THE question of jazz

I originally noodled these words in 2010 – in a very different place. The question still gives me pause, regarding jazz as life:

Again, April has been #jazzappreciationmonth. I hold that with its defining motif of improvisation over set melody, jazz represents the dynamic tensions that represent the best of our American tradition. It demonstrates the inventiveness and creativity that have been the promise of this nation. As we come toward the month’s conclusion, we should maintain every month for appreciation and celebration of this uniquely American gift to the world.

So what I’d like to know as we enjoy the true onset of spring: what’s the greatest, most influential, most meaningful, or simply COOLEST innovation you’ve witnessed in your lifetime – in society or politics, religious practice, cultural offerings, or in how we live our daily lives. While you’re at it, why don’t you share your favorite jazz artist, album or performance. And let’s keep the jazz going…

The family dog, #DealMeIn and "No, Trump!" - a lesson from playing bridge

My parents have played bridge forever. Mom was in a weekly bridge club (and Mah Jongg for accuracy and transparency sake) as long as I can recall; mom & dad would often spend a Saturday night going to dinner and playing bridge with friends. I never really learned the game, nor picked it up. But bridge-playing and its lingo were always around the house.

One of the ingrained family memories concerned one of the dogs they had (when, long before I came around, they were dog-people, prior to the enlightened conversion to being cat-people, author’s opinion), and specifically its name. You may know that in playing bridge, each hand has one suit that is declared the wild card, which is called trump. A card of that suit *trumps* even higher face cards of the others. When no such suit is declared, or employed in a given hand, it’s called “no trump.” Obviously, when mom and dad got a new dog, a puppy I presume, it was yet untrained and early on did things that he shouldn’t, or that they didn’t want. Immediately, the story goes, they had to repeat, “No!” to it over and over, even before finding a suitable name. As avid card players, “No!” quickly became, “No, Trump!” and hence the dog’s moniker emerged. Years later, they still invoked the dog when chiding us.

Well, today the plea of “No, Trump!” has taken on a much different, more significant meaning. I’ve still not learned to enjoy the game of bridge; and if a certain someone is going to declare war by saying Secretary Clinton is merely playing the #womancard, well then, #DealMeIN as “No, Trump!” is the card I’m happy to play. 

I approve. And so will you!

*Creatives* come in many flavors: writers, actors, dancers, musicians, cooks, painters, designers, and so on. Every one of us who considers ourselves a creative (whether established or emerging) has experienced the product of a fellow artist that moves us to wish we could claim that work as our own. I’m not talking here about mere jealousy or amazement: that one kid in high school who did things, everything, so well that you wanted to quit; the blow-your-mind solo that made a concert transcendent; the great masterpiece that brings you back to the same spot in the same museum over and over again through the years.

Every once in a while (if we’re lucky) we come across something that we greatly appreciate, and more so resonates deeply and even causes, no helps articulate, heightened empathy for its creator and his (or her, of course) outlook. This makes us want to make our own work, our own voice, even stronger. It leaves us saying, “Wow, that’s the piece I wish *I’d* written (composed, drawn, performed, played…).”

This is what I’ve found with Faith Salie’s delightful new release, Approval Junkie (Crown Archetype, 2016). You likely know her from such celebrated gigs as Wait Wait…Don’t Tell Me, CBS News Sunday Morning, Fair Game, and a variety of TV appearances (who wasn’t glued to VH1’s I Love…the 90’s?). She’s great in all of these. In this new book, Faith is even more. She’s real. Raw. Honest. Witty. Touching. And yes, of course, funny, very funny. Not just make-you-laugh funny – her gift is delivering intelligent funny. The kind of stuff that makes you think, while truly enjoying your own laughter.

As great art does, this extremely personal, episodic sort-of-autobiographical sketch not only lets the reader into the mind, the life, of the author; it pushes us to look into a mirror on our own story – examining our faults, flaws and flairs, recognizing that it’s more than o.k. to embrace them, and struggle with them at the same time, continually. She uses cultural references that resound with my peer group (you know, those of us stuck somewhere between the Baby Boom and Gen X) with ease – well, duh, that’s kind of her thing. Almost as if she wrote it directly for me, for us.

Along the way, Faith shares some profound insights that she’s gleaned along the way (so far). I am particularly stirred by her take on what we used to call “active listening,” as being a personal sound board has played such a large role for me, professionally and privately:

So here are some things I learned about listening. Master these interviewing skills, and the world is your oyster – becoming a truly fine listener creates a kind of magic that makes people fall in love with you a little, because you’re really helping them fall in love with themselves (p. 89, emphasis mine).

This is brilliant, and beautifully said. I’ve been writing for longer than I can remember – short stories, essays, articles, speeches, blog posts, attempts at witty social media – and sure, once in a while I’ve turned a phrase to be proud of. Approval Junkie is filled with lyrical treasures on every page. Portraying the profound (and I think still-developing) relationship with her late mother, Faith employs the description “vanilla” in a very special way:

“Vanilla” generally describes something or someone as ordinary or conventional. But if you think about it, vanilla is anything but. Vanilla is spicy – it’s literally a spice. (The world’s second-most expensive one after saffron – fun trivia fact for your next drunken cookie swap.) It comes from something as exquisite as an orchid. The Book of Spices characterizes vanilla as “pure and delicate.” Too class to beg for attention, it supports other ingredients. Vanilla doesn’t need to be the star, but it enhances everything.

Vanilla – who knew? And what a lovely and loving tribute to her mother, who obviously was the family MVP a la Magic Johnson – not only a superstar in her own right, but elevating the game of all around her.

The book is filled with what might be called a roller coaster of emotion: coping with her mother’s death, career ups and downs (and sideways), dealing with her frustrations regarding her “wasband” (the perfectly apt term she applies to her former spouse), the loving relationship with her brother, and so on. Yet reading it is not like being on a topsy-turvy ride. Rather we are given a wonderful glimpse into a journey of self-discovery, though seemingly unconventional, isn’t at all – as we are reminded, deeply, that it doesn’t matter *what* our story is, but we all have a story, a worthy story to tell.

I had the fortune to meet Faith a few years back (at a taping of Wait Wait in Elkhart, IN!). She was a delight in conversation as well as on stage. We left only wanting more (comically, to this day, Deb actually refers to her between us as “my friend Faith Salie”). With this volume, our banter continues. Thanks, Faith.

I approve. And so will you.

Purple mountain majesty - the eternal Prince

Not sure what I can add to the onslaught of beautiful tributes that have flooded the media since news of Prince’s death broke yesterday. Yet a few powerful memories urge me to write them out…

I recall vividly being in my cabin at camp, listening to Little Red Corvette over and over with bunkmate Pete A. (who I’ve totally lost touch with). He said to me, “Eric, wait, this guy’s gonna be bigger than anyone.” Pete didn’t know how right he was…

Years later, visiting Minneapolis for the first time, DJS showed me around like a tourist. When we passed by First Avenue, she simply stated, “you know what that is?” “What?” “That’s where it all began…”

Who knows, perhaps it’s Prince who helped inspire my love for wearing purple – shirts, ties, my Chuck Taylors, and some even know that I once had a purple zoot suit. 

One friend summed it up completely: “He was high school’s entire soundtrack.” And so much more. From childhood through adolescence, high school to college, and way beyond into our adult years – Prince remained an ever-evolving, always intriguing version of his particular self. His talent is incomparable, his influence unparalleled, and his legacy (yet to unfold) interminable.

 

Long live His Purple Majesty.

Perplexing

Of all the strange, disturbing, fascinating incidents that have been part of this election season so far – the most telling one that I’ve witnessed took place last night. While listening to (and enjoying) the returns from yesterday’s New York primary, I was taking care of a few errands as well, popping into a certain store to pick up a few needed things. Approaching checkout, the young (high school kid? Millennial? College student? Not sure) cashier said to me, “how’s your day goin’?” I responded, “Great, and getting better!” “Wow,” he replied, “I like to hear that. Why?”

“Well, have you heard the news outta New York?”

“Um, what’s going on there?” the cashier asked.

“Well, Secretary Clinton has delivered a whopping victory today.”

With a truly blank stare on his face, the young man said, almost pleadingly, “Uh, I don’t know what that means.”

Wow, I thought to myself. “Today’s the New York state primary, and former Secretary of State Hillary Clinton has defeated Senator Bernie Sanders, something like 60 to 40.” I caught myself as my words became slower and more deliberate. No insult intended.

“Um, is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”

“Well, it depends on your position – but I think it’s a great thing.”

“I’m not too into all that politics stuff…I don’t want to get too stressed.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t care that bothered me; it was that he seemed truly clueless that any of it was going on.

“Well, you should care, it’s important stuff.”

“Well, I dunno…maybe someday.”

I finished, walking out the door, big smile on my face, gently urging, “Well, you really should, it’s an obligation…no, actually it’s what makes this country great.”

Down the road, one day, I hope he gets bit by the political interest bug…I really do.

Primaries are primary

An enthusiastic crowd made their way into the gym at Mt. Si High School for yesterday’s Legislative District caucus, continuing the three-tiered process through which Washington state determines delegates to the Democratic National Convention. Waiting in line as early as 11:30 a.m., Clinton and Sanders supporters mixed, mingled, and wound their way to the door while enjoying a magnificent sunny day. Revved up and ready to go, delegates and alternates began really filling up the room just following noon, with the promised call time for the proceedings to be at 1 p.m.

1 p.m. came and went, without even a preliminary welcome from the event organizers. It was nearly 2 o’clock when we heard that “we’d get started soon.” Agreed, it was vital to have all those slated delegates who were waiting in line allowed to check in and register. Yet once we began, the energy in the room was misdirected away from the goal of conducting the essential representative assembly that we had expected. From the outset, the initial “temporary caucus chair” handled his leadership role poorly, committing gaffe upon gaffe – from appearing to give preference to one candidate’s supporters over the other’s to changing procedures as various agenda items were being conducted to ignoring the appropriate and reasoned input and concerns from leaders from both candidates’ factions.

All the while (now approaching 4 p.m!), the “credentialing” committee, charged with reviewing and approving the check-in list, etc., seemed to lose track of either basic math or respect for other people’s time. What should be orchestrated as a fairly straightforward scrutiny of the data (heck, we’re a district populated by a myriad of Microsoft, Amazon, Google, Boeing techies and more, you’d think our community could figure this stuff out!) became a tedious, endless waiting game that pushed even the most fervent politicos among us toward losing any semblance of patience.

We finally broke into our congressional district sub-groups by 6 p.m., to then go through the process of electing delegates to the next round of festivities. Thankfully, those who remained present also remained of good cheer. I am thankful to the kind, caring, intelligent and interesting people (Clinton supporters in CD8) for their demeanor and forbearance throughout the day. Our final delegate tally was complete by 8, and nearly exhausted, everyone said their good-byes, making their way to their cars…

It’s been an amazing and eye-opening experience to be involved in the caucus process so far. I have met a ton of great people, neighbors and beyond, all who share the desire to do what’s best for our country. Am I excited to be chosen to move forward as a delegate? You bet! Do I hope we trade it all in and return to a good ol’ primary next time around? ABSOLUTELY.

C’mon Washington Dems – let’s get back to voting!

Ft. Sumter and a new civil war?

April 12/13 is the anniversary of the siege on Fort Sumter. Confederate forces around Charleston Harbor led by General P.G.T. Beauregard opened fire on the Union garrison. By 2:30pm on April 13 Major Robert Anderson, garrison commander, surrendered the fort and was evacuated the next day. Thus began the hostilities of the Civil War.

Those familiar with the myriad complicating factors that led to the war between the states recognize that many of them are still at play today: from economic disparity to racial division to subtle (and not-so-subtle) ethnic strife at play on the American scene.

It has been frightening to see such difficult issues and negative perspectives come to the fore not just during the current primary season, but because of it. No one can tell exactly what is to be next: who will be the party nominees for the presidency? Will a third-party contender emerge after the conventions? Will the ugly violence and vituperation that has marked the campaigns so far continue?

I think we are undergoing somewhat of a new Civil War, and I'm not sure how we wage the battle for peace.