All The Wrong Dreams?

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Philip Seymour Hoffman was, without question, one of the great acting talents of our time, playing a wide variety of roles like Truman Capote, which earned him an Oscar, and Willy Loman in Arthur Miller's Death of a Salesman on Broadway in 2012. I recently watched a film he did, also in 2012, with Christopher Walken called, A Late Quartet. The title comes from Beethoven's "late" string quartets. Watch the trailer here.

These quartets were written by Beethoven late in life and are amazing, especially given the fact that Beethoven was deaf by the time he wrote them. Did you hear that? He was deaf when he composed some of the most beautiful music ever written.

The play Death of a Salesman is a modern tragedy by Arthur Miller. The protagonist is a guy named Willy Loman who, in the years following The Great Depression, is a firm believer in the American Dream. Without going in to the whole story, suffice to say, it, like all tragedies, doesn't end well. His son at the graveside of his father has this to say of his father's life: “He had all the wrong dreams. All, all Wrong.”

NPR this morning aired an interview with Hoffman about his portrayal of Willy Loman. The interviewer asked Hoffman if playing Willy had had an impact on him personally:

"He has two sons who are kind of impressive," Hoffman says. "They're beautiful, talented, physically gifted, but he's not. He's none of those things. I think Willy probably was like that when he was young, but he had no sense of himself. He's never had a sense of himself. He's been cobbling together a narrative from birth."

Hoffman also acknowledges it's easy to judge Loman and the choices he's made. Early in life, the character might have had an opportunity for adventure, but he turned that aside in order to get security. When he learns, at the end of life, that he can't pay his bills or even hold on to his job, it's heartbreaking.

But Hoffman says Loman's struggle is not without value.

"He really did give his life for his sons," Hoffman says. "He didn't do it in a way that's effective, or got what he wanted, or actually nurtured his sons in a way that was going to help them, but he did."

Hoffman, who has three children of his own, says the play is one that provokes thinking on all aspects of life, including family.

"It really seeps into why we're here," Hoffman says. "What are we doing, family, work, friends, hopes, dreams, careers, what's happiness, what's success, what does it mean, is it important, how do you get it?"

Connecting all these themes together, Hoffman says that ultimately, the play is about wanting to be loved. 

In the movie, A Late Quartet, there is a scene on a subway train where a young girl is speaking. She seems to be speaking philosophically about  old guys. Then you realize she's reading from a poster on the train. I paused the movie to try to read the poster and found it was a poem called Old Men by Ogden Nash

People expect old men to die, 
They do not really mourn old men. 
Old men are different. People look 
At them with eyes that wonder when… 
People watch with unshocked eyes; 
But the old men know when an old man dies.

Philip Seymour Hoffman is dead now. He was not old by any definition; 46. Did he have the wrong dreams like Willy Loman? Could he or did he metaphorically write a "late" quartet while deaf?

There are two things that scare me: tragic endings and poverty. Not just economic poverty, but poverty of the soul--spiritual poverty.

The real tragedy of the poor is the poverty of their aspirations. --Adam Smith

I'm not judging Philip Seymour Hoffman. These questions are just me, soul searching out loud.

I have learned this: Damn addictions. Damn hopelessness. Damn our poor choices.

Blessed are the poor in spirit... -- Matthew 5:3

The Kings & I

THE KINGS ARE DEAD AND I DON'T FEEL TOO HOT MYSELF. (Thank you Lewis Grizzard).

Now, I don't claim to be Royalty--although "Sir Pops" has a nice royal/commoner ring to it. If only I could get word to the Queen.

I don't claim to be Royalty--although I really, really like that hot little pop song by Lorde called "Royals". Here are the lyrics to the catchy chorus. The song sort of hints that we can self-define royalty. So maybe I can be a Royal.

And we'll never be royals (royals).
It don't run in our blood,
That kind of luxe just ain't for us.
We crave a different kind of buzz.
Let me be your ruler (ruler),
You can call me queen Bee
And baby I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule, I'll rule.
Let me live that fantasy.

You can check out the music video of Royals here.

Even with that, I still don't claim to be Royalty, however I do have a lot in common with two guys that are arguably among the most well known and loved Kings: King David and Elvis.

Notice they both have great hair and that cool little lip curl deal. I don't.

Quickly, let me say to my more fundamentalist friends: no, I am not comparing myself to a beloved Biblical stalwart. It may seem like that, but I'm not. Really. By the way, did you know that the name "David" means beloved? Just saying.

Starting with age before beauty, let's look at King David. Although I am known by two of the most important people in the world as "Pops", to many others I'm known by my given name: David. So he and I have that in common.

I think I may also share his propensity for being very well-intentioned but occasionally weak and narcissistic. Well--at least I'm that way. For example, I don't know for sure what I would have done if I had been king and noticed a babe like Bathsheba bathing on the roof of the house next door. But I'm not going to sit here like some kind of pompous, royal arse and pretend like I'm stronger than him.

We probably could all guess what Elvis would have done in a similar situation. He would have put a little extra Brylcream (because a little dab'l do ya) on the pompadour, grabbed his guitar and lured her over with some hip action and a siren song.

Detour: Speaking of the patented Elvis hip action. I'm confident if the boy had lived into his senior years, he most certainly would have been looking at at least one hip replacement.

So, how about Elvis? What similarity could I possibly claim to this renowned king? January 8. That's right. Elvis and I share a birthday.

Back in my first coming of age, I was not a fan of Elvis and his music--at all. Oh, I appreciated his breaking of rock and roll ground. But my tastes were more to acts like The Beatles, The Kinks, The Yardbirds, The Animals, The Rolling Stones, etc.

Unfortunately, back in the day when I listened to pop/rock radio, I had to spend every birthday listening to Elvis music, because it was his birthday too, and after all; he was The King.

Now, in my second-coming of age, I enjoy hearing a good Elvis standard or two. I now realize how important he was to the shift in musical culture. As was King David. That's right. David was a musician himself. And hey, so am I!

We know for sure David played the harp. He played for that nutty King Saul and chased his haunting spirits away. David also apparently organized the very first band--don't believe me?--It's in the Bible. (1 Chronicles 25) I wonder if they practiced in the garage of the royal chariot.

Sadly, we can't draw many lessons about living our second-coming of age from Elvis. He died 1n 1977 at the age of 42. I have learned this though:

"Wise men say, only fools rush in..."

King David, on the other hand, lived to be around 70ish. I did a bit of biblical research to see how he did in his old age and came up with this: 

When King David was old and well advanced in years, he could not keep warm even when they put covers over him.  So his servants said to him, “Let us look for a young virgin to attend the king and take care of him. She can lie beside him so that our lord the king may keep warm.” 1 Kings 1:1-2

Wow. There's a concept for a "senior living center". I can see the TV ad now... and in the background Elvis is singing: "Are you lonesome tonight."

Here's my birthday conclusion: no matter how royal we may think we are, sometimes we ain't nothin' but hounddogs.

Happy Birthday Elvis--wherever you are.

 

About Time

RECENTLY MY AMAZING-MISSUS AND I SAW ABOUT TIME, a new film by Richard Curtis. We're big fans of his films. Judging by the fact that we were two of about six people in the theatre, not enough people saw it. I hope you were one of them.

If not, raise your right hand and repeat after me: "I promise I will rent and watch About Time as soon as it's available."
[Note to all the "Pops" out there: the DVD release date of About Time is February 4, 2014. It could be a smart thing to get it and watch it with your significant other(s).]

I am fascinated by time. It's mysterious and precious. It is the basic rhythm of our lives and we need rhythm. Let that little ticker in the center of your chest stop and see what I mean. Check out my post on the autumnal equinox (it's better than it sounds). 

Time is weird. We talk about "saving" time, but we know we can't. Try stuffing a few hours in a piggy bank and you'll find out those hours aren't there when you go back to get them. You can't even get back the time you spent pondering how fast the time goes.

Each year for the past three we've taken our oldest grand-girl, Karlee, to see The Nutcracker. I was looking at the photos I took of her next to the nutcracker at age four and this year at five. I commented that before long she would be able to look him in the eye. And then I thought, "NO! Slow this all down."

Karlee at 3,4 & 5.

Karlee at 3,4 & 5.

We have a friend named Traci. She is originally from Keyes, Oklahoma. Traci is one of those people that when you spend time with them you feel like a better person and that the world is a better place. She has a sort of eternal youthfulness. I think I've figured out why. 

If you're in Keyes, Oklahoma, Traci's hometown, you can jump in the car (or more likely, the pickup), drive an hour, then check your watch. You will find it is the same time as when you left. Really. It's like the hour didn't pass. Maybe Traci did that--a lot.

Saturday, December 21st is the Winter Solstice. If you live, as I do, in the Northern Hemisphere, it is the shortest day of the year. Well, that's not exactly right. It will have 24 hours just like all of our other days. It's just that more of those 24 will  be dark than any other day of the year. So if you're a bat or vampire, this is your day.

What makes something timeless--not affected by the passage of time or changes in fashion?

To me, many stories are timeless like To Kill A Mockingbird. But I don't know why. Songs like: Bridge Over Troubled Waters, Amazing Grace, and Silent Night are timeless; but why?

I don't need to be timeless, but I do want to make the most of the time. I once told my muse, Kathleen, that one of the words and realities I hate most is squander. Squandering is as ugly as it sounds.

I wouldn't mind living long, but when it comes to death, I agree with Woody Allen: "I'm not afraid of dying, I just don't want to be there when it happens."

A couple of years ago, I had a surgical procedure. I guess it was sort of elective--it's not like I had a heart attack or anything. During the surgery, they stopped my heart. I don't know for how long, but it seems to me that I shouldn't have to count that time. Right?

It's kind of like Traci from Keyes. By now, you no doubt have figured that puzzle out. If not, Keyes is out toward the end of the Oklahoma Panhandle. If you drive west from Keyes for about 50 miles you go from the Central Time Zone to the Mountain Time Zone where it is an hour earlier.

From here you can be in New Mexico, Texas, Colorado, or Kansas in less than an hour.

From here you can be in New Mexico, Texas, Colorado, or Kansas in less than an hour.

Maybe it's just that in places like Keyes, Oklahoma, time moves more slowly. Traci is the only person I know from Keyes, but if folks out there are anything like her, they laugh more, they live in the moment a little more, they don't squander time or friendships.

So Saturday at sunset maybe we'll raise a glass to the Winter Solstice. Do it early though: night is coming fast--literally and proverbially. So let's make a toast to timelessness. And whatever you do, slow down and savor, don't squander.

To Be Jung Again

Imminence changes everything.

I have a friend, Kathleen, who has been a muse to me. (I promised her in return to be a mentor to her.) For those not familiar with these archetypes, a muse would be a creative inspiration, and a mentor, a wise, old, opinionated geezer. Let's be clear: Kathleen didn't ask me to be her mentor. I offered the service in exchange for her being a muse. She didn't offer that either, it just happened.

Oh, and by archetype, I mean that in the sense of "a constantly recurring symbol or motif in literature, painting or mythology. This usage of the term draws from both comparative anthropology and Jungian archetypal theory." (from Wikipedia)

Kathleen is with child. She is openly telling about this new experience, on her blog: andkathleen.com. As I read her posts lately, I can tell the imminence of it all is becoming very real to her.

Kathleen with child. Her shirt reads, "It's In The Bag."

Kathleen with child. Her shirt reads, "It's In The Bag."

I have been the male participant in this waiting-for-imminence twice as a parent and twice as a grandparent (and now once as self-appointed mentor). It's wonderful, powerful stuff. Such anticipation mixed with awe and angst.

And while I have no desire at all to be a parent again (due solely to old age and a bit of been there, done that), I do think I could use a bit of imminence about something besides retirement and death. I'm pretty sure all of us guys in our second-coming-of-age could use some imminence.

Why? Because without it I'm getting all wishy-washy, or in the vernacular of those who use such idioms: wishy-warshy. Tonight we will go out to dinner somewhere with a friend. The routine is always the same and the decision of where we will go to eat will be mine. The reasons for this are silly but it boils down to this: they know if I make the call then I won't piss and moan about the service, the food, the crowd, the jerk at the next table who won't get off his phone, yada, yada.

As I've posted already here, I really want an Airstream® Travel Trailer. But because I can't get a sense of imminence about it, I'm stuck in a quagmire of indecision. My Amazing Missus occasionally, lovingly suggests that I "either poop or get off the pot." That doesn't help. Maybe what I need is for someone to say, "You have until March 1, 2014, to decide or you forever forfeit the privilege of being an Airstreamer--your dream of traveling with that sleek silver icon in your rear-view mirror is dashed forever. The only RVing you'll ever get to do is in a pop-up camper parked next to a million dollar road bus with 13 slide outs."

Remember a few words back, when I mentioned Jungian archetypal theory? I am fascinated by Karl Jung and his personality theory. I would like to go in to detail about it and how it explains my contained, imaginative, open-ended, emergent, INFP personality that can't make a decision, but I'm out of space here. (Someone told me not to make a blog post more than 500 words long, "People will bail on you.") So, more on Jung later.

I'm imminently interested in your thoughts though.

By the way, since I have room for a few more words, do you remember that the Crane brothers were divided on their psych-theory loyalties? Frasier was a Freudian and Niles a Jungian. Remember when he hosted Frasier's radio show and he explained this to the audience and then said, "So there will be no blaming mother today." I miss them.