Where the Die Was Cast: Memorial Day, The USS Monitor, and Forrest Gump

Twelfth Night Redux

Jenny?!

Twelfth Night

"Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them." So spoke Malvolio, Shakespeare's Twelfth Night character whose foolish ambitions made him the laughing stock of aristocratic Illyria. Perhaps the same may be said of history -some are born into it, some achieve their place in it, and some are thrust into it. Throughout the two and half hour march from event to event in the movie and life of Forrest Gump, Forrest appears to embody the man having history thrust upon him, as his life intertwines with everyone from Elvis to John Lennon, Bear Bryant to JFK. His non-plussed attitude, his unremarkable intelligence, and his unwitting impact upon events and society portray history as much a series of accidents than a compilation of great achievements. However, a closer look shows Forrest as a catalyst of history, one who greatly impacts those important to him -the lives of his friends and family.

From my Instagram account, taken at the procession and interment of the two Monitor crew members

This May 26th we remember those Americans fallen at war, a day first set aside to honor those soldiers who died during the Civil War (Decoration Day) -and later expanded as "Memorial Day" to honor all who gave the ultimate sacrifice for this nation. Such reflection naturally leads to an examination of our place and participation in history. On March 8th of last year, I found myself in my own Forrest Gump moment, on DC's ABC news proceeding from the Arlington National Cemetery's chapel to the burial ground honoring members of the USS Monitor who passed away at sea during  the Civil War. I had a front row seat as a nation bestowed high honors on two soldiers who had fought centuries ago. You could see my bobbing head (far side of the procession somewhere around @ 0:25-0:45) amongst the servicemen and horses leading the procession through hundreds and hundreds of onlookers and press. While I felt thrust into the moment by chance, I expect the two USS Monitor crewmen being buried that day might have felt the same way, had they been aware of this event in their honor.

That is not to say the two sailors were unaware of their place in history. The Confederacy's USS Virginia battled the North's USS Monitor at Hampton Roads in the world's first battle of all iron-clad ships, changing the course of sea warfare and ship technology. The Monitor was the ambitious design of a Swedish-born engineer weighing over 1000 tons, a ship of highly suspect seaworthiness, a "cheesebox on a raft" laughed at by contemporary laymen, designers, and sailors alike, maligned as much as the Shakespearean Malvolio and his designs on greatness. While the Monitor survived the battle of Hampton Roads, it fell, along with all 16 of its crewmen, in a storm off of Cape Hatteras, North Carolina, less than one year after it had been commissioned. The ship was recovered in 1974, and in an expedition to recover the turret in 2002, the remains of two of its crew were found, their identities likely (but not conclusively) determined. And so, the Navy honored the fallen sailors with a service and burial at Arlington National Cemetery, on the date of the Battle at Hampton Roads.

Next on Letterman's "Will it Float?"

Battle of the Ironclads at Hampton Roads

Reconstructed likenesses of the two sailors

One of the Monitor's crewmen, and likely one of the two buried that day, was my great great great grand-uncle, William Bryan. In a telling lesson in fate, his brother James fought for the Confederacy, despite both being born in Scotland. Since the Civil War, my American family (on my mother's side) continued honoring their names, as generations of Bryans were named "William" or "James" (my own middle names are "James Bryan"). When DNA testing and genealogical research (spearheaded in large part by my uncle Andrew Bryan) narrowed down the names of possible individuals, the Navy made sure descendants of the Monitor's fallen would have a special place in the ceremony (hence my inclusion).

Monitor Ranking Officials, near its famous turret

Bryan (blue arrow) playing checkers

The Compleat Angler

William Bryan lived during the time of British expansion, and having left Scotland for America at a young age, he spent much of his life at sea. On the official program his occupation was listed as that of a "Yeoman". This was a word I would have expected to find in dusty yellow-paged books found in the upper stacks of a creaking library. "Yeoman" hearkens back to the days of "ye olde tavernes", "The Compleat Angler", and frosty malted drinks on trips to town by carriage. I never really knew what it meant, let alone actually imagined I was related to one. Perhaps a lower class citizen in the Elizabethan era I thought. In fact, Yeoman comes from the Germanic/Anglo-Saxon word for "young man". In the Navy, the Yeoman was in charge of administrative duties on the ship, such as taking inventory, keeping paperwork, and other tasks ("young man" and "the navy", Village People references abound!).

What were the titles and occupations of other crew members? The “Officer’s Cook” and “Coal Heaver” were fairly self-explanatory. [“Hi I'm Edwin, a Coal Heaver.” And what do you do, Edwin? “I heave coal.”] Others had less decipherable titles, leading me to "ye olde internet" for some further research –after all, I was never very good at 19^th century naval terminology. “Ensign” referred to the rank of an Officer, a “Quarter Gunner” helped the “Gunner” with the ship’s ammunition, and the “Boatswain’s Mate” helped with the ship’s maintenance and equipment. The “Fireman” had a particularly sweaty role, working in the steam and engine room (probably in conjunction with Mr. Coal Heaver). “Landsman” was a term referring to a newbie to the sea, a bottom of the totem pole sailor generally in his first year on deck. And I am not sure what the roles for “First Class boy” were or whether or not there were other ranks ascribed to boys, such as "Second Class boy" or "boy Captain", etc. etc.

My uncle seated facing our ancestors

The Monitor, foreshadowing the submarine?

And so, some 150 years after the sinking of the Monitor, these fallen Union sailors were in the nation's spotlight after a chance finding of the wreckage and the remains of two of its sailors. Just months before the sinking of his ship, William Bryan wrote home: "[W]e are going to have [a] big time with the Southerens [sic] in a very few days and all our army is made [sic] another grand move on them again, and we expect orders every moment to start and make the Forts smell the Monitor again." Bryan also recounts the excitement of having his picture taken along with the crew (not to mention the picture's apparent popularity in the U.S.) and asks his parents to "[G]ive my love to all of my brothers and sisters and let them know that I am still alive and kicking yet." Through his letter, Bryan seems to appreciate his place in the historical battles of the Civil War on the famous Monitor. But could he imagine the spectacle and honors bestowed upon him and his crew at the Arlington National Cemetary 150 years later? Could he imagine being buried at the cemetery in front of thousands of people and dozens of descendants looking on? The America of the time he was buried in the National Cemetery was no doubt significantly different than that of the America of 1862, particularly when Arlington was squarely in Confederate soil. 

As I looked around the vast rolling hills of crosses upon crosses, the weight of thousands upon thousands of soldiers having lost their lives fell heavily in the air. And while a bright sun wrapped around the limbs of trees, casting eloquent shadows over the green hills and white crosses, I realized that many of the fallen were younger than myself, fighting in wars on foreign soil, far from home, uncertain of their future, each with their own plans, their own families, their own lives. But looking at the scope of white grave markers, I saw the vast ranks and columns firmly planted in memory of their efforts, together offering a solemn refrain: "United we stand." This was a reminder that each was a part of the other's effort. That each fought for a cause, fought for freedom, for America, for each other. 

"United We Stand"

Yet William's brother James had fought on the other side -the Confederacy. Weren't many of his ancestors  as American as those under the ranks and columns of crosses? What separated one from the other? The brothers hadn't purposefully chosen to fight against each other; instead they had both chosen to live in America, albeit in different states. It would be easy to understand their participation in the war as a choice to support their neighbors and home soil of their states. As fate had it, James moved from Scotland to the South, while William moved from Scotland to New England, the backdrop of war leaving both on opposing sides of a brutal internal war of one nation, between its states. 

The ranks and columns of crosses reflect the duality of history and events, that we are a part of the events of our time and that although our participation in history is heavily influenced by chance, it is an active participation, the backbone of victory and the sacrifice of defeat. The Monitor and its crew were once lost to the ocean's depths, but the remains of two of ours had been found. To honor the two recovered sailors was to honor and remember all from the Monitor. And not just the Monitor; to honor these sailors was also to honor all those lost at sea under the flag of our nation, never to be given a proper burial. And beyond that, the news stations declared these the last Civil War soldiers to be buried at the National Cemetery. Hundreds showed up to this burial in Civil War garb, with deep regard for the gut-wrenching battle of one nation divided internally, its scars still apparent, a reflection as much on the nation's patriotic belief in its ideals as a reflection of the nation's segregationist and slavery filled history. The burying of these sailors could not be done without the context of the Civil War, an event, tragic though it may be, as indelible to our history as our separation from England.

And so it is fitting, that generations later, James' namesake James T. Bryan (my great uncle) fought against the Nazis together with his brother William Bryan (my grandfather), one on the USS Yorktown in the Navy, the other on a Coast Guard cutter, for a unified America, and a unified front against world oppression. Undoubtedly these men found strength from their ancestor William Bryan's sea legs, having heard the stories passed down from generations. Unlike my Civil War ancestors, these Bryans survived World War II, the war not between brothers but instead the war pitting good versus evil, freedom versus oppression. The events of their time had carved out their roles, the chances of fate led to paths of clear heroism and patriot pride. And here, the ranks and columns of crosses from varied wars remind us that "From many we are one." The buried soldiers at National Cemetery all share the charge of history, the commonality of war, and the interests of their people. The burial of two Union sailors could be appreciated from the perspective of family members 150 years ago putting to rest their loved one, fellow crew or Union soldiers seeing their brothers in arms honored, historians appreciating the historical poignancy of the Civil War, or simply a nation honoring their fallen soldiers, "United we stand, from many we are one." 

Culturally, we associate with ideas, with values, and with each other. People belong to nations, ethnic groups, cities, political parties, families, teams, and clubs. I asked myself, how was I associated with this event? While the bugler played taps and service-members presented colors and arms, I looked into the eyes of one of the Naval Officers performing the burial rites. I could see a gravity there, a welling of pride and a sense of loss. Hardly a week goes by without a soldier passing away in service to America, the loss of someone's brother or sister, someone's uncle or aunt, someone's friend, someone's compatriot in arms. The moment was real to the service-members performing the ceremony, as they undoubtedly knew fallen comrades, and already could feel the reality of war. The sailors buried in front of me were part of my own family and were now being recognized for their contributions to this country, a country whose values I love, a country to which I belong, a country built on the the backbone of its soldiers' efforts; the moment had become real.  

Cool by Association, Exhibit 1 (royal blood)

As the Navy honored those from the Monitor, I was proud to be part of something bigger, proud of what my ancestors had done and taken part in. I felt a part of America, a part of history. Had I done anything special? No. But I understood the power of association, that simply being associated with something amazing helped impart some of that amazing-ness to me as well. I was cool by association. Just like my Civil War ancestors, I have roots beyond America, as I was born in Canada. However, to understand American history is to understand America as a place of ideas, a melting pot, and a destination. I may not have royal blood with princely lineage, but that made this association all the more powerful. I was associated with a cause, a country, and brave soldiers who had sacrificed their lives at war to that end.

The burial of the USS Monitor crew members was an event I could share with my family and countrymen. Powerful events allow us to cry together, laugh together, or celebrate together. Many events are out of our control, but that does not mean that we are powerless. Enter Forrest Gump. As much as the movie is a series of "fortunate" events making Forrest a table tennis star, a wealthy shrimp fisherman, or a savvy investor, at its core, it is a story of a man who has the dice of history and life cast directly against him. He is born without intelligence and with a debilitating leg condition. Jenny, the love of life, runs away from him time and time again. And he is called by his country to fight in a thankless, unpopular war, the brutality of which takes the life of his best friend. Yet Forrest emerges as hero in the face of it all. As destiny calls for the life of his Lieutenant, whose anscestors had each given their lives admirably in service to their country, Forrest steps in and saves Lieutenant Dan. While Forrest's actions overturn the apparent fate of his Lieutenant, an act Lieutenant Dan first hates Forrest for, his actions show the power of human will, the human element in "fate".

Sometimes it's the little things in life

Duty in Uncertain Times

Forrest's life illustrates the duality of history, that despite the inevitable intertwining of his life with the events around him, he had the ability to influence those events. He did not choose to play the Achilles, seeking glory over family, nor did he play the Malvolio, preening for attention, nor did he seek wealth and power; instead he sought to improve the lives of his friends, family, and fellow soldiers. Forrest participated in the world with a genuine respect for those around him, and appreciated the little things, understanding a cosmic relevance, an inner beauty only discoverable upon reflection and introspection. To many characters in the movie, Forrest looked foolish pursuing things for the people he loved, but he pursued the very things most important to him with the utmost conviction, giving all of his heart, time, and energy to those dearest to him: Jenny, Lieutenant Dan, Bubba, Little Forest, and his mother.

Aeneas and Hector, Exemplars of Duty

Being a part of the USS Monitor burial ceremony, I better understood history's inherent elements of chance and action, the importance of humble duty and personal initiative, and the importance of association -being part of a family, a country, and associating with certain values. Today we are the fortunate beneficiaries of sacrifices from our fallen soldiers, those who faced the "casting of the die" head on with courage and resolve, without knowledge to their fate, but with the belief that they could influence the outcome. This Memorial Day let us celebrate those who charted a path between personal initiative and humble duty, accepting the challenges of war. Let us pay respects to the ranks and columns of crosses and what they stand for, and let us hope that our actions, our lives, and our endeavors may one day measure in value to the sacrifices of those who have steadfastly gone before us.

And that's all I have to say about that. 

-Esso the Esquire

The sun sets as the two Monitor crewmen are laid to rest

Music 2.0: Don't Call It Techno

The human and the machine: never the twain shall meet?

In the '90s and early '00s, Daft Punk, Fatboy Slim (and this @ :42), Underworld, and The Chemical Brothers (amongst others) led the charge of electronically produced music into the worldwide music consciousness. ,Many (luddites) dubbed this emerging genre as "Techno" as it soon took over many the underground dance hall and concert venue across Europe, North America, and Great Britain (and its former colonies). A lot has changed in the 20+ years since the proverbial rise of the robots.

Guetta Monster

Electronica has since beaten the shores of the music scene with a series of varied waves, as Tiesto and Trance carved out a unique festival flair, the rave culture grew with the return of Acid House ("mass organized zombiedom"), Dubstep laid siege to the scene, the world fell in love with progressive House, and electronica permeated into Top 40 charts. Pop stars now depend on electronic producers to create dance sounds accepted and embraced by the masses, while the Top 40 charts welcome more and more EDM (electronic dance music) artists into its fold every week.

            That electronica has risen to the forefront of the music scene over the past 20 years doesn’t mean that the general public has embraced or understood it. If an EDM crown sits on the top of music’s figurehead, it does so with unease, both from its standard-bearers' unwillingness to be considered "Pop" (see Deadmau5 vs the world) and from its electors’ (general public/iTunes purchasers') disinterested attitude toward the electronic culture. Having DJ’ed hundreds of parties, radio shows, and nights at bars and clubs over the last 5 or more years, I have certainly encountered many different perspectives.

NO REQUESTS! (Get away from my tiny speakers!)

Inspirations: Barbie Girl by Aqua

            At the Top 40 establishments, as I pound remixed electronic beats over standard pop songs, invariably someone will come up and ask, “Um, I can’t really dance to Techno, do you have anything with more bass?” (Seriously, you can’t hear the bass pounding right now!?) Or: “Do you have anything less ‘techo-y’?” The comments reveal a growing divide in popular dance music: the sharpening fault line between EDM and hip-hop, a treacherous divide not easily bridged –despite both genres’ ubiquity in pop culture. Please don’t make me discuss trap music, or for that matter Lil’ Jon.

            Of course, when I play remixed Top 40, progressive house favorites, subtle bass music (not too "Dub-steppy"), or the arsenal of sounds fused by omnivorous, sub-genre defying EDM (e.g. Spectrum), I am not playing “Techno”. Techno was a type of electronic music, perhaps called so in the same way Columbus called the people of modern day America "Indians". It existed in the public realm but as such fell on the sword when some of its contributors made pleas to became popular (I swear I am not a hipster), see Basshunter, as understood culturally by "Jock Jams" and "A Night of the Roxbury". To link modern electronic music with the genre traditionally or popularly referred to as “Techno” is nothing short of hearing the sound of nails on the chalkboard played loudly over the speakers in the middle of your favorite song.

And so today's electronica is not "Techno" per se; instead it is simply today’s pop dance music exposed outside of the familiar veil of a Britney Spears, Rihanna, [insert pop name here], or Lady Gaga. That the public accepts one and not fully the other does not invite rebuke in and of itself, but does belie pop music’s reluctance to embrace it. The producers make the infectious dance beats of the tracks these pop divas sing, while the divas (or male counterparts) bring the name, the voice, and the face to the product. In a mirror of irony, it is the same for popular EDM tracks; DJs, the name and face of EDM, serve to market the product as many popular EDM tracks gave (or still give) little credit to the singer. As today’s producer DJs have become more and more a known commodity, credit has begun to be shared amongst producers and singers, particularly when both can effectively sell the product.

Exhibit A (and tag right)

Irony = unintentional parody.

            On the other side of the dance music fault line lies the hip-hop empire, grown rich on larger than life personas and a culture celebrating life’s excesses while reflecting inner city lifestyles unfamiliar to many of its consumers. American suburbia seems to love "trying on" the hip-hop swagger and lifestyle just as party-goers enjoy theme parties –they may not be Roman but they sure like wearing the togas. The very distance between the world of hip-hop’s roots and the world of many of its consumers may in fact help explain one’s interest in the other. Partiers asking me to play less "Techno" invariably want to hear more hip-hop, and since today’s pop culture supports both hip-hop and electronic pop music, both must be played.

            EDM’s roots grew largely out of a homogonous European culture, far different than hip-hop’s roots, and has ever expanded through the leadership of unassuming teenage producers, happy to spend long hours of the night in their room, crouched at a desk with a six-pack of red bull and their laptop, playing with midi-controllers and sound software, delving into the intricacies of sonic envelopes, filters, compressors, side-chaining, and the latest sound gadgets. Taking nothing away from their ability to party, many of today’s EDM heroes would likely be just as excited on the set of Star Wars as they are presiding over thousands of adoring fans. For many reasons, both first-world suburbia and wealthy electronically driven urbanites can claim EDM as their own. Yet EDM remains un-embraced as a cultural identity, even though it has many of its own zealous followers.

Mat Zo-B-Wan Kenobe

          

I AM A GOLDEN GOD!

           If there is anyone who feels like they were left off today’s music party guest list (and is bitter for being on the outside of the party), it is Rock and Roll.  The Foo Fighters’ Dave Grohl took it upon himself to assail the EDM world with verbal stones at the 2012 Grammy Awards, addressing the crowd after receiving “Best Rock Album”, saying “It’s not about what goes on in a computer”, and likening singing and “playing your instrument” as the true art because it best reflects heartfelt music and can have imperfections. Grohl undoubtedly felt that the recent recognition bestowed upon EDM artists, in conjunction with the rise in popularity of EDM festivals and concerts, was wholly undeserving of a genre he believed devoid of soul and humanity.

Grohl is not alone in criticizing the popularity of EDM and its DJs. “Just Press Play” has become a popular dig at today’s EDM DJ’s/Producers. EDM festival goers have been maligned for loving the music played by EDM DJs at the events, primarily because the DJ’s “don’t do that much” and much of the show is orchestrated. But to judge concert-goers for loving the experience is to miss the point altogether. The collective IQ of throngs of people, specifically showing up for a giant party, many under heavy influences, is not exactly off the charts in the first place. Are the EDM crowds much different than the raging pits at rock shows, excited to have a place to enjoy the music they love, at volumes unheard of, in one giant party? If EDM festival attendees expected more from their heroes, then we might expect jeers, boos, and public shaming similar to that directed at singers in infamous lip syncing incidents.

Left-right, left-right, A-B, A-B, select-select?

But the crowds love their DJ heroes all the same: your favorite beats played by the producer himself/herself. The EDM DJ is not a DJ born from the turntable era of DJ’ing, rooted in hip-hop and its performance based intrigue. Today’s EDM DJs are successful because of their mastery of sound technology, modern wizards of the Oz that is Ultra, Ibiza, EDC, Tomorrowland, and countless other venues and events. To succeed as an EDM DJ today, one needs to produce and create successful music. This requires a sophisticated level of production skill, an understanding of musical theory, an inordinate amount of patience in the studio, and the persistence of a perfectionist.

            The universal “DJ” sign, scratching a record with one hand while holding the headphones to the ear with the other, has become outdated, a relic of an era where electronic music was a fringe interest (“Techno”) and DJs carried crates of records to each gig. For Hardwell, Avicii, SHM, or other EDM DJ’s to “scratch” during their set would be like oil painting on the glass of a computer screen. Instead, EDM DJ’ing is well suited to seamless transitions over a never-ending beat and long build-ups leading to heavy electronic drops, techniques borne from the electronic medium.

HARDWELL

 But it is not DJ skill that the masses appreciate. The crowds love their DJs because of the power of the music.  Grohl is particularly critical **and entirely wrong** when he attempts to define music as something exclusive of electronica, something that cannot have technology. In truth, “Techno” properly reflects electronic music’s creative frontier because “Techno”, derived from the Ancient Greek “techne”, represents art, skill, cunning, or craft. Technology is the means used to achieve an end. And art is the end result –worthy of appreciation and reflection. Artists master the tools at their disposal to elevate basic elements into something unique and powerful: painters use color, authors use words, and musicians use sound.  

Just as young Hermes used a tortoise shell and the entrails of a cow to make the lyre, technology for musicians can be anything, even beyond the traditional instruments.  EDM artists explore the vast galaxies of sound afforded by computers and software, and in so doing have begun to create new musical genres. The best EDM artists compose modern symphonies, movements spanning the intricacies of rhythm and sound. Such symphonies provide primal beats, ephemeral art, industrial electro-power, and stunning shape-shifting instrumentalism. Writ large over giant sub-woofers and stadium speakers powered by mega-watt amplifires, these effects cloak the senses as if they were textured ghosts filling the air with an array of sonic layers and waves, a veritable barrage of three-dimensional sound precipitation.

Fad on fad on fad! Have you seen Molly!? #SELFIE

            The first time I tried to create electronic music on Ableton, I was struck by how tinny and manufactured the instruments sounded. Much like the voice of Siri, the soul and power of what I was accustomed to (good music) was lost in the electronic reproduction. As Dave Grohl would happily point out, there are many derivative, underwhelming, manufactured, or attention-seeking sounds (see inset >>>>>>) amongst the EDM producers. But when producers find a way to give texture and movement to the electronic sound, they begin to learn the skills of their craft, bringing the best of the electronic medium to the spectrum of sound.

And so EDM artists take advantage of their technology to produce inspired music, complementing their electronic instruments with vocals and sampled words, voices as notes to play on a keyboard, robots to sing along with, or powerful and longing lyrics that accompany the stadium sounds of progressive house. Today’s EDM artists are that, artists to be respected, artists to be given credit for expanding the public's enjoyment of sound. Musicians have always used technology to create their art. Simply because today’s EDM artists use electronic technology to do so does not mean their genre should have cornered the market on the term “Techno”. The term “great music” will do just fine.

Stay classy EDM.
Esso the Esquire (DJ Esso)
Esso's Latest and Greatest EDM Mixes

And the Mountain Lions will Provide the Entertainment

 Entry 3

Law school

I embarked on this 'Esso Esquire' voyage so that I might get my writing legs seaworthy again after a long hiatus living in the land far far away from literature (i.e. DJ'ing, law school). So I put together a couple poems, added introductions, slapped on some pictures, and posted my first two blogs. But over the two weeks that followed I wrote next to nothing. Okay, save for text messages, Facebook chats, and a few nerdy emails to my brother about our respective fantasy hockey league teams, I wrote absolutely nothing. My voyage had stalled. Did my ship's engine die? Did the wind stop blowing from the northwest passage? Did I run into an iceberg off the coast of Greenland? Had the ocean run out of water? Why no writing? For one, I didn't feel like it. For another, I had nothing to write about.

The first reason is legitimate. But the second is just moldy fruit from ye olde forbidden tree of excuses. And so I'm writing now. Did I find something deep and meaningful to discuss? If so, what am I writing about? And what is the point? If indeed there is a point, will I ever get to it? And will the point be worthwhile? All legitimate questions, all of which I've heard before, but it is my entry and I will not be held hostage by an imaginary reader asking pesky questions. And since when did something have to be about anything? Seinfeld lasted nine seasons and enjoyed critical and popular acclaim based precisely on the self-aware smirking premise that nothing could be something, or even that nothing could be everything.

Yes, it's possible to do an entire episode in a parking garage.

Several summers ago I began writing a novel largely and loosely based on my experiences over many summers spent working on my uncle's ranch in Montana. I had written three chapters and gotten the project out of the door and on the road. The trip's purpose and character had been established: an adventure novel about a boy/young man's summer of self-discovery on a cattle ranch high in the mountains of big sky country. But many questions remained. What would be the main adventure of the story? How much of my own experiences would I use and how much would I make up?

I did not want to write a purely personal memoir of one of my summers or a summary of all the times I spent out West; I wanted the story to have intrigue and action within the friendly timeline of one summer. A fictional story enhanced by the non-fiction of my countless experiences working on the ranch. You see, I had no stirring adventures, battles, intense chase scenes, or gripping conflicts between good and evil during my summers driving cattle, mending fences, stacking hay, driving tractors, and killing weeds. I needed to make things up and be the creator, the progenitor, the auctor I discussed in Entry 1, and at the same time seamlessly combine the real experiences with made-up dream land characters and twists, as discussed in Entry 2.

I should be herding the cattle,
not scattering them....

Ball so hard

Workin' in Big Sky Country

Me: I choose to enter the arena!
May I do so for its own sake?
And may I be my own critic?
Teddy: Shut up and enter...
but don't enter and shut up.

Writing things you already experienced is one thing, but tossing in fake things into the mix is quite another. Shouldn't it be easy making things up? No it's not easy. But yes, making up imaginary readers posing questions clearly is no problem for me. Take the critic and the critic's subject. The critic reacts to the experience of a movie, music, or a performance, while the producer of the movie, the musician, or the actor actually creates or performs where once there was no movie, no song, no performance. The maker and the doer must believe in and commit to his or her work, while the critic too easily "points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done them better." This is not to say the critic cannot add instructive value. Nor is it true that a critic cannot be or is not a part of the creative process. The critic can create a whole work of his (or her) own in parody, satire, or homage. The point is, one should never be among "those cold and timid souls who neither know victory or defeat" but instead should enter "the arena" for a worthy cause and make, create, perform, write. And when you can produce anything, you should want to produce something of quality, something lasting, something meaningful... something great (read: The Great American Novel). What excuses could you have? You can choose any subject, any plot, any character, any setting, any line, any sentence, and any word. And so it is with a creative writer. The universe of non-fiction writing is finite, the universe for fictional infinite and the choices endless.

There are TV shows for everything

Some ideas are better left unexplored.

My Montana summer could include cowboy and Indian fights, a shootout between rivals, bear attacks, wild fires across the ranch, discovered dinosaur bones, or crazy eccentric mountain men. Or my summer could have crossed the next threshold of reality into the realm of werewolves from the woods, ghosts haunting the night, supernatural spirits taking hold of animals, or even long lost dinosaurs roaming the mountains of the west. See where I'm going with this? Exactly, me neither. After getting my project out of the driveway and onto the road I didn't know where to take it.

Enter the mountain lions.

A mountain lion entering

Chapter two currently features a pounding rainstorm which caused one horse to disappear into a wooded mountainside during wrangling. It ends with the lost horse galloping out of the woods into the field after the fictional version of me hears piercing cries of a mountain lion and sees a shadowy figure on a horse in the distance. The shadowy figure and the piercing cries foreshadow their prominent role in the plot's adventure. The shadowy figure serves as the mysterious mountain man whose true identity is slowly revealed culminating... Wait... I can't tell you the whole plot!

Satisfied that those two characters would add enough adventure and force to the storyline, I knew that I would have to research and learn a few things about mountain lions in order to write about them (although I'm really tempted to turn the lion into a sabre tooth tiger, an undiscovered living relic from the ice age. Extinct animals are legit).

Mostly wondering whether or not mountain lions actually made screeching noises, I began my research. I soon learned that mountain lions often kill for the sake of killing, and that in places with wolves (like Montana) mountain lions kill more frequently because wolves will steal their spoils. With the deer and elk population on the rise out West, the mountain lion population in turn is increasing. One brilliant researcher listed the pros and cons of such an increase: "The short-term benefit is that with more lions around, perhaps more people will have the pleasure of seeing them. The long term problems are: ...attacks on humans. (emphasis added, but not needed)" That's right folks, if more mountain lions are around, you get the amazing benefit of seeing more and more mountain lions in person. But... and here's where it gets interesting... the long-term problem is that you will be attacked. And killed. And maybe just for the fun of it. And wolves might fight over your remains after you've been brutally attacked. BUT you would have had the pleasure of seeing one up close and personal.

Researcher: "Nice to see you Mr. Mountain Lion."
Mountain Lion: "Rawrrrr."
Researcher: "What a beautiful day it is!"
Mountain Lion: "A beautiful day to eat you."

After a swift pounce that short-term benefit quickly turns into a rather serious long-term problem.

Using predatory cats for entertainment purposes

The researcher went on to describe in somewhat macabre detail numerous mountain lion attacks on humans, while pointing out that one family sued a state park because they let mountain lions roam around and that another family complained to the school board because of the school's perceived failure to take into account the threat of wildlife coming onto school grounds. As utterly horrible the tragedy of an attack would be (cue debate regarding violence and entertainment), can you imagine chewing out the ranger or the school teacher for failing to prevent an attack? "Who let wildlife into the state park??? Ranger Bob, you know better than to let wild animals in! Don't let in any mountain lions unless they promise to behave!" And "Ms. Teacher, why didn't you know a mountain lion was coming yesterday? Don't you know all visitors must check in with the Principle's office??" And so my research naturally became what to do in the event you come across a mountain lion. Should you: A) take a picture and enjoy seeing one up close; B) freeze and play dead; or C) run as if your life depended on it, because it does? Can't you see the Hiking Weekly article headline? 8 Things to Do If You See a Mountain Lion -our answers might surprise you!  The advice of the science researchers amounted to the conclusion that neither A, B, or C really made any difference. Thanks for the help!

Jokes and short-term benefits of hanging out with mountain lions aside, I concluded that in real life mountain lions were more entertained by humans than humans entertained by mountain lions. Much much more. The thought of powerful limber creatures stalking their prey from slowly waving tall grass paints a troubling scene if you are the hunted. You wouldn't even have time to enjoy "the pleasure of seeing [a real mountain lion]" if you were preoccupied fending off one of these giant angry cats. Luckily for my story and potential readers, the mountain lion would only exist on the page, a danger only to the story's loosely fictional characters. For that reason, mountain lions could provide some adventure and entertainment, just enough of a thrill for the reader to keep turning pages, and enough of a challenge to the protagonist to make him a worthy combatant in Roosevelt's esteemed arena. In the meantime, perhaps their presence added some color to a blog entry desperately lacking a topic, even if I never found out whether or not mountain lions actually screech. Hmm... what if I wrote a book about a mountain lion's coming of age/self-discovery? Now that is a novel idea.

It's a big world out there!

Once there were two cats named Doc and Wyatt...

Entry 2 - Deep Thoughts

Thinking about the mind requires a level of comprehension our minds can't handle. If it is true that we only use 10% of our brains, then a mind might be able to comprehend itself, but we -the 10%- could not possibly comprehend the mind. Let's just hope the 10% isn't staging an occupation anytime soon (or has that already happened?).

Icy Treat

Don't worry, years of living haven't slowly eroded at my sanity and I'm not writing a Psych term paper. But I had a rare chance to really think, a chance afforded by a week spent recovering from a fun trip to the doctor's office (my tonsils had overstayed their welcome and had to go). I didn't think about my own mind -after all, I wouldn't climb Everest without grappling hooks, a parka, and the good sense to turn around. Nor did I think so much about the chalky taste of otherwise amazing foods (like pizza and icy treats), the 10,000 movies I watched, which ranged from the typical comedy, drama, sports, and superhero action genres to the Ryan Gosling collection my friend provided (no I didn't watch The Notebook and yes I would've watched pretty much anything), nor did I think about the resentment and scorn I should have felt towards my evil tonsils -the root of my prior week's discomfort and the source of so many disagreements in the past. I didn't even think so much about the pain I felt in my throat, although that would be close.

Movie I watched the most (tied
 with Wedding Crashers at 3 times)

Movie I was disappointed
I had purchased

Movie I was most surprised
I really enjoyed

Instead I thought about how I felt while dealing with the pain during recovery -how I felt experiencing the cocktail woozy combination of anesthesia wearing off,  happy painkiller pills, movie action, soothing dance beats, and pain giving away to it all. I am not a hippie and don't do drugs (although I did love Pink Floyd back in the day). So perhaps my feelings could easily have been induced by a regular dream or a placebo -a high school boy drunk from O'Doul's or a college freshman high from plain chocolate brownies- but even so, my experience was nevertheless real to me, real to my mind, real to touch, feel, and remember.

Wordsworth could think
with the best of 'em

These emotions recollected in the tranquility of a near full recovery deserved reflection and form (boy did that Wordsworth know what he was talking writing about). When piecing together the following poem I began to realize I was trying to capture how my own mind works, how reality and dreams are distinguished, how control over our perceptions can be at one time illusory, the next real, and then at another time both at once. For brief moments I could perceive and enjoy the real and the dream with an awareness as to each that stretched my 10% mind usage rate. Deep stuff? Perhaps, but I suppose there's enough room in the deep end for all of us -regardless of what my title might suggest.


Dreamsville Population One

A trance-filled state where sleep surrounds and colors dance,

Wheels spin on a galloping steed, ungrounded, unbounded...

Reined in only by twisting and turning thoughts,

A tenuous grip on direction, space, and time,

Between slow breathes of bottled air.

A loopland cereal cartoon and baseball in a summer field

Warmly beckon and keep awake my slumber;

The pain is gone and feeling sent to Dreamsville population one,

Where I know that as the pain goes I’ll not return,

Save for words on a simple screen,

Typed to capture the fading memory of a hidden world,

Discoverable perhaps only by the pulling of a dusty book,
The striking of a single key, or retreat into a wardrobe's shadows,

So we might keep a wandering mind from being lost.

-Esso the Esquire

Sweet dreams!

PS
True life: I dreamed of a horse galloping in mid-air with wheels instead of legs, churning up colorful sparks in fast-moving whirls. If I had a large reader base I'd start a contest to see who could draw the best wheel-horse. Actually, I already considered entering that challenge.
And for some reason breathing was hard when I was recovering, I wasn't about to die or anything. I'm not that dramatic.