Hard sun

I realize, with terrible guilt, that I've only written 8 blog entries in all of 2008. This is irresponsible of me but I will make it up to you, dear readers.

I was just listening to my headphones, typing that intro when I noticed that I had a missed call from "Home." Wondering what was up (because my family will be seeing me on Monday as I'm going home to vote) I made my way downstairs and called back. So... my dad is flying south tomorrow morning to Florida to be with my grandfather. My grandma died today-- no sickness, no suffering, no hospital. Just reclined in a chair, maybe resting her eyes after finishing a book. And that's the way to go, I think.

It's weird to think of my dad flying down and not going with him. I feel called, or obligated-- like this is reunion of the Frederick Michael Stringers and I'm staying up north. I worry about the last impression I made. I hope my grandpa gets to see me at least another time. There isn't much family left.

And what do I do now? I guess I just keep on as usual. Write what I was going to write before the phone call.

Rest peacefully, Grandma Stringer.

I love you,
Mike


So I shaved my head yesterday. Please enjoy these pictures of the process:

Before (while dressed in 'guido' party swagger and clearly stolen from facebook):














The Process (thanks Mark, for shaving the back of my head and Sean for lending me your beard trimmer for use on my dome):















After!















A lot of people ask me why I decided to buzz all of my hair off. The reason is this. I wanted to do something different. Something wild, unexplained and unpredictable. I wanted to be in the moment, foolish and brave. Its the 'now' we forget too often, I forget too often. And all this 'now time' spent worrying about past and future is wasted. I don't want to do that anymore. I want to dive into projects and be excited about things. Do things that make people think I'm crazy-- just to fucking do them. To be there. Then. Now. So that's what I'm going to do.

My List:
Shave head
Spend weekend in woods, writing
Record EP
Finish "Caribou"
Write novel
Drive to California
See the American west

I'm sure I'll be adding to this list, but this is a nice foundation. It'll happen. It's got to.


Bomb the blogosphere,
Mike

Hello

There are things, I think, that I'm ready to say.

On November 4th we are all going to take some small, or even large, slice of our time to cast a determination of which trajectory to set the world upon. I say "we all" out of the "how could we not" sentiment. How could we not take up whatever arms have been left to us and assume the responsibility of a people to participate? This is not a plea to fence sitters. This is not out of hope to nudge you, reader, blueside. I'm not, I pray, so disappointing.

Rather, this is out of resignation. Ours are shitty times. With so little advancement as a society in areas other than science and technology, we've come to that point where church and state are no longer enough to sustain us. We thirst. Even the internet, which gave voice to the consumer without corporate filter, is at risk of becoming yet another medium to be read and watched through a lens.

Cash rules everything around us.

We are renaissance men. Even with our computers and ipods and match.coms and airplanes. We are family men and, maybe the greatest tragedy, we are born outlined. We graduate high school, we graduate college, we get jobs or go to graduate school so as to deserve better jobs, we invest, we marry, we have children, we watch our children leave us, we retire, we move, we read and look out windows, we die. Where commas divide we laugh and cry and make terrible mistakes. We feel at once completed and absent. And we fall in love a hundred thousand times in hope of finding something that lasts. And we do.

But ours, I think, aren't times for renaissance men. We are so spoonfed instant happiness that we forget the majesty of joy. Or the adventure of its discovery. The people of the 21st century are a people who would crucify a Christ who could turn water into oil-- out of fear, perhaps, of what it could possibly mean. We put bullets in our heads because we don't have the dollar bills it costs to continue living.

Are we, then, a people of value?

I think there are only a handful-- maybe fifty, maybe 100-- years of thought and art left. Fewer of oil and government, at least as we know it now. Only a generation of years until our children take Amtrak cable cars to Wal-Mart University, learning NBC or CNN's brand of business or economics or mathematics or literature to become-- whatever.

But maybe not. Because we ARE renaissance men. And if I am to believe anything, I believe that as the wood yellows its roads diverge.

On November 4th we will go out and play our part. We will pass go. We will lose two hundred dollars to taxes or layoffs or natural disaster, but we will beat irregularly onward. Barack Obama promises change-- and my optomistic side hopes that it isn't just to stir whatever swims within us that appeals to the word-- but rather in recognition of the cusp on which we teeter. The end is not nigh. But something is.

The economy is temporary, administration is temporary, culture is temporary. Because humans, as adaptable as we are, lack the constitution for permanence. I believe, though, that in brevity is greatness made. In these snapshot lifespans we live is still there beauty. Even should it all collapse is there the company of brothers and the rapture of companionship.

So I go, and likely too shall you, to graduate college. To work and find passion in work, to mate and marry and know the ancient joy of raising children. To read while books still circulate and enjoy, maybe, the freedom to see the fringes of the country and love the fellows I meet. To write and teach the possibility of grace within the self. I am not victim but rather citizen. And it will be good. As it is.

I don't know how, and neither am I ready, to say goodbye.

So hello. Welcome.


Love always,
Mike