2025-08-03T22:55:00+00:00

Get Off My Lawn

August 3, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

This post is being written under protest, with great hesitation. You see, I’m going to complain about the younger generation. I’m going to tell you what’s wrong with the “kids today,” and probably wax nostalgic on how it was ”back in my day.” I won’t really like it, and it’ll be very uncomfortable, but I’m going to do it because I hated the new Netflix Train Wreck: Storm Area 51 documentary that much.

As you know, I love the Train Wreck series. The filmmakers dive deeply into these strange, sometimes sad, sometimes hilarious, events that illustrate the insanity of you and me. This is great, for so many reasons, one of which being that we can see our penchant for ambition that is selfish, uncivil and often criminal. We are mostly all like this, any argument is simple arrogance, and it gives us a window into the human condition if we are allowed to descend into a Lord of the Flies-like environment. They are warning signs along our society’s roads.

Now. This last one, Storm Area 51, felt different. A vape shop kiosk employee called “shitposting” (or something equally mindless and depressing) created a social media event called Storm Area 51, where a group of people would, well, storm Area 51, because “they can’t possibly stop us all.” Why? Aliens, I guess. (As if any of us have any doubts and need more proof.) Area 51 is a highly guarded military base. The vape shop guy, called Matty, thought it was funny, but didn’t account for the basic desire of influencers to desperately solicit clicks. (How “shitposting” can not account for the neediness of social media is beyond understanding and the textbook example of a lack of self-awareness.) Many millions of people said they’re going, driving citizens of nearby towns, law enforcement, and the military, into a state of terror. As it turns out, almost nobody showed up, no one caused any problems, and it cost everyone many more millions of dollars.

Now.

The younger generation has an alarming lack of spacial awareness that comes from 2 things: they spend most of their time inside, on devices, populated by 2-dimensional screen names instead of human beings. And a refusal to acknowledge that our actions have consequences in real life. You see, 2-dimensional screen names don’t have mortgages, children to care for, dreams, feelings, or needs of their own. We are the stars of our own story, as a matter of fact, like the Truman Show, we are the only living boys and girls in this construct.

So, when the woman who owns sinks everything she owns (and much more) into a partnership with an absolutely clueless Matty (with a sociopathic inability to empathize with anyone) to prepare for the millions of YouTubers, only to be shafted by the same Matty in the end, he has no idea what he has wrought. He only sees his own tiny circle of one, and he’s deathly afraid that he will have to take a shred of responsibility (gasp!) for his actions.

Whatever. It’s my truth, my reality, my way, and if you don’t like it, Boomer/Karen/etc, I can’t possibly begin to care. I have my next videos to plan & promote.

I think all of the kids involved were genuinely surprised that their actions weren’t just fun, and that a massive cost was attached to an irresponsible prank. That’s not awesome.

I have a friend who is super sweet in person, and as mean online and in texts as you have ever experienced. He’d never say the things he writes. And when the actual human beings on the other end of the screen get their feelings hurt and block him, he can’t understand why, either. What do you mean? There aren’t consequences, everything is a vacuum. You’re just too old to understand.

Maybe that’s true, but I am concerned for my lawn when the new caretakers don’t understand that if they dump weed-killer, it can kill more than weeds.

I think the new age is exciting and wonderful, we are connected in ways that are astounding. I like YouTubers and want them to continue. There is so much fantastic content out in the cyberverse, we could never get to the bottom of the well. They’re funny. Memes are funny and often quite smart. I see things I would never otherwise see. This is an amazing time to be alive.

But, like everything, there is a cost. We just need to know & understand what it is, before we decide if we’ll pay.

(There, thankfully, it’s over. I’ll try not to write such a negative post again. Rainbows and puppy dogs from here on out!!)

Hulk Hogan Instead Of Terry Bollea

July 29, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

Theo Huxtable, Hulk Hogan, and Ozzy Osbourne died in the last several days, and so did big parts of my childhood.

I loved the Cosby Show. I probably would now, too, if Bill Cosby, paragon of (what turned out to be) hypocritical virtue, wasn’t so problematic. Malcolm Jamal Warner was the best in a perfect cast of bests. I haven’t thought of him in years, but I still might miss him. I wish his family peace. But I think I miss the show, and my pretend idea of what the show was, what the show represented, even more.

I didn’t much care for Ozzy’s music. Maybe that’s a terrible thing to say, maybe I should think Black Sabbath “changed my life,” like I’m supposed to think about wildly overrated Radiohead. Whatever. Who has time for what we “should like?” “Barbie Girl” sounds & feels better than anything Radiohead created after The Bends.

However, Ozzy is a very important footnote in my life. In my middle school hell years, I thought about suicide often, and wrote about it in some awfully dark poetry. My mom found these poems, and, appropriately frightened, confiscated my cassette tapes. She had, apparently, bought into the common belief of the moment that heavy metal bands were killing our children. I raged against her for taking my Ratt, Quiet Riot, and Ozzy tapes. She was THE WORST. She said she threw them in the garbage, and was willing to suffer my wrath forever. But my thoughts about suicide faded into a depressed rhythm, never too real after 8th grade. I discovered that it wasn’t always going to be that/this dark. As it turns out, she didn’t throw them away, and I got them back eventually. I was happy to listen to Ratt and QR again, but not really Ozzy. I don’t think he caused my depression, it was just probably timing. However, what my mom did remains one of the very finest things anyone has ever done for me. It means something very significant that you would be loved enough that someone will go to any lengths to hear/listen/help you, even to risk your hatred of them. She put my life before her comfort, our relationship, or anything else. She gets an A+ for that. And every time I think of Ozzy, I feel really, really important and loved.

Now. Hulk Hogan. I don’t know how to express to you just how much of my attention and life went to professional wrestling, and Hulk Hogan. And to tell you the truth, for some reason, I don’t want to try.

What I notice right now is that I refer to these 3 by their character names, Hulk Hogan instead of Terry Bollea. That’s telling. They weren’t people, they were someone’s invention, and they are that to me. I don’t know Malcolm Jamal Warner, I only know Theo Huxtable. I know how these fictional characters made me feel, or what they represent. And what they represent is other places and people, real places and people. My mom, sister, girlfriends, and my best friend. The ones who loved me, who I loved, who cared for me, the ones with whom I shared the most valuable moments of my life. I guess that’s why I love art – and artists – so much, for their ability to reach into our real lives through connected imaginations and find commonalities, emotions, events, giving hope that where we are is awesome, but where we’re going can be even better. They asked us to believe in them, in each other, and ourselves.

And I still believe.

Nostalgia, pt II

July 16, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I’m 2 episodes deep into Death And Other Details on Hulu right now. The Angel and I watched the George Clooney-Julia Roberts vehicle Ticket To Paradise last week, and The Devil Wears Prada this week. I had not seen either of them, even though I had wanted to see The Devil Wears Prada since it was in the theater. Recently finishing the 9 seasons of Seinfeld, my son and I began to watch Arrested Development.

That’s the equivalent of a photo dump on Instagram. This is what I’ve watched, and there isn’t much to say about any of them. I loved the Clooney-Roberts romcom, probably not as much as Prada, but there are lots and lots of worse ways to pass an evening with your special lady. We laugh out loud at Arrested Development often. Death And Other Details feels like something I’ll continue to really like. It fills a void left from The Residence (which was awesome).

I’m listening to many, many songs. The modern age is still a huge adjustment. I’ve always been an album guy, and now there aren’t too many albums, just singles, and the medium doesn’t really support/encourage album listening. Vinyl was great for that. You would put a record on and listen to an entire side, it was never background music. It was intentional and rewarding. Cassettes were a product of the time – the music was pretty disposable and hit-and-miss. You’d fast forward the garbage, rewind for the singles. CDs were both, easy enough to hear one song over and over, but versatile enough for laying down in bed with the liner notes and letting the whole thing play.

As I write, my ages old iPod is playing the first 6 or so albums from Alkaline Trio. It’s purposeful background music. I miss a few songs here and there, but when I get up & go to the kitchen for a drink or the bathroom, I sing every word.

Very little is intentional, as far as the art I consume, right about now. I haven’t even listened to the new Sarah McLachlan song more than once or twice. Maybe I like it, maybe I don’t, who knows after 2 listens? I mean, I know I like it (after all, it is Sarah McLachlan), but do I really love it? Do I really love anything anymore?

I think I saw Point Break in the theater 25 times, and another 200 times on VHS. I know all the lines and subtleties. Yes, I was in high school and didn’t have a job or a wife & kids, but that was a part of me, a part of culture, I quite liked. Listening along to the new album, reading the lyrics, was great. I felt like I knew the artists, why they created the stuff that meant so much to me.

Now, I listen to a lot of EMELINE. I have no idea why it’s all capitalized, don’t even know if it’s a band (I think it’s just one woman, but I wouldn’t bet on it). Maybe she has a long career behind her, but I don’t know. I could find out easily, but… Well, just but. I don’t know if she writes these songs herself, with a team, or not at all! I suppose I could follow her on social media and know everything she wants me to know, blur the lines between us, and probably buy the clothes she wears in her posts.

This might be an age thing, I am a thousand years old, but aging requires a certain amount of nostalgia. Everything was better when I was young, right? It sure was, even when it wasn’t. Maybe not every song in the 90’s was amazing, but truth honestly doesn’t play too much of a role in my memories. It’s the feeling, maybe it’s the simplicity that I miss. Maybe we’ve seen too much to be so naive and innocent.

I do know nothing about Diff’rent Strokes or Blood Sugar Sex Magik compares to the Angel, and I wouldn’t go back there for all the money in the world. Maybe I just wish I had been more intentional about holding on to some things, instead of leaving them all so far behind. Or maybe I never had a choice at all.

What a strange post this has turned out to be. I don’t know what the point is, or why I’m writing. I’ll have to make dinner soon. It’ll be spaghetti in a big pot, and we’ll each eat when we get time.

You know, there is a thing called a liturgical calendar, with seasons like Advent and Lent, separated by Ordinary Time. This post is like that, Ordinary Time. Maybe it’s a rebellion against that notion at all, the notion that any time is Ordinary. Maybe we reclaim the Ordinary when we notice it’s happening as it’s happening, and acknowledge it’s tremendous value.

Train Wrecks

July 7, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

Netflix has a series called Trainwreck, where it details certain cultural, um, train wrecks. The first one I remember seeing was Woodstock ‘99. It was fascinating, a nearly perfect documentary, and must have been well received, as it became a series. Woodstock ‘99 was a chimaera of greed, poor planning, ego – I could continue, but I guess it was just a chimaera of the lowest human experience. It was an account of our tendency to sink to Lord of the Flies (mis)behavior, if only given the opportunity.

I guess all of these Train Wrecks follow that same formula.

The Cult of American Apparel and the unfortunately named Poop Cruise are the newest additions.

Poop Cruise is exactly what it sounds like. A cruise ship set sail, with as many warnings as passengers, and once at sea, the electrical system burned up and left the floating skyscraper dead in the water. Apparently, the toilets on a cruise ship are somehow tied into the electricity, so when the engines & lights went out, so did the toilets. After a day or 2, the floors were covered in raw sewage. The doc is an hour long account of manufactured suffering. Carnival escaped catastrophic financial punishment by absolving itself from anything at all in the contract everyone signed. Some kind of utterly shocking “we are not responsible for safe passage, clean, working facilities or the food, in any way” rider that either no one read or believed.

American Apparel was a clothing company that was allegedly enormous in the mid-2000’s. I say ‘allegedly’ because I had no idea it existed. This is unusual, as I make it my business to know what’s going on in the popular culture. The ads were soft-core porn, the clothes were unremarkable, and the CEO Dov Charney is a psychopathic monster who assaulted (emotionally, verbally, sexually) everyone who happened to cross his path. He’s not a nice person, was fired after a mountain of horrific lawsuits piled up against him, and today works for Kanye West. That sounds about right.

Money is the American god, and business is our religion. If it pays, we’re in. We’ll excuse any, and all, means to those ends. Travis Scott’s AstroWorld disaster is the subject of another Train Wreck. People died at this concert, with almost no accountability. Apparently, much like the famous Spiderman meme where several Spider-men are pointing at each other, no one was in charge, no one was to blame. Safety was no one’s job. There wasn’t an adult in the room. And when it came time to get some answers, the only answer was cash, and as it turns out, that’s good enough for us. Oh well, it’s just human lives.

The shows are pretty depressing, to be honest. Mirrors often are. Is this really who we are? I have to believe we are not, even in the face of conflicting evidence, stories replayed on a loop, just with a different company logo and new shell game.

If learning about our history is the way to assure we don’t repeat it (and that’s what we’re always told, right? Those who don’t learn about history are doomed to repeat it, right? Maybe it’s true, I’ll take your word for it), then these Train Wrecks are public services. I’m imagining conference rooms full of CEO’s watching them, weeping and tearing their clothes, immediately overhauling their policy manuals, creating ethical, humane paragons of virtue. Probably, the reason we haven’t noticed this revolution is because it takes a while for the effects to reach the consumer. It should be any moment, now…

People

May 12, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I finished a book last week, called Mastering Fear, by Dr Robert Maurer. It’s probably the 10th time I’ve read it, and it never fails to change me in some pretty significant ways. One of the main ideas is to emphasize that, in stressful, anxious, difficult situation, we are created, hard-wired to find others. The best example is when a child is scared, (in healthy environments) they climb into their parents bed for comfort. As we grow, that positive impulse is conditioned out of us. We believe we are on our own, we hold up independence as THE primary characteristic to success, not to mention the myth of the self-made anything.

Friday, my boys and I all knocked off of work/school and went to the theater to watch the Thunderbolts*. It’s the latest offering from the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and the asterisk is a totally intentional plot point that I won’t spoil for you.

The MCU has followed the law of diminishing returns since Endgame, this multiverse business is boring and hollow, an excuse for cheap gimmicks, and has effectively eliminated consequence. Whatever. It’s fine. Disappointing, but fine. I see the movies when I do, but they are no longer vital to me, like The Winter Soldier or Infinity War was. (I have heard a “reboot” is coming to rescue us all from this nonsense, and it is desperately needed. Fingers crossed.)

Thunderbolts* is an exception, it’s fantastic, really great. At their best, superhero films are about big, real life issues, just in a science fiction context. When critics bemoan the explosions and unrealistic elements, as if those bells & whistles are the only reason for their existence, they have missed everything authentic and important and meaningful.

Yes, I recognize that I just called these movies ‘important,’ and they can be. I am not sorry. This is one of those times. Thunderbolts* is the modern human experience laid out before us. It’s super soldiers, enhanced superhumans, and genetic freaks. It’s also about mental illness, isolation, loneliness & crushing depression. Mostly about those.

And, like Maurer’s book, the solution is a team of super-people. Those who show up to hold our hands and help us lift giant pieces of falling skyscraper, to listen, and to save cities. (Of course, that is somewhat simplistic – a buddy isn’t a cure for mental illness, but a buddy always helps. Always. Someone who cares, someone to turn to, to climb into bed alongside of when we’re scared, and sometimes someone who will remind us that pharmaceuticals aren’t a flashing neon sign of weakness or faithlessness or anything else other than a crutch for an injury that may or may not be temporary. Depression and mental illness are complicated. They are also nothing to go through alone.)

These people in our lives are complicated, too. They can be full of contradictions and drive us crazy. The more we allow them in, the more power we give to wound us deeply. They can annoy. They can just be the worst. And they are also the ones who make this life so wonderful.

We don’t save worlds from “the Void” alone, and we don’t build beautiful lives alone, either.

April 2, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

I know, I usually write that there aren’t any monsters, that we often draw our battle lines with the false belief that “they” are so different, so wrong, and “we” are so different in our goodness, our right-ness. Republicans aren’t monsters, people who voted for them aren’t monsters, and neither are Democrats and the people who voted for them. (I could use any examples of enemies, but that one seems to always connect.)

Having said that, maybe Sean Combs, “Diddy,” is a monster.

We’ve all heard the story of his rise, lifestyle, and spectacular fall. We all know about the thousands of bottles of baby oil and “freak offs.” We probably all wish we didn’t.

I love documentaries, and there are several on Diddy. Last week, I finally watched the one on Max. You might have thought I’d have watched one before now. I would have thought that. It has most of the elements I instinctively move towards: culture, excess, media, image, lies, absurdity.

It also has violence against women; manipulation, sexual assault, rape, abuse, perceived power dynamics, and lives ruined simply because some animal thinks they can/are entitled to.

As my instincts pointed me, my soft heart and nausea led me away. I finally did watch it, and I’m very sorry I did.

I’m not too interested in this story. A self-obsessed maniac who preys on those he deems weaker than, less than, him is pretty boring. There have been countless before him, mostly all the same. There isn’t one thing unique about P. Diddy. So, now I’m left wondering why I selected what I knew was abhorrent to me, what I knew would tear my soul & spirit to pieces. Why?

I guess we all do things that we know aren’t good for us. We eat food that isn’t healthy for us, and will make us sick. We stay in jobs & relationships that crush us. We keep pushing on our bruises, and tonguing the sores on our gums. And we watch details of the disgusting behavior of rappers.

There are a million psychological reasons to explain this, I’m sure. But I wonder, in this case, if they matter. Maybe it would be easy enough to simply say no and scroll on by the things that mean us harm. Sometimes, there doesn’t have to be a reason, or, I don’t have to know it. It can certainly help to know when & why I eat the foods and spend time with people that/who are mean to me, but is it really necessary?

I should have continued to watch episodes of The Residence or Reacher instead of this horror show. I sure will next time.

1982

March 11, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

The site is asking me what animal I would compare myself to, and this is something I’ve never considered. I guess I’d like to be something big, strong, and awesome, like a lion or a gorilla or something like that. What does that say about me? I wonder if it says anything good. Probably not. It might say I only value physical strength or predatory dominance, but I don’t. At least not consciously. Maybe prompts like this are designed to unconsciously reveal the conscious. Or maybe they’re just trivia. Who knows?

I like to watch The People’s Court, and now since we don’t have cable, I watch on YouTube. This is an infinitely better situation. There aren’t commercials, so cases are very short and tidy, in and out, easy peasy. Yesterday, I happened upon a case from 1982, presided over by Judge Wapner. In the hallway, Doug Llewelyn was a young man, and Rusty was our trusty bailiff. It was terrific, but the coolest part of it, by a wide margin, was the inclusion of 1982’s advertisements.

I saw McDonald’s offering a Christmas tree ornament, some kind of canned Danish ham called Dax, long distance phone calls (!!!!), and holiday jazz festivals at a mall in Rochester. I’m under no illusion that society or culture were perfect, but I do have the familiar twangs of nostalgia. It happens when I see original GI Joe or Star Wars toy packaging, or hear tv sitcom theme songs. The opening notes from Diff’rent Strokes or Facts of Life take me right back to my living room, holding a cassette recorder to the tv speaker. Thriller is brilliant, but it gains layers of depth with the memory of all of us sitting in our neighbor’s house for the world premiere of the music video, then trying to pretend I wasn’t a little scared to walk home.

I was 7 years old in 1982.

I wouldn’t want to go back there, necessarily. The Angel isn’t there. My boys aren’t then. Almost all pop art now is preferable. I loved “Mickey,” by Toni Basil, I still do, but, sheesh, it’s not exactly an artistic masterpiece. We just watched the 2nd episode of Daredevil, released last week, and it might be. I really like the internet, am very happy to Google in half of a second instead of consulting the Encyclopedia Brittanica at the local library.

What it was then is simple. That’s what I miss. Maybe it wasn’t actually simple, you’d have to ask my parents or other grown-ups about that, but it was simple to me. We played together, hung out together, drove to the mall to sit, talk, and watch people. These things are simple, easy, and filled us in ways our cell phones just can’t. “Friends” or followers aren’t friends. A Zoom meeting isn’t the same as face to face across a table, reading expressions, tones, and emotions.

I don’t want to snap Zoom or Instagram out of existence. I don’t want to bring back the overt racism & misogyny of the ‘80’s. You can’t take my Amazon Music from me, or my Disney+ (even though the monolithic corporations that created the AI that knows me more than my own mom are a giant part of the problem). I might want to just build a sort of hybrid.

1982 wasn’t paradise, any more than 2025 is, but there are certainly elements of heaven in every moment. These elements, I sometimes think, have been lost only because we weren’t paying enough attention to fight for them. Malls are mostly gone, and sure, they weren’t everything they are in my head, and we can agree the loss of a collection of stores isn’t anything to mourn, in and of themselves. But they facilitated something much much deeper, much more significant than retail transactions. They gave us a space to be, a context where we could gather.

When we exist only in our homes, we become avatars and screen names instead of flesh and blood. We become carefully curated characters, and real life becomes virtual. Hate becomes imaginary, and the ability to empathize is left behind because we/they are somehow less than human. The truth about 1982 is that it’s infinitely harder to cling to the idea that others are monsters when they’re enjoying a holiday jazz festival next to us, each with a shared free tree ornament from McDonald’s.

[That was supposed to be the end, I liked the last line that ties all of it up nicely, I am satisfied. But what I’m thinking now is that this is probably just more imagination, more nostalgic romanticizing. We had monsters then, too. Maybe it wasn’t infinitely harder. Maybe mall and jazz festivals weren’t the answers. I wonder what is…]

[That was now supposed to be the end, but there’s one more thing: even if we don’t know what the answer is, we can’t stop asking the questions, and searching for new answers. The only way we lose is if we give up. That’s the end, for real this time.]

Apple Cider Vinegar

February 13, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

Earlier this week, at the end of year basketball banquet, a mom of one of the boys asked me if I had seen the Netflix series Apple Cider Vinegar. I told her I hadn’t, but the picture and title sounded like something I’d like. As a matter of fact, she was right, an Australian woman who created a social media empire based on a complete lie (that she fought with brain cancer and won) is exactly something I’d like.

I am the target market for quirky documentaries and “based on” true stories, the odder the better. A perfect example was one called Chicken People, about farmers/groomers/owners who raise chickens to compete with each other. If you’ve seen Best In Show, the Christopher Guest mockumentary about dog shows, then you have an idea of Chicken People. It was so awesome, and I hoped the algorithm would respond with an endless flow of films about all different types of lifestyles that are a little (or a lot) out of the norm.

This is not that kind of show. Yes, it is quirky. Yes, the main character is an attention-seeking media whore, who will do and say anything for you to know who she is. It’s funny, in parts, and features surprisingly great writing & acting.

The 6 episodes unfold patiently, gently revealing a big beating heart. It gives you a perspective, jarring as it twists into another, then punches you right in the belly with another. Great documentaries don’t take sides, but instead present the people as they are, multi-faceted and complex, leaving us to decide. That way, our judgment exposes us more than the subjects. They’re mirrors. We watch them, but we learn who we are. Can we hold the truth that we are all of these things?

Very rarely are we 100% of anything, and this Belle Gibson isn’t, either. Of course, she’s a monster. Liar. Manipulator. Thief. But she’s also still the 12 year old who ran away from home, broken, insecure, lonely, depressed.

I’d suggest that she is only the framework from which to tell a different story. This is a story about couples, families, deep relationships, and the sharp, wiry tentacles of cancer that hold them (and us) together. It’s a story about hanging onto hope when all strength is gone, amid terrible loss. About death. And life. And especially, enduring, perseverant, love. The kind that isn’t in movies. Not the gauzy romance of meet-cutes, it’s the long, hard, hospitals, funerals and weddings, graduations, Tuesday dinners love that loves even when it’s hard and nobody feels like another step together. It’s about real love, where the roots go all the way down, through the earth into the soul of the divine. It’s about devotion and faith. The joy and gratitude that only comes from the sort of pain that makes you feel like you might die yourself. Where we show up, and keep showing up, forever and ever, amen.

I loved it more than I can tell you. I want you to all see it. I want to write a letter to the creators, or buy them a nice sweater. I cried so hard, so loudly, and so much, it hurt a lot. I’m exhausted and have a pretty vicious headache now.

Then I sent a text to the Angel, and I prayed. I prayed thank you for these gifts, and the tears that come with great, full lives. I prayed thank you for the pain of a broken, totally connected and soft heart. And I prayed that you know true beauty, that you know these kinds of tears, this heartbreak, this gratitude, and this love, too.

Complicated

January 7, 2025/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

The site prompt is, ‘What could you do differently?” And I LOVE that question. It’s not what I’m going to write about today, but I imagine I will soon. Today, instead, it’ll be about 2 complicated documentaries that I recently watched.

A British Horror Story is the account of Jimmy Saville, a British celebrity for 40+ years. I don’t remember ever hearing his name, though I think that’s impossible. As you know, I am somewhat of a pop culture aficionado. Maybe I did, but not remembering someone as odd looking as Seville is equally impossible. That someone this unappealing was a star in a visual medium is quite unusual. Anyway, appearances aside, he was as odd and unappealing in his life, as well.

A woman who knew him guessed that she had never seen someone do as much good as he did. He had given years and years, with much fundraising and publicity, for English hospitals, detention spaces, and mental health centers. Of course, he also sexually abused the patients in those facilities, more than 400 formal counts. There’s that.

The Curious Case of Natalia Grace is far more difficult to explain. Natalia is a little person who is either 22 or 35 years old. Either she is a psychopath who tried to murder her adoptive parents without any cause whatsoever, or the victim of horrific physical violence. No one is particularly likable in this series, and it’s totally probably that no one is telling the truth. I haven’t finished all of it. Maybe there is a resolution in the end, but so far, the Angel and I change our opinion on who the real villain is each episode. Is there a villain? Are they all villains? Are they all victims, too?

Now that I’m on this, a really good friend saw the Dylan biopic (featuring the alleged, noted STD super-spreader and terrific actor Timothy Chalamet) and has been obsessed with listening to old records, while trying to reconcile the fact that Dylan was, perhaps, not the nicest person.

I went to see Morrissey in November, and walked around the hotel, wanting him to sign my t-shirt. But only sign my shirt. I don’t want to have a conversation with him, or sit down to dinner together. He and his music absolutely changed my life, but personally, he is widely known as holding many of the characteristics that I actively avoid in others.

This is why I wrote ‘complicated’ documentaries, earlier. People are rarely just one thing. The woman in the Saville doc was right, he did an amazing amount of good, for many people. And he was a complete monster. He, likely, did those good things for one reason: to gain access. All of this is true. In the Natalia Grace series, are they all victims, or are they all villains? Yes. Chalamet is an STD farm (allegedly) and a brilliant artist. Dylan was a genius and a jerk. Morrissey is both the guy you want to listen to on your headphones, and the one you don’t want to talk to in person.

I used to have a need to know which one. Things and people needed to be black or white. Heroes or heels. Good guys or bad guys. Dallas Cowboys or New York Giants.

One of my first idols was, baseball pitcher, Roger Clemens. His stats are nearly unparalleled, and he’s not in the Hall of Fame because he cheated, using truckloads of steroids, and is still lying about it. Now what? Is he the best, or the worst?

The truth is that the answer is neither. We’re all very complex, beautiful and flawed. We’re all capable of great evil and the most selfless love and kindness you’ve ever seen. The inmates in the scariest prisons are someone’s mommy or daddy, another’s son or daughter. I didn’t understood the phrase, “there but for the grace of God go I,” when I was younger. I sure do now.

This is why I watch these documentaries, to hold contradictions and complications, to care well for the flesh and blood people in my own life. To make me a soft place to land.

Pains of Nostalgia

December 31, 2024/The Bridge Faith Community/Leave a comment

The site prompt is, “What makes you feel nostalgic?” And, on New Year’s Eve, that feels appropriate. Or at least connected. The truth is, I feel nostalgic quite a bit. Nostalgia is defined as “a wistful or excessively sentimental yearning for return to or of some past period or irrecoverable condition also.” It’s a “feeling of pleasure and also slight sadness.” I don’t think it’s an entirely positive emotion. Nostalgia can be another way we are absent from the present, and there are too many of those.

I get nostalgic for the ‘90’s, even though, if I’m honest, that decade didn’t love me nearly as much as I loved it. I was lost and confused in my personal life, rudderless in my career path, generally hopeless and drifting in a sea that obviously didn’t care if I would swim or drown. Everything felt totally meaningless and random, there wasn’t anything that connected me to the world around me.

But I sure LOVED the music. I still do. I remember hearing the Counting Crows first album, August & Everythng After, for the first time. I cried when I heard “Round Here,” and I still do. I have no idea if any album will mean that much to me ever again. Maybe that’s a good thing, but it makes me sentimentally yearn for that irrecoverable condition. It makes me slightly sad.

I used to buy cds, go home and lay in my bed and read the liner notes/lyrics as I listened through a few times. I knew Sting and Bono’s real name and all of the members of the Goo Goo Dolls. I knew all of the track 9’s. Now, I barely know track 1, or what the album is titled.

That’s good, because I have the Angel and 2 sons, youth sports, and I absolutely know my purpose. I belong, am loved, and am deeply tied to this wonderfully beautiful creation. But all change, all growth, comes with loss. I am listening to a great song that I really like and would have to look to see the song title or artist’s name. (Incidentally, it’s “Bound To You,” by Jocelyn Alice, and I first heard it on an episode of Catfish. I have no idea what Ms. Alice looks like or if she has any other songs I’d like.) I miss knowing those things. I miss the simplicity of college and irresponsibility. I am still quite simple, but I am not at all irresponsible. I wouldn’t change a thing, not one.

This year will be rich and thick with wonder and meaning. I know this, because all days and moments are charged with wonder and meaning. That doesn’t mean they’re good, or feel particularly pleasant, but that sort of knowledge comes with age and attention. Blessing is for those who are aware & awake to see it and be grateful, so I am overwhelmingly blessed.

Anyway, back to the prompt. This is actually a question I have thought about, and the thing that makes me feel nostalgic, far more than anything else, is “Fade Into You,” by Mazzy Star. I have no idea why. I mean, it’s great, but it was never my favorite song. It’s not tied to treasured memories. It’s just awesome and it makes me feel awesome. And slightly sad.

Love With A Capital L

A journey towards living an inspired life of love in the modern world

Tag: pop culture