Wednesday, March 28, 2007

The Greatest Man of the 20th Century


Three years ago to the day, I touched the hand of the greatest man of the 20th Century.

One year later it was reported that he was deathly ill. A few days later, in the middle of my masters comprehensives, he died.

Two years later, thousands of Poles packed a church to commemorate our national hero, a man who shone with profound spirit and humanity.

Three years later, I'm working on my doctorate in Cleveland, and I still can't shake the memory of that fateful trip.



Needless to say, my Roman pilgrimage was a success.. From the moment I set foot to path, it was as if God's finger was on my little head, guiding my every step. A few days after arriving in the eternal city, I knelt in front of Pope John Paul the Second -- now, the "great" -- and expressed my gratitude, presented him with a choral work I composed in his honor, and walked away, as dazed as I have ever been. From what I hear, sudden, life-changing experiences have the habit of leaving one "dazed."

My time to reflect on JP2 will come later, as we approach the third anniversary of his going home on April 2nd. I want to talk about the trip that led me there. I'm putting my pilgrimage into words, as I promised a few friends I would do upon returning from that fateful journey.

***
I had long desired to go to Rome, to see the second-oldest wellspring of Western Civilization beyond Greece, to walk where the deeds of the ages were part of the very fabric of reality. I wanted to see the Vatican, to come home to the center of my faith, to see the Church built on the very bones of St. Peter. I wanted to see with my own two eyes -- if only from a distance -- the living figure of John Paul 2 waving back at us.

This is no hero worship or deification I engage in here. After twelve years of bad Catholic schooling, I was an Agnostic, through and through. I had received just enough of a philosophical background to do harm to myself, and I was proceeded unfettered. Overall, I was a good kid. I believed in honor, friendship, hard work, and the presence of a good God, or a good "something" bigger than us.

Through my years of bitter agnostic life, it was rather easy to dismiss most Christianity. John Paul the Second, however, was a living, breathing, and apparently bullet-proof witness to his faith. I eventually read his writings, considering myself to be intellectually honest enough to read about that which I opposed. Between his life, his example, and his profound thinking (mercifully recorded in the written word), I was brought back to my faith. It was a faith rooted in reason, a faith backed by history, and a faith represented by a great man -- a man that had taken a near-fatal bullet for what he stood for.

The person of Christ is indeed enough to hold one to faith. For a person far gone, however, a distant mythological figure is not enough. God expects us to radiate him to others, to act rightly even when the masses misunderstand, to stand as authentic witnesses to a deeper truth than secular humanism can provide. In my eyes, John Paul the Second was that man. As a Pole, I cannot help but well with pride that this unknown man from an oppressed country did with great love and faith what many dictators and evil men were not able to do: tople governments, unite people, and lead the way to someplace better.

In the following days, which are now so special to me, I will write about the pilgrimage I was led to, and the great experience of meeting the only person I had ever thought of as a hero. I hope you will join me, and perhaps be inspired to take a life-changing trip of your own.

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Quite Simply, A Simple Genius.

...Genius does not pander. It invites, and does not compromise much in the process...

Cleveland is foggy. The less-famous city of perpetual precipitation has given us a London-like blanket of mist. I sit on my balcony, finally having gotten away from a massive pile of work.. it's always there, and it never shrinks. Some nights, you just have enough.

Wrapped in a blanket, stealing warmth from a mug of nearly black tea, I stare into the fog and pretend to be somewhere else, somewhere more interetsing. Wanderlust has been striking hard at me again, and my incurable disease must soon be pacified with travel... travel that I really can't afford financially, yet cannot afford personally to not undertake. I'll find a way...

In the background plays my newly acquired copy of Henryk Gorecki's Third String Quartet, nearly an hour long, recorded by the Kronos Quartet. (If you don't know the two names, please do yourself an immense favor: go to Amazon, and order any recording of Gorecki's tear-jerking Third Symphony. Then, order anything by Kronos. I recommend the "Black Angels" or "The Dreams and Prayers of Issaac the Blind.")

There is something magical and childlike that happens when you connect with a particular musician or group of musicians. I know that for all of the music that I like, there are a handful of composers and musical acts that simply speak to my heart, as if the music were written specifically for me. When the music is of a higher caliber, then the experience is even deeper. For me, Gorecki is simply a mystical experience.

Slow, insistent, and tragic, the Third Quartet leaves little to be desired. At first, you may wish that Gorecki "did more" with his material. But that is the price of genius: Artistic genius does not pander, rather, genius comes down to you and offers you a higher place. It opens doors to the deeper things, to the "thin places" in life. In Gorecki's case, he is either loved or hated by many because of his insistence of style. There is not a single moment where he is concerned with "selling you" something. There is no sugar on top with Gorecki -- he simpy is what he is, in a way that nobody else can be.

In all this talk about art, please notice how I haven't used the word "entertainment" as of yet. That's because it is unimportant. Cheap comedy, video games, and spectator sports are entertaining. Art is spiritual. Art is deep. Art is a vehicle of travel, a method of lifting the soul, and a major way of glorifying God. At least, any art that is any good aspires to such things. Personally, I view any artistic endeavor outside of these ramifications as a superb waste of time.

Sometimes I feel hemmed in: on one side of society, the vast majority of people do not know anything about good music, instead pursuing pure drivvle. On the other side, classical-purists and awful serialists seem to tag-team their domination of the "classical" music scene....

...enter Gorecki. His music is part of the "solution" to this dillema.

I invite you into the world of my favorite composer, and hope that you will leave a better person when you have experienced his work. Can honest art make us more honest? Can art that is close to God bring us closer in turn to the creator? I'm quire sure of it. This is why I do it so passionately, working myself to the bone to find a place in the small world of "good" music and honest composers. Gorecki is one of my lightposts, one of the shining examples of truth in music.

Tommorow, I will return to my work. For now, I will let Mr. Henryk Mikolaj Gorecki lull me into contemplation with his six minute unresolved pedal chords. His harmonic scheme stretches over vast distances, and I can feel myself relax... soon I will follow the sounds into expansive new vistas...

Sunday, March 18, 2007

Getting Out Of Life Alive

Have you ever had an authority figure in your life wound you?

Have you ever been told that you aren't capable, are lacking something, or just been blind-sided by well-meaning yet ultimately damaging judgement? Have you ever had a grand idea, plan, or viewpoint on life that was dashed or muddled by misunderstanding?

As a creative being, I'm only now realizing the long-term damage such situations can cause.

Some people deny the great gift of their clear-headed sanity, exchanging it for a banality which is at best a cheap imitation.

While I'm not always succesful, I try and take the first route, each and every day. I compose music to stay sane. I write words, to stay sane due to what the rigors of trying to be a composer does. I write words to give vent to other passions and ideas, to formulate thoughts, to have my .0000000001% say in the world. It all spirals back, and turns into music again. The process keeps me sane, clear-headed, and allows me to be rather pleasant to other people.

Some may find such statements to be "taking myself to seriously." I will counter by saying that most people don't take themselves seriously enough. Like it or not, you are a creation of the Almighty, endowed with ability and purpose. Our God is simply waiting for you to ask "where do I go?" He will give you direction. He will give you every means. To lack passion in the face of such gifts is simply unthinkable.

I've been formulating a theory recently, which states that the virtues (theological and otherwise) all have one similarity: they require some aspect of creativity to be utilized, accomplished, and embraced. To pursue a vocation, to build self-worth and relationships, and to pursue depth of character and life itself, all require some measure of creativity.

I would tell you more, but that would be giving away the premise of my future book on the subject.

(A book, you say? Man, this guy takes himself way too seriously.)

Perhaps you don't take yourself seriously enough?

I am also learning about the great damage that can be done to us, by those who are either "asleep" and pretending to be true creatives, or people who are blocked in their creativity, with all the resulting unused energy turning into a major negative force. I have such people in my life right now, and though I know that they are wrong, the damage is hard to avoid when shrapnel is flying everywhere.

You grin, you take it, and you dislodge shrapnel from your person on the weekends... that is, when you have time to have a weekend.

The world is a scary place, and comfort and security are understandable things to desire. Before you go dashing like an ostrich to its hole, remember a few things: You are God's child. You have imbued ability, and a calling (or, perhaps, several!) You are ultimately an immortal.

Do you give up such temporal gifts, such timeless adventure, for the lesser path? Do you forsake an eternity of glory, only if to have a few years of mortal peace?

"Knock, and you will be answered. Ask, and you will receive."

Christ's words are as hopeful as they are unsettling, because once an answer is given, something is expected in return.

Once you start on such a path, you can expect every roadblock in the world. After all, mediocrity will misunderstand you. The darker powers (I have a name for them) will work to keep you from discovering your potential. What can you do?

Live, or die trying. It is the only way.

Take yourself more seriously. God does. Laugh at yourself more than others. God does. Love and respect your life. God does.




Tuesday, March 13, 2007

Grand Master Sharpton and the Hall

Last I checked, Mark McGwire is not up for induction in the Hockey Hall of Fame.

Yet in a typical example of our culture's new freedom from common-sense, The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame just inducted... rappers. Not surprisingly, Al Sharpton was there to cheer them on and offer his authoritative support, saying:

"Those who say that Hip-Hop doesn't belong in the Hall of Fame don't understand the social roots of Rock and Roll Music."


Thanks, Al. Another brilliant statement. As a side note: Sharpton and his kind annoy me greatly, because they spend more time shoving their "blackness" into the faces of a purportedly racist and ignorant white America, rather than helping their own people. I wish I could remember the name of the black Christian preacher, who accused such men of monopolizing power at the expense of the communities they pretend to benefit. The truth hurts.

My solution? Mr. Sharpton, Grand "Master" Flash and company need to pack up, find another empty lot in Cleveland, and build the Hip-Hop Hall of Fame.

In the end, Hip-Hop has nothing to do with rock. Rock music was a grass-roots movement, a fascinating mixture of Black Blues, White Southern Music, and Urban influences. It has evolved into numerous genres and styles, spawning some truly well-made music. Perhaps you think that Grand "Master" Flash and his kind deserve a spot next to the epic Pink Floyd, the eccentric genius of Jimi Hendrix, and the soulful voice of Elvis Presley. If you fit this category, I prescribe a severe ear-wax cleaning, followed by consulting a mental health expert.

You may have surmised that I have little respect for the hip-hop genre. You would be correct. As a musician, I know the difference between writing a song, and ripping one off. I know the difference between spending years honing your talents and individual "sound", and talking in a monotone over a series of samples. I know the difference between an epic anti-war statement (complete with virtuosity) by Metallica, as opposed to a certain puny-white rapper "talking" about raping his Mother.

I've had numerous music-technology students set out to make a hip-hop mix in our class projects, and I've always let them. Each and every one has finished their project with a comment like "there's nothing to this" or "with this technology, anybody can make this stuff." Yup. I can't argue there.

It's apples and oranges... Or even better, it's apples and rotten oranges.

The Hall has disgraced itself. What is it in our culture, in our human nature, that drives us to patronize degenerates?

Will the likes of Snoop Doggy Dog and Eminem one day grace the walls of the Hall, in all their infamy and greatness?

Will there be a "pimps and hos" party to celebrate their induction?

If such a day comes, I only ask that the official song of the ceremony be American Pie. That way, we can all sing about "the day the music died."


Sunday, March 4, 2007

What I Learned from Hockey...

What I Learned from Hockey...


We live in a sports-crazed culture, where idol-worship is encouraged and reality frequently ignored. People take this stuff way too seriously at times. That being said, I was raised to be a rabid hockey fan. My first exposure came during the Calgary Olympics -- I had no interest in sports, but my dad worked the night shift, and had asked me to "keep an eye" on the hockey games for him. It only took one game -- I was hooked.

After the Olympics, I was introduced to the sound of the game on the AM radio -- Wayne Messmer rattling the rafters with his national anthem, Pat Foley yelling "He Scores!" Of course Slick Willy was cheap back then, too, so I didn't see my first game until my dad took me out to the old stadium.

Our first game --I forget the year -- was against the Maple Leafs, I believe. There I witnessed the unfortunate accident which ended Darren Pang's career... and the entrance of a bumbling Eddie Belfour.

Sitting next to my Dad during the games, I was being coached by a realist. Many life lessons came from watching our beloved Blackhawks. The atmosphere was one of cogency -- there was no idol worship, no exxageration. Some things I learned as a Hawks fan, then:

1.) You have to commit. When a Hull or Macinnis slapshot was leveled your way, did you give up the body, or just "pretend" to try to get in the way? It may not seem like it matters much in the 20th game of the season, but it creates an attitude that can make or break you when a playoff game is on the line. Commit right away, with everything you have, or get off the tracks.

2.) There are no excuses. My dad is a hard-working Polish immigrant... a "grease monkey" as he jokingly refers to himself. He always pointed out: "If I take a night off, I get fired. And I'm not making 2 million a year." These guys had a job to do. In the end, the fans love the hard working consistent grinder more than the streaky goal scorer. Perseverance wins recognition.

3.) If the head is rotten, the body must follow. Even as child, I quickly recognized that something was "not right" with my beloved franchise. The man at the top was corrupt and uncaring, or so it seemed. No matter what efforts were made to improve his team, everything would eventually backfire. Look at recent misfortunes: you overpay to get stars to actually WANT to play in your rotting franchise, and they drop like flies with various freak (Tuomo Ruutu) injuries. Fate has its own way in the end: you can't pay your way out of bad character.

4.) As a kid, I was amazed when Chris Chelios arrived into town. Belfour was streaky, Roenick entertaining with his hot-headed approach. But Chelios always kept calm, kept his head up, and played hard every damn shift. Within a handful of games, he became a great leader the franchise since to equal. What did I learn? Stay calm, play hard. Success will come. (Unless your owner is Wirtz, of course, who will trade you for a seventh round draft-pick.)

5.) Humbleness is key. When a rookie like Eric Lindros refuses to play for the team that signed him, something is wrong. Since then, the Nordiques have vanished (sad, sad...) and the game seems hell-bent on punishing him. What did I learn? What goes around, comes around.
(This brings up a side rule: Keep your head up at all times, or you'll get run-over.)
(side note: For more examples of selfish play, please check out the NBA.)

6.) Respect people, from the highes to the lowest. Bill Wirtz does not televise home games. He runs his team as if it were a tax write-off. He has the best uniform, the most rabid and Cup-Hungry fans in all of sports, yet he scarcely seems to care. He gets called every name in the book -- his reputation (already tarnished) gets run through the mud for the umpteenth time, he is in the twilight of his life without ever have brought a cup to his city -- and still he doesn't seem to care. I can almost imagine his fat, bloated carcass being buried in a pile of gold -- gold that he won't be able to take with him. What did I learn? Greed is an all-consuming disease. It will ruin your life, turn everyone against you, and still you'll be blind beyond the fiscal bottom line. At some point, it goes beyond money.

7.) Coming from a solid Polish Catholic family, being a Hawks fan has given me a taste of what its like to be from a dysfunctional family. Dad is an abusive drunk, big-brother is afraid to open his mouth, and the neighboors hate you. Yet, you still stick with the family. I am comforted by the fact that I will likely outlive the old ass, and live on to heckle his sons -- let's hope that their father's greed has not sunk too deeply into them, as well.

Another season comes to an end... the Hawks, in their tenth year of rebuilding, already have the slogans in place for next season. They'll claim to "be back", and I'll be back to give them another chance (at least, in spirit.) I would love to see the old fart redeem himself before the end. Forgiveness is key. All the fans want is to be treated fairly: televise home games, make the games affordable, and give a product that we can put our emotions behind. It may only be a game, but it's one that we can very easily invest our emotions into, especially when fandom becomes a family affair. In the end, nobody likes some old rich guy to waste their time, emotions, and money.

In the meantime, I will once again pick a team or two to root for in the postseason, and hope that the Hawks management is taking notes.

One final lesson, learned from slick-Bill himself:

The Golden Rule: The one who HAS the gold, MAKES the rules. For a long time, this has been Billy alone. Fans have begun to grumble, and the lack of attendance (and overall interest) has begun to finally cause alarm in the Hawks upper-echelon. I'm going to try to stay away from the United Center, until I see a real product on the ice. I suggest we make it simple: If they're winning, we go. If they're not -- well, then screw-em (at least, as far as ticket sales are concerned.) In the end, WE have the gold -- and we can make the rules.

I'm ready to forgive and forget, if only to have my old team back. I think most real fans would agree.

Saturday, March 3, 2007

Media bias, anyone?

There is plenty to criticize when it comes to Conservative thinkers... but for now, the Liberals have me booked, as they by-far take the cake on insanity. For example:

Did you know that a former chairman of the ACLU was recently arrested on child-porn charges?

Really? Neither did I, until I stumbled upon it by accident.

Tell the average liberal that they own the media, and you'll get a response like "that's ridiculous! What about talk radio? What about Fox News?"

Ok.. so Fox News is ONE conservative television station. That makes it one against... 200 or so? At least we've got a start to balancing things out. I will agree that there is a lot of conservative talk radio, though that will last only as long as the liberals are held off from passing their "fairness" guidelines for political radio.

So, the former chairman of th ACLU -- the man who used his organizations to defend Pedophiles and groups like NAMBLA while working against religious rights -- is behind bars for child pornography posession. Yet, the media remains silent.

A little while back, three former presidents of the American Psychological Association signed a document which stated that the afformentioned organization was acting off of political pressure --and not any kind of science -- when it struck homosexuality from its list of mental disorders. (Note: to this day, no research has been given to justify this decision.) Did this make the news? Nope. It doesn't matter what your thoughts on the matter are -- these are important people, making an important statement in an area that deserves reexamination and healthy debate. But the media is terrified to touch it.

But Ann Coulter -- the Conservative Queen of Nasty Remarks -- calls John Edwards a "faggot", and we have a National Media Meltdown. Does this strike anyone else but me as ridiculous?

Suddenly, the cries of "homophobia" and "bigotry" are tossed around. First off: "bigotry", by its very nature, is an accusation that can applied to any person with strong beliefs. Look it up. "Homophobia," to the best of my knowledge, does not exist. Until I see a person involuntarily flinch -- or go running in terror -- at the sight of a homosexual, I will not believe it. It's merely a catchy word to throw at people that don't believe in your political ideology or moral stance.

A "faggot", by the way, is a bundle of wood, thrown onto a flame to make it go higher. Hence the use of it to apply to certain types of "folks" by more religiously traditional-minded folks.

I think Coulter said her piece on PURPOSE -- this was no slip. She is probably quite aware of the recent political environment surrounding the left, especially after the feel-good leftist Oscars. She felt the need to stem the tide, in her own little Coulter-way. Good for her. To do otherwise would make us like Canada, where Coulter would have been arrested. (side note: I have a Priest friend in Canada, who is unable to even read the Bible passages which condemn homosexuality out-loud. They've actually gone into the anti-Communist playbook from mid-20th century Europe, to find ways around the unjust Censorship.)

So, yes, I do believe that Ann Coulter was out of line....

Judging by the actual meaning of the word, I think Howard Dean would have been a much better target for her comments.
The single most instructive thing I've done in the past 5 years is when a roommate of mine and I decided to "not have television." We went through withdrawal... we felt "disconnected." Then, something interesting began to happen: we spoke more, had deep conversations, read many more books, learned to enjoy silence, the crackle of a fireplace, the subtle changes of the season, and ended up much happier and well-informed in the end. Now, I still don't keep cable. It's wonderful.

Whenever I criticize pop culture and the "hidden meanings" on the television set, I'm usually told that I'm being "too serious", and that it's "just for fun." Well, perhaps recent public events have proved my point, beyond a reasonable doubt.

Take Anna Nicole Smith, for one. Yes, her death is tragic. Equally tragic is the amount of media coverage it has received... but... yet... perhaps we can learn something?

Anna Nicole Smith is a victim of the American media. Snatched up by Playboy before she was old enough to make a good decision, her naked frame was suddenly on display across the globe. Then there was the popular Guess Jeans commercials... a few years and a few hundred pounds later, there was the "Anna Nicole Smith" show. Admit it -- you watched at least one episode. In this show, Anna displayed her lack of mental competence, her myriad of personal problems, and the ultimate disaster of her life. Americans -- trained to enjoy the sight of a train-wreck in progress -- ate it up. Then, of course, a few hundred LESS pounds (and one tv cancellation later), she strutted to the awards podium, a new skinny body in tow, and fingered her cleavage in front of America, saying "don't you like my body?"

When I heard the news of her death, I wasn't even the least bit surprised. Lest you think I'm making fun of the poor girl: I feel sorry for her. She was a poor simpleton, taken advantage of by the system. We loving watching disasters, even if it means taking someone's life.

Moving on: everywhere I turn, I see a picture of a bald, butch-looking Britney. This is scary, because I NEVER go on website (or television channels) dedicated to this garbage. Yet it follows me everywhere. Not caring, I still have no choice but to know about it.

Are you actually surprised by this turn of events? Another simpleton, dressed up pretty for the world to see, coming crashing down. Very surprising indeed, considering the pristine record of past hollywood starlets. May I suggest that any woman willing to turn herself into an object of public consumption is already a few cards short of a full deck: such meltdowns are bound to happen, as this is not how God intended for people to live.

Anna and Britney prove my point... our pop culture is poisonous. Throw in a Snoop Dog, an Eminem, reality television, and a public drooling over Al Gore... Then turn the mirror: the reflection shows a shallow public, bored with their own lives, devoid of any ability to recognize artistic talent, devoid of any sense of needing to support artistic talent, immoral (or ammoral at best), and certainly not the sort of Americans our great forefathers fought for.

Thanks to the power of mass media, we can spread our disease to the rest of the world.

The recent Oscars (which, yes, I did watch) were a wonderful disease-spreader: It all started with a heartwrenching pre-show interview with poor gay Ellen, and later becoming a love-fest of far-left insanity..er..values. The public gushed over Al Gore's quasi-science. They applauded when Melissa Etheridge kissed her girlfriend on national television. "Jesus Camp", for all it's ridiculousness, was nominated for an Oscar! They were simply overjoyed at the affirmative-action basis for selecting winners... watching the Oscars, you would wonder if there was a single heterosexual conservative white male anywhere in the bunch... We should have called it "pick your mental disorder" night.

Do you still think I'm being "too serious" about all of this? Perhaps, then, you need to turn the mirror on yourself, and open your eyes. Whether or not you're religious, I encourage you to take up the Lenten spirit: give up television for the next forty days. You'll be surprised at what happens.