Resurrection

Today is Easter Sunday, which always meant something when I was growing up. Easter baskets, church service, a big mid-day meal of lamb or ham; the coda to Christmas, another religious holiday that combined the commercial with the holy. I loved it, and not just for the chocolate eggs and bunnies, but because the whole story of the death and resurrection of Christ seemed so mystical to me – like a supernatural thriller that continues to enthrall long after you know how it’s going to turn out.

Today, I find myself missing my family and our old Easter traditions, such as they were. I think some of this feeling is simply the result of aging; that occasional sense of melancholy that sneaks up on you every now and then, and that I can’t help but believe is common to everyone. And part of it is just a side-effect of the stresses of this particular place and time… an ailing economy, a terrible job market, a world in peril. Those happy and colorful little Easter baskets, combined with the story of resurrection and redemption, were a great distraction way back when from whatever might have been ailing us or the world.

In the long years since I last woke up to an Easter basket by my bedside, my religion has turned to spirituality, and my church has morphed from a physical building to nature. Although I thought about attending a church service this morning, I decided instead to hit my favorite trail – the “Dish”, a beautiful hilly walk adjacent to the Stanford campus. It’s out in nature, away from the structure and iconography of the church, that I come closest to feeling the presence of God.

Whether you believe that Christ was the son of God, or that he was one of several (or many?) great prophets—or even if you don’t believe in him at all—the story of his death and resurrection is a powerful one, and maybe even a little analogous to what most people I know (certainly me) are going through right now. Almost everyone I know is struggling financially and/or experiencing some kind of grief at work or at home. No one I know has been left untouched by the world’s current struggles, and after months of strife, most of us still see no end in sight.

This morning it occurred to me that maybe we’re all experiencing a metaphorical crucifixion – the loss of a way of life… the loss of a sense of stability… the loss of job opportunities… the list goes on. While none of these losses are comparable to Jesus’ crucifixion, they are painful to endure nonetheless. I can only hope that on the other side of this difficult period of time is some sort of resurrection, a way to rise from the death of the way things used to be, to the way they will be. Perhaps this difficult time in the world is our era’s great rebalancing… one in which financial institutions and people will have learned to be more fiscally responsible and caring, more energy conscious, more open minded to other cultures and ways of life.

Looking out over the green hills of Silicon Valley today, I did feel hopeful for our collective resurrection; not just for a return to how things were when they were at their best, but for the start of something brand new and full of possibility.

I think the poppies and lupine that dotted the hillsides of the Dish are my replacement for peeps and chocolate bunnies, and that nature is my new Easter tradition.

Blender Drinks: The 51st Annual Grammy Awards

Ok, so taking a completely different tact from my first two entries, I thought it might be fun to make a few remarks about the 51st Annual Grammy Awards, which were on last night. Most of them are snarky because those comments are by far the most fun to make, although overall – *what I saw – I really enjoyed. A few years ago I would turn on the Grammy Awards and after the umpteenth person who I’d never heard of performed or won an award, I’d tune out, wondering when music was going to be honored again by these awards and despairing that it may never actually factor into the Grammy’s again (I know, I’m being judgmental, but music – like writing a blog – is a completely subjective thing).

So, humor me:

Kid Rock: A medly? REALLY? If you’ve seen that great Saturday Night Live “Really?” piece with Seth Meyers and Amy Poehler during Weekend Update, that was my thought during the Kid Rock “medly”. REALLY? Has he contributed enough to the world of music to require a MEDLEY?

The Jonas Brothers: “Show ‘em what you got, Stevie!” Ok, these kids are cute. My nieces love them, one in particular, and I can see why – they’re just a little bit geeky and cute, but accessible cute; very… oh, let’s call them “spirited”; and maybe even a little talented. But what slayed me during the Grammy’s is, here they are, singing with a freakin’ legend, and yelling out “show ‘em what you got, Stevie!”. All I could think was… YOU show ‘em what you got, kids! This other dude? This 40+ year legend who has crossed over genres and written and sung just about damn near everything? Guess what… he doesn’t need to show anyone anything anymore. He’s ESTABLISHED already. So, earth to the Jonas Brothers – you’re darling, but when you have the privilege to share the stage with someone who’s had more gold records and hits, and collaborated with more amazing musicians than you’re ever likely to know in your lifetime??? Guess what… he probably doesn’t need an urging from you to “show ‘em what you got”.

Blink 182: What, no comic book convention to attend? Do the skateboard parks close early on Sunday nights?

Miley Cyrus and Taylor Swift: Ouch. That hurt. As a friend of mine said at work today, “The only thing good about that performance was Taylor Swift’s eye makeup.”

The whole rap performance: AYFKM? I’ll let you figure out what that might stand for. Let’s just say that I hope child protective services was standing in the wings. (Does sound abuse count when it’s in-utero?)

Paul McCartney: A testament to a youthful, bang-laden ‘do, the right hair color and great eye job. I aspire to be him.

Ok, sideline… is there a stranger site in the world than Nicole Kidman in a music show audience?

Jay Mohr: Ick.

Adele: The perfect “best new artist” award recipient. I predict she will be a one-hit wonder (ok, maybe two or three, but I’m not giving her long), and this award is notorious for being the kiss of death to a career. If she’d only painted those nails all the way.

Radiohead: The word “cool” was just redefined by Radiohead’s performance with the USC Marching Band. There is something so hypnotic and ethereal about Radiohead’s In Rainbows, and I think it’s SO COOL that this performance was near perfection. I mean, that USC band sounded like it was Radiohead… they blended so well, on a song so perfect for that particular collaboration, that I was completely energized by the performance. I wish I could time my reactions to stuff like this with the perfect time to exercise – I’d actually be in great shape if I could make that happen 4 to 5 times a week.

And then I went to bed.

My final take: I like to think of this year’s show as “the blender drink year”. Toss a bunch of random ingredients together and see what comes out. It was always interesting.

Oh, and one more thing... Whitney made me cringe and Jennifer made me cry.


* Admission: I tuned out around 10:30 p.m. But I promise, only because my alarm clock was going off at 6:00 a.m. and I’m not a 4-hour-a-night person (I wish!).

Observations of the uninitiated

I just got home from seeing the movie “Revolutionary Road”, and it occurred to me while I was driving home that I have always been an observer of marriages, much the same way I was tonight watching that movie. I’ve never thought of it that way before – observer – but I really have been. In my late 40s and never married, I have had years to be witness not just to my parent’s marriage, but to the marriages of my three siblings, most of my closest friends, cousins… almost everyone around me. Even as old as I am and as many data points as I’ve been able to collect, I’m not sure how I actually feel about the institution of marriage.

Marriage is something I always wanted. There wasn’t a day of my childhood that I ever doubted I would grow up, get married, have kids – the whole shebang. And then it just didn’t happen for me. Can’t tell you why… it’s been suggested many times (although thankfully, not much in the last few years) that I’m too picky, don’t try hard enough, too strong and intimidating… the list goes on. While all of these attempts at an explanation were done with good intentions, they always implied something was wrong with me, and that did not exactly help me maintain the perky, optimistic, smiling state of smart-but-not-too-smart, needy-but-not-too-needy, independent-but-not-too-independent persona I was supposed to exude if I ever wanted to catch that special someone. Perhaps there is something wrong with me… maybe even something terribly wrong, but when I see who’s married out there… well, I just can’t make heads or tails of it. Seems random to me. So starting tonight, I’ve decided what my new theory is for my unsavory condition: God intended for me to be an observer; to remain enough of an outsider that I can help all my married friends get through the times of turmoil and discord that are sure to descend at one time or another, and rejoice with them when things are good.

On my path to attempted marriage, I remember one particularly disturbing meeting with a woman who wanted to become a professional matchmaker. We made arrangements to meet so that she could get to know me a bit and see if I was date-able (kind of like prospective foster parents being checked out by social services), and I could see if she was someone I could trust with my heart and my wallet. We met at a neighborhood Starbucks, and I arrived first. Before long, in walked this little woman with long hair down to her waist, ballet flats and a mono-brow, looking all of 18 although I think she was in her mid-30s. After talking for awhile, she was compelled to recommend some relationship books to me and her opinion that she thought there was something wrong with me that I hadn’t been married before, or at least had some long-term relationships and/or consistent dating experiences. What I needed was a matchmaker who wasn’t there to judge me, but to be my advocate; what I got instead was this little smurf of a creature willing to add to the freak baggage I was already carrying. Needless to say, we parted ways without a contract.

Back to being an observer. As the years have gone on and as I’ve seen more and more marriages come and go, my feelings about the tradition have changed a great deal. Do I still want marriage for myself? Hmmm… I don’t know. I’ve observed that it’s hard. That the feeling of being cherished, a feeling that I personally have always yearned for (and wanted to feel for another person) is one of the first things to go in a marriage; replaced instead with the smugness of the condition of marriage. I’ve observed that couples will often cave to the comfort of familiarity and routine, rather than expend the necessary energy for a little excitement or the spice of spontaneity.

I realize it’s easy for me—strictly the observer and not a participant—to pick on what seems wrong about marriage, or the mistakes couples make in it. I’m sure there’s a balance of good about marriage that, unless I’m in it myself, I will never appreciate. It’s kind of sweet to think that all of the good stuff that comes with marriage is SO good that it’s one of those dirty little secrets couples keep to themselves.

It’s quite possible that the passage of time has literally made marriage a moot point now; I don’t need it to procreate (too old), and most of the people I’m likely to meet in my age group have been married before and don’t want to take that path again. Maybe this was all destined, and I would have had too weak a stomach for marriage—or been too hurt by it—to have benefited from the experience. In any case, I will continue to observe both the bad and good, continue to wonder what it’s like with just a little wistfulness, and continue to marvel at the concept of two people coming together ‘til death do they part.

If I ever leave the ranks of observer to become an actual participant, may I put all these many years of observing to good use.

When I grow up, I want to be... thoughts on the inauguration of our new President

Wow. I find myself incredibly emotional every time I think of the presidential inauguration. Actually, I’ve been emotional since the election – elated at the result, but mourning the disconnect of the past eight years. Since Bush was elected – especially since he was elected a second time – I have felt ill at ease in my own country, disconnected from the majority of voters here who somehow felt Bush was worthy of our trust and our hopes.

I was in the Tampa airport recently while in Florida visiting my parents, and wandered into a gift store in the airport that sold all sorts of things. Among the various gift items was a “onesy” for a baby that said, “When I grow up, I want to be… thank you Mr. Obama”. I literally can’t think of that little baby garment without crying; the few times I’ve told people about this gift item, I’ve gotten so emotional I had to stop, take a deep breath, and try to cover my embarrassment at getting so emotional over something so simple. But that dot dot dot… those three little dots are packed with so much promise, it almost hurts to think about it.

When I was still in grammar school – maybe middle school – I remember going with my parents to the annual black tie gala for the Chicago area chapters of the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. My parents did a great job helping me understand the significance of some of the people I met or heard speak: Jessie Jackson, Andrew Young, Julian Bond, Ben Branch… I know there were others. It was the early ‘70s, and these people were still fresh from the years of the civil rights front lines. I think of them now, and my fortunate exposure to them and other black leaders, and I can’t help but get emotional thinking about what this presidential inauguration must mean to them.

Coming from an interracial family, our family composition gave me a unique view of the world; one I will be forever grateful for, even when that view wasn't very desireable. We were not immune from the fears of our neighbors. I remember feeling so confused and betrayed by our neighbors when there was a cross-burning on the lawn of a house down the block that had just been sold to a couple who had an adopted bi-racial baby girl. Apparently, my black brother (who was all of about 3 at the time) and this bi-racial baby girl were bringing down property values in this otherwise white neighborhood. So the neighbors were compelled to send a message to us and the home seller that this wasn’t ok; we were being put on notice that the diversification of the neighborhood had to stop. My family had been an integral part of this neighborhood for at least two years when this happened, so we knew all of these people well – or so we thought. It was wrenching to discover that under the surface, our neighbors actually harbored this anger and fear of anyone who looked different. What made their actions almost comical was the fact that the new family with the bi-racial baby daughter was a former priest and former nun who fell in love and left their vocations to pursue a life together as husband and wife. Scary, huh?

My family’s vicarious cross-burning experience is nothing compared to what I know generations of African-American families have endured. Even so, it makes the inauguration of a black president in 2009 gratifying beyond words. And what I especially love is that Obama isn’t just the first African-American president – he’s a return to intelligence in our nation’s highest office. He’s a thinker, an intellectual, and a diplomat. If he were pink, I would relish these gifts of his.

Watching Obama’s inauguration speech, I couldn’t help but feel tremendous hope not only for the future of our great but ailing nation, but for a future when we as people value character and intellect over race or ethnic origin. This is something I have to work at every day – appreciating the beauty of diversity over the comfort of homogeneity. Obama has inspired me to look for the good again.