicated music study. Hardly an evening or weekend will go by without the sound of accomplishment ringing through the campus; it’s a sound I never get enough of! I guess it’s particularly fitting that April is the month that The Music Settlement was founded so long ago.
By the end of April, we will have begun our 98th year of providing meaningful personal experiences to our community through the joy of music. When Almeda Adams, an accomplished vocalist and educator who happened to be blind since the age of 6 months, founded The Cleveland Music School Settlement in 1912, she must have had future Aprils in mind - rooms and hallways full of music made by folks of all ages, on all manners of instruments and in all kinds of styles. Won’t you join in the fun?
Have a great week!
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Busy as a one-armed man pasting on wallpaper
“…Busy as a one-armed man… pasting on wallpaper.” O. Henry
Most people try to plan their lives so that the pace they create is bearable and the demands on their time and productivity are balanced and reasonable - but not me. When most families decide to schedule a major vacation during their kid’s spring break from school, logic would suggest that they clear the decks up until departure time to allow for appropriate planning and preparation. You put in a solid period of work at the office and at home that allows you to feel like you’re on top of things before you whirl away to vacationland. You leave your nights and weekends leading up to the trip in the family “truckster” free for itinerary planning, packing, and calm periods of reflection and meditation - but not me! Instead, I filled the 11 days leading up to this spring’s halcyon holiday with nonstop events and activities that left me barely packed as we headed out the door.
First, there was the wedding thing. Now, please don’t get me wrong: your son’s wedding is a blessed, life-altering event, but it does require a bit of your time and energy. It was a beautiful event that perfectly reflected their thoughtful and fun-loving personalities, but like all family weddings, it absorbed all the attention and energy of those around it like a giant sponge. A great time was had by all, but when I woke up the following day I was startled to remember that I had agreed to report for duty that afternoon to judge short subject films for the Cleveland International Film Festival (CIFF) for the next eight days straight! Just to make sure we weren’t too comfortable, we had also agreed to take care of my son’s dog (Atlas, the 100 lb. Labrador retriever) for the next five days while the wedded couple enjoyed their honeymoon.
So, to recap: that’s three days, one wedding, a house full of relatives, a very large black dog on the way, and eight straight days in the dark coming right around the corner…
In the interest of fairness, I need to state the following: Atlas is an absolute sweetheart. He’s a very smart (one might even say devious), somewhat overweight (one might say fat), happy older dog that was rescued by two very loving people who adore him, and so do we. He also gets along famously with our greyhound, also a rescued pup of older vintage, the two are inseparable. The challenge is that they are both large dogs, they both shed like the dickens (we went through two or three lint rollers in a week), and - in the words of my wife - “Atlas is a world class opportunist.” Under no circumstances do you leave him unsupervised within the vicinity of anything that can be interpreted as food. Likewise, be aware of his uncanny ability to choose a moment when all are distracted to sneak away and surprise us all with a surprisingly light-footed leap onto any nearby piece of upholstered furniture. And I’m not going to even get into the slobbering issue (ick!). Needless to say, the old boy kept us on our toes, but we were smiling the whole time, because like any dog worth his kibble, he is truly a charming rogue.
But who was I to complain? For most of Atlas’s time with us I merely walked him in the morning (two big dogs was a handful) and patted his big old head at the end of the night as I stumbled in from watching shorts at CIFF. The rest of my week consisted of working at The Music Settlement until 4pm or so, and then racing downtown to watch seven to eight short films a night and maybe another full length flick or two. If you’ve read this message before, you know what a great fan I am of CIFF, but this year I had an insider’s glimpse of the process like never before. The crowds were larger than ever (more than 71,000 attended!), and they screened more films than ever (300 plus), but it still ran like clockwork. I, however, ran more like a clock that needed new batteries. By the time the weekend rolled around, I was watching an average of nine individual films a day, counting shorts; still small change for a CIFF veteran!
To recap again: by the end of the week from Hades, wedding a distant memory, relatives shipped off to wherever, dog gone (doggone?), home chores and duties neglected, more than 100 movies seen, nine awards given to shorts, no packing done, no idea what day or time it was, and a plane to catch.
I then rise from the ashes and search everywhere for the shorts and polo shirts I hadn’t seen since Labor Day and throw it all in a suitcase and prepare myself for six days in the theme parks of Orlando, Florida (yippee?). Surprisingly, I take everything I need and things are absolutely fantastic in the world of Disney, where “magic” isn’t just a word, it’s the law. But there is no doubt I have some overlaps from the hectic days before heading to the sunshine, such as the gnawing sense that, like a good CIFF judge, I should be scoring the Muppets in 3-D movie for content and character development, and the strange compulsion to yell at Pluto when he sits in a chair during the Breakfast with the Characters event. I even end up running into my sister and her husband at the Hollywood Studios theme park (won’t those pesky relatives ever leave?). But the really odd part is that the whole crazy 14 days will forever make up some of the very best moments I will ever experience, and also some of the craziest.
To recap one more time: 18 days, one son married, one daughter-in-law gained, one dog watched like a hawk, dozens of flicks seen and miles driven, hundreds of theme park miles walked, tons of photos taken, millions of smiles logged. But I wouldn’t trade any of it for a billion dollars!
It’s good to be back- Have a great week!
Most people try to plan their lives so that the pace they create is bearable and the demands on their time and productivity are balanced and reasonable - but not me. When most families decide to schedule a major vacation during their kid’s spring break from school, logic would suggest that they clear the decks up until departure time to allow for appropriate planning and preparation. You put in a solid period of work at the office and at home that allows you to feel like you’re on top of things before you whirl away to vacationland. You leave your nights and weekends leading up to the trip in the family “truckster” free for itinerary planning, packing, and calm periods of reflection and meditation - but not me! Instead, I filled the 11 days leading up to this spring’s halcyon holiday with nonstop events and activities that left me barely packed as we headed out the door.
First, there was the wedding thing. Now, please don’t get me wrong: your son’s wedding is a blessed, life-altering event, but it does require a bit of your time and energy. It was a beautiful event that perfectly reflected their thoughtful and fun-loving personalities, but like all family weddings, it absorbed all the attention and energy of those around it like a giant sponge. A great time was had by all, but when I woke up the following day I was startled to remember that I had agreed to report for duty that afternoon to judge short subject films for the Cleveland International Film Festival (CIFF) for the next eight days straight! Just to make sure we weren’t too comfortable, we had also agreed to take care of my son’s dog (Atlas, the 100 lb. Labrador retriever) for the next five days while the wedded couple enjoyed their honeymoon.
So, to recap: that’s three days, one wedding, a house full of relatives, a very large black dog on the way, and eight straight days in the dark coming right around the corner…
In the interest of fairness, I need to state the following: Atlas is an absolute sweetheart. He’s a very smart (one might even say devious), somewhat overweight (one might say fat), happy older dog that was rescued by two very loving people who adore him, and so do we. He also gets along famously with our greyhound, also a rescued pup of older vintage, the two are inseparable. The challenge is that they are both large dogs, they both shed like the dickens (we went through two or three lint rollers in a week), and - in the words of my wife - “Atlas is a world class opportunist.” Under no circumstances do you leave him unsupervised within the vicinity of anything that can be interpreted as food. Likewise, be aware of his uncanny ability to choose a moment when all are distracted to sneak away and surprise us all with a surprisingly light-footed leap onto any nearby piece of upholstered furniture. And I’m not going to even get into the slobbering issue (ick!). Needless to say, the old boy kept us on our toes, but we were smiling the whole time, because like any dog worth his kibble, he is truly a charming rogue.
But who was I to complain? For most of Atlas’s time with us I merely walked him in the morning (two big dogs was a handful) and patted his big old head at the end of the night as I stumbled in from watching shorts at CIFF. The rest of my week consisted of working at The Music Settlement until 4pm or so, and then racing downtown to watch seven to eight short films a night and maybe another full length flick or two. If you’ve read this message before, you know what a great fan I am of CIFF, but this year I had an insider’s glimpse of the process like never before. The crowds were larger than ever (more than 71,000 attended!), and they screened more films than ever (300 plus), but it still ran like clockwork. I, however, ran more like a clock that needed new batteries. By the time the weekend rolled around, I was watching an average of nine individual films a day, counting shorts; still small change for a CIFF veteran!
To recap again: by the end of the week from Hades, wedding a distant memory, relatives shipped off to wherever, dog gone (doggone?), home chores and duties neglected, more than 100 movies seen, nine awards given to shorts, no packing done, no idea what day or time it was, and a plane to catch.
I then rise from the ashes and search everywhere for the shorts and polo shirts I hadn’t seen since Labor Day and throw it all in a suitcase and prepare myself for six days in the theme parks of Orlando, Florida (yippee?). Surprisingly, I take everything I need and things are absolutely fantastic in the world of Disney, where “magic” isn’t just a word, it’s the law. But there is no doubt I have some overlaps from the hectic days before heading to the sunshine, such as the gnawing sense that, like a good CIFF judge, I should be scoring the Muppets in 3-D movie for content and character development, and the strange compulsion to yell at Pluto when he sits in a chair during the Breakfast with the Characters event. I even end up running into my sister and her husband at the Hollywood Studios theme park (won’t those pesky relatives ever leave?). But the really odd part is that the whole crazy 14 days will forever make up some of the very best moments I will ever experience, and also some of the craziest.
To recap one more time: 18 days, one son married, one daughter-in-law gained, one dog watched like a hawk, dozens of flicks seen and miles driven, hundreds of theme park miles walked, tons of photos taken, millions of smiles logged. But I wouldn’t trade any of it for a billion dollars!
It’s good to be back- Have a great week!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
It is at the movies that the only absolutely modern mystery is celebrated
“It is at the movies that the only absolutely modern mystery is celebrated.” Andre Breton
The sudden turn for the beautiful in our weather notwithstanding, I have a great idea for an indoor activity to help you round out your late winter in proper style. And if you happen to find time to get out and about in the process, by all means take advantage of this balmy turn of events.
The sudden onset of pleasant weather brings to mind for me the spring of 1978, the year that will always resonate with folks here as the year of the big blizzard. That winter was unrelenting and life-threatening in the northeast, with the one-two punch of two straight winters of brutal conditions and record-breaking snow accumulation. But just when we couldn’t seem to take it anymore, a curtain lifted and spring came on like gang busters! From April on, we went into the hottest, driest summer I can remember, with the grass turning brown in early July and staying that way through September. So who knows, maybe this will be the year when all our suffering is erased by waves of sun and fun, and we remember again why the heck we would want to live here in the first place.
While you’re waiting for the good weather to take hold, don’t forget that next Thursday is the beginning of the Cleveland International Film Festival! This yearly celebration of all things cinematic has become a major force in the movie industry world-wide. After attracting more than 66,000 participants last year, generating more than $3.1 million in revenue, and increasing their attendance by more than 23% from the record-breaking previous year, CIFF looks to reach even greater heights this month. The Festival opens with a gala on March 18th, and continues with day-long features at Tower City Cinemas through the 28th. Featured will be a vast array of local, national, and international films in a variety of genres including shorts, animated films, documentaries, commercials, and feature length film that are either enjoying their first run in our region or are world premieres. If you enjoyed last week’s Oscar presentations, you’ll be pleased to know that CIFF now has a hand in helping to identify short subject movies for the Academy of Motion Picture Arts & Sciences. We may find a flick that premiered in Cleveland winning the Academy award soon!
If you go to the Film Festival, please try to find the time to see Soundtrack for a Revolution, this year’s film sponsored by The Music Settlement. It tells the story of the indelible link between the protest songs of the 1950’s and 60’s to the American civil rights movement. It includes interviews with the people who were at the center of the movement as well as archival footage of the period that ranges from the uplifting to the brutal, portraying the transformative power of music in our daily existence. While it includes some harrowingly frank imagery of the period, it centers on an uplifting legacy that resonates in our music and our lives to this day. The movie shows on Friday, March 26th at 9:35pm, and Saturday, March 27th, at 4:40 pm. Please find the time to see this important documentary.
One of the other great aspects of CIFF is that for a two week period, much of downtown is really alive and kicking! There are crowds in the restaurants and at Tower City, and you can get a real feel for the potential that could exist with a truly vital downtown. Throw in a Cavs game or a concert at “The Q” and things get positively crowded downtown. Make time for you and your loved ones to enjoy some of Cleveland’s number one winter arts & culture happening!
While I’m at it, I want to remind you that Cleveland’s number one summer arts & culture happening is right around the corner: save the date for the 12th of June for Parade the Circle, our very own people-powered celebration of creativity. I’ll bring you more details in a later message, but it’s not too early to step up to volunteer with The Music Settlement that day. We are seeking individuals who can help us in our activities tent where we encourage folks of all ages to try out a variety of instruments that we provide. It’s a lot of fun and a great way to introduce the joy of music into people’s lives. If you’re interested, please contact Rob Bruder at rbruder@themusicsettlement.org .
I hope to see you in the crowds real soon.
Have a great week!
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Citius, Altius, Fortius
“Citius, Altius, Fortius” (“Faster, Higher, Stronger”) - Olympic Motto, Father Henri Martin Didon
Yes, I am an Olympics junkie. I have been in Nirvana for the last two weeks as I revisit the wonders of the Nordic combined, half-pipe, skeleton, short program, and best of all - curling! I am perfectly willing to sit glassy-eyed in front of the tube, evening after evening, breathlessly waiting for the big hill ski jumper from Kazakhstan to hit his telemark landing on his third and final jump to the roar of a crowd of, say, 50 to 60 very cold spectators.
Equally odd is that the rest of the time, I wouldn’t be caught dead watching a couple ice dancing to the music of Love Story, dressed in something out of John Phillip Sousa’s worst nightmare. I couldn’t tell you who the reigning world champion is in any sport requiring snow or ice, let alone who is America’s best at anything remotely related to winter sports and skin tight sequined suits. I can tell you, however, where this odd, every-four-year obsession of mine originated from: the convergence of a world-wide sports event with that great world-wide media, television.
I was 11 years old in 1968 - a pretty memorable year for many folks, but on a personal level it was the year I discovered two gloriously flawed cultural icons in my life: The Olympics and color television!!!
Now don’t get me wrong, I didn’t grow up in a cave; a television was part of my consciousness almost as far back as I can remember. I can still see John F. Kennedy’s funeral and The Beatles on Ed Sullivan as clearly as anything, but for me, those images will be forever etched in black and white. I grew up in a black and white world as far as media was concerned, with the exception of the glorious full color of Life Magazine every Friday, so I suppose pageantry and pomp and hoopla would always leave me a bit cold. But sometime in the fall of 1967 my neighbors got the most magnificent machine I had every beheld - a Zenith (I still remember the brand!) color TV! It was about the size of a davenport, as I recall, and featured lots of cabinetry and knobs and fabric, and took about ten minutes to warm up, BUT IT WAS A COLOR TV! I worked hard to find excuses to hang around and get a glimpse of the Holy Grail-like appliance, but back then children were expected to be able to occupy themselves without the electronic babysitter, and besides, there was that issue of the radiation from the color tube cooking your eyeballs to little cinders if you watched for more than a few minutes at a time. Watching color TV for more than, say, an hour at a time was considered to be just one step below staring at the noontime sun. Then it would be, “Outside, kids! It’s only 20-below out there, it’s good for you!” Plus the networks hadn’t really gotten programming for 11 year old boys down yet. Kid’s shows were lame and parents tended to dominate primetime with junk like Gunsmoke, and Father Knows Best…yuck!
But as February rolled around that year, my neighbors told my parents that they were going out of town for the unheard-of span of two weeks - and they needed my brother and I to “check on the house and the pets while we’re gone, and if they want to watch a little of the TV, that’s OK too….” Needless to say, we jumped at the idea, and a few days later we were ensconced on their couch in full winter gear (the neighbors insisted the heat be kept very low during their absence), watching Charles de Gaulle preside over the opening ceremonies of the 1968 Winter Olympic Games from Grenoble, France in living (if somewhat fuzzy) color. Over the next week or so, we thrilled to the heroics of Jean-Claude Killy in alpine skiing and were smitten with figure skater Peggy Fleming, who won America’s only gold medal. Apparently we weren’t the only ones who were swept up by the 1968 Winter Olympics, because the combination of the first satellite broadcast of a live sports event and the first color broadcast of an Olympics has been identified by scholars as the beginning of the world’s infatuation with all things Olympic.
All I know is that, from that moment on, my brother and I were hooked. Unexpectedly, the Olympics have provided me with life lessons ever since, and while not all of them have been pleasant, they have been important. Tommy Smith and John Carlos’s black power salute during the medal ceremony that very summer in Mexico City would raise my awareness of issues regarding race and human rights. In 1972, my brother and I sat in stunned horror as the terrorist age dawned on live TV in Munich. In 1980, I vividly remember trying to tune in the USA vs. Russia hockey game on the AM radio in my old Ford Maverick while driving in central Ohio on a snowy night. I rounded a hill and picked up the last few minutes of the biggest victory of what would become the “Miracle on Ice.” Politics reached frenzied levels in the 1980 and ‘84 Olympics, when boycotting seemed to be all the rage and became something I could only lament as a great concept dragged into the mud. The non-sport related happenings have continued, but they don’t tarnish the central concept for me. Now I know that at some level the Olympics are certainly political, and that I often measured great triumphs and disappointments in terms of whether we won or lost. But that boy in me who was thrilled in 1968 still likes to believe in the principle at the heart of it all - competing together as brothers and sisters regardless of language or cultural barriers - and I still stop what’s going on in my world to take it all in. I still see it in all its bright and shining colors.
Have a great week!
Yes, I am an Olympics junkie. I have been in Nirvana for the last two weeks as I revisit the wonders of the Nordic combined, half-pipe, skeleton, short program, and best of all - curling! I am perfectly willing to sit glassy-eyed in front of the tube, evening after evening, breathlessly waiting for the big hill ski jumper from Kazakhstan to hit his telemark landing on his third and final jump to the roar of a crowd of, say, 50 to 60 very cold spectators.
Equally odd is that the rest of the time, I wouldn’t be caught dead watching a couple ice dancing to the music of Love Story, dressed in something out of John Phillip Sousa’s worst nightmare. I couldn’t tell you who the reigning world champion is in any sport requiring snow or ice, let alone who is America’s best at anything remotely related to winter sports and skin tight sequined suits. I can tell you, however, where this odd, every-four-year obsession of mine originated from: the convergence of a world-wide sports event with that great world-wide media, television.
I was 11 years old in 1968 - a pretty memorable year for many folks, but on a personal level it was the year I discovered two gloriously flawed cultural icons in my life: The Olympics and color television!!!
Now don’t get me wrong, I didn’t grow up in a cave; a television was part of my consciousness almost as far back as I can remember. I can still see John F. Kennedy’s funeral and The Beatles on Ed Sullivan as clearly as anything, but for me, those images will be forever etched in black and white. I grew up in a black and white world as far as media was concerned, with the exception of the glorious full color of Life Magazine every Friday, so I suppose pageantry and pomp and hoopla would always leave me a bit cold. But sometime in the fall of 1967 my neighbors got the most magnificent machine I had every beheld - a Zenith (I still remember the brand!) color TV! It was about the size of a davenport, as I recall, and featured lots of cabinetry and knobs and fabric, and took about ten minutes to warm up, BUT IT WAS A COLOR TV! I worked hard to find excuses to hang around and get a glimpse of the Holy Grail-like appliance, but back then children were expected to be able to occupy themselves without the electronic babysitter, and besides, there was that issue of the radiation from the color tube cooking your eyeballs to little cinders if you watched for more than a few minutes at a time. Watching color TV for more than, say, an hour at a time was considered to be just one step below staring at the noontime sun. Then it would be, “Outside, kids! It’s only 20-below out there, it’s good for you!” Plus the networks hadn’t really gotten programming for 11 year old boys down yet. Kid’s shows were lame and parents tended to dominate primetime with junk like Gunsmoke, and Father Knows Best…yuck!
But as February rolled around that year, my neighbors told my parents that they were going out of town for the unheard-of span of two weeks - and they needed my brother and I to “check on the house and the pets while we’re gone, and if they want to watch a little of the TV, that’s OK too….” Needless to say, we jumped at the idea, and a few days later we were ensconced on their couch in full winter gear (the neighbors insisted the heat be kept very low during their absence), watching Charles de Gaulle preside over the opening ceremonies of the 1968 Winter Olympic Games from Grenoble, France in living (if somewhat fuzzy) color. Over the next week or so, we thrilled to the heroics of Jean-Claude Killy in alpine skiing and were smitten with figure skater Peggy Fleming, who won America’s only gold medal. Apparently we weren’t the only ones who were swept up by the 1968 Winter Olympics, because the combination of the first satellite broadcast of a live sports event and the first color broadcast of an Olympics has been identified by scholars as the beginning of the world’s infatuation with all things Olympic.
All I know is that, from that moment on, my brother and I were hooked. Unexpectedly, the Olympics have provided me with life lessons ever since, and while not all of them have been pleasant, they have been important. Tommy Smith and John Carlos’s black power salute during the medal ceremony that very summer in Mexico City would raise my awareness of issues regarding race and human rights. In 1972, my brother and I sat in stunned horror as the terrorist age dawned on live TV in Munich. In 1980, I vividly remember trying to tune in the USA vs. Russia hockey game on the AM radio in my old Ford Maverick while driving in central Ohio on a snowy night. I rounded a hill and picked up the last few minutes of the biggest victory of what would become the “Miracle on Ice.” Politics reached frenzied levels in the 1980 and ‘84 Olympics, when boycotting seemed to be all the rage and became something I could only lament as a great concept dragged into the mud. The non-sport related happenings have continued, but they don’t tarnish the central concept for me. Now I know that at some level the Olympics are certainly political, and that I often measured great triumphs and disappointments in terms of whether we won or lost. But that boy in me who was thrilled in 1968 still likes to believe in the principle at the heart of it all - competing together as brothers and sisters regardless of language or cultural barriers - and I still stop what’s going on in my world to take it all in. I still see it in all its bright and shining colors.
Have a great week!
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