Generational Gaps: Why LeBron James Will Never Be Jordan

Grantland, a sports-writing website sponsored by ESPN and ran by Bill Simmons, is quickly becoming a major voice on the Internet -- or at least my Internet.

It's popularity makes sense, featured columnists and editors are some of today's literary giants (Eggers, Klosterman, and Gladwell) as well as ESPN's best -- Bill Simmons.

One of my favorite parts of the website is the great coverage and analysis of everything LeBron James. This is especially prominent considering what happened the other night (if you don't know what happened then there's a wealth of Internet you haven't explored and TV you haven't watched).

Here are just some of the articles ...

http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/6655966/lebron-exquisite-corpse

http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/6657623/nba-finals-game-6-retro-diary

http://www.grantland.com/blog/the-Triangle/post/_/id/195/

All the writers at Grantland do a brilliant job analyzing and communicating the cultural impact that LeBron James has -- and why we have such an incessant need to pay attention to him -- but one thing I think they fail to mention is the important generational difference that LeBron has become a victim of (don't get me wrong, I'm a Boston guy. I hate the man's guts. But it's unfortunately true.)

In the era of Bird, Magic, Thomas, etc ... big time players were drafted to teams and stayed on those teams. The franchise was built around them and, after five years of hard work and growth, they became a championship caliber team and legendary, well respected players. From everyone.

That phase of pro ball ended -- popularly -- with Jordan. Most major stars after Jordan have played on at least two teams in their career. Just look at the past five years of major trades

-Ray Allen and Kevin Garnett
-LeBron and Bosh
-Melo and Stoudemire
-Steve Nash
-Iverson
-Shaq (extra emphasis for the most teams)


Pierce and Kobe are the obvious exemptions to this trend.

Long story short, there's no more loyalty --  from both players and administration.

Stars have become bigger than the teams they're on and winning championships has been more about individual legacy than the fact that the Lakers and Celtics have won almost every championship between 1980 and 1990. It's about my legacy, not the club's.

Yes, it was always Jordan and the Bulls, Magic and the Lakers, Bird and the Celtics, but they were all around long enough -- and struggled long enough -- that they were able to develop a very, very good supporting cast of role players. In fact, pretty much every major star from the 1980s to mid '90s played with another Hall of Famer for an extended period of time without ever leaving their original team. That doesn't happen anymore.

So, yes, the fine writers at Grantland have done a great job analyzing why we dole massive amounts of attention to the Man We Love to Hate (or, He Who Must Not Be Named). But, most of other pundits have spent the past month or so thinking of ways that LeBron is like Jordan.

But he's not. He's completely different.

Jordan was a mature, battle-hardened, work horse (and a cocky dick) who became a symbol of a team, city, and a generation. All by earning himself a championship -- not by whoring his "talents" to the highest bidder to get on the fast track to the championships because, God forbid, LeBron isn't a NBA champion by at least seven years out of high school.

(By the time Jordan had been seven years out of high school he had:
1. Won an NCAA Championship and earned nearly every college basketball award available.
2. Got drafted a year early.
3. Went back and got his degree from UNC Chapel Hill in cultural geography.
4. Set a still unbroken record for points in a single play off game of 63 and still lost the series to Bird and the Celtics [after missing 64 games from a BROKEN FOOT]
5. Scored 3,000 points in a season with 200 steals and 100 blocks
6. FINALLY, after being in the league for four years, made it out of the FIRST ROUND of the play offs by beating -- lo and behold -- the Cleveland Cavaliers.)

But, given the recent history of transactions and geographical displacement of talent, can you blame LeBron for just being contemporary?

Calling out LeBron for his pre-season fiasco is one thing, but blaming his decision is completely different. That's like calling out your dad for giving up writing letters by hand to using e-mail. He's just getting with the times.

That's what LeBron did. This doesn't just apply to the NBA, but to every major sport. Baseball is the worst of all -- you might as well be a Nomad than a pro baseball player -- but football (Terrel Owens, Randy Moss) and hockey are no different either.

We're in an era where our beloved stars aren't taken care of nearly as much as previous generations. And, because of that, they need to take care of themselves. Do you think Shaq's career would have had the longevity if he hadn't bounced around the country looking for a team to take him in? No.

The times aren't-a-changing anymore, they already have. Sure, LeBron may have pulled the cockiest, most immature, move in sports history by handling his career the way he has, but for simply leaving his hometown is something we can not fault him for.

We seem to forget that he grew up right outside of Cleveland. Can you imagine being of that stature, ambition, potential, and God-given talent and living in your hometown for twenty five years? I would want to leave, too. There's a whole world out there and it's unfair to cage a bird as bright he in a city as dark and dirty as Cleveland.

Long point short is that LeBron can never be compared to Jordan -- as far as legacy is concerned -- because the era that LeBron is playing in is vastly different than when Jordan played.

When Jordan left a void was created (like a bad break up) and during that void the NBA -- and us -- needed to change so we could move on (like a bad break up). This is the change we've created. This is the current state of affairs, where what used to be common practice is now a rarity.

I hate LeBron as much as the next Bostonian, but let's put this cultural debacle into perspective here -- he's just a kid. He's twenty-five and has had more pressure and expectations thrown upon him than most ever will in their lifetime. He's allowed to fuck up.

So, LeBron, I'm sorry for those nasty Tweets I mentioned you in during the playoffs. I realize now that I, like everyone else, got caught up in the disappointment that you are not what I hoped you could have been. You are something different. It was unfair of me for projecting this nostalgic fantasy upon you that maybe -- just maybe -- there might be some unifying player out there that can revolutionize a failing city and bring a Nation together (whether for or against) like what someone else who wore number twenty three did. I realize now that was asking too much.

The Avett Brothers vs. Mumford & Sons

Mumford & Sons and The Avett Brothers. They're seemingly the same -- folk bands that weave influences of rock, punk, and the blues. They use the same instruments: guitar, stand up bass, drums, banjo, mandolin, fiddle -- anything you can find at a yardsale in the Smoky Mountains. But are also very different bands. One, an international pop behemoth. The other, a cerebral and dark band atop a massive cult and critical following.

Mumford & Sons outside their antique store.

Whether you know it or not, like them or not, or even care or not, these bands are quickly becoming mainstays in our Cultural Vernacular -- especially after they shared the stage with Bob Dylan at this year's Grammys and with Mumford & Son's debut album sitting pretty on top the Billboard Top 200 for quite some time now. Which one you choose says more than you think it does.

Avett Brothers and pink rabbit mascot.

Mumford & Sons is an energetic, rockish, and catchy Americana/folk band from West London. They're album, Sigh No More, has reached the top of the charts in three different continents (North America, Europe, and Australia). They're relatively new, forming in 2007, they toured for a while, made an EP, and cut a full length album in 2008 (Sigh No More), released it in 2009, and rocked the world with Bob Dylan at the Grammys in 2011. After their performance of "The Cave", social media was abuzz with Mumford & Sons hype, as a great "break out artist". Despite their first single, "Little Lion Man", having been around around the blogosphere since 2008.

The Avett Brothers started out as a rock/punk band called Nemo in North Carolina. (Nemo, besides being a popular, animated clown fish, is Latin for "nobody"). The two brothers, Seth and Scott Avett started an acoustic/folk side project aptly titled The Avett Brothers in 2000. The brothers quickly rose above their rock band associates and garnered a quick -- and southern -- reputation as an incredibly passionate, energetic live band with intelligent and challenging studio albums. A cult following ensued. They started to gain mainstream attention, and critical acclaim, when their song "If It's the Beaches" aired during an episode of Friday Night Lights.

Still the question remains: what's the difference? Or -- more importantly -- why should I care?

“If It’s the Beaches” written by Scott and Seth Avett from Gleam

Don’t say it’s over

Cause that’s the worst news

I cold hear I swear that I will

Do my best to be here

Just the way you like it

Even though it’s hard to hide

Push my feelings all aside

I will rearrange my plans

And change for you

If I could go back

That’s the first thing I would do

I swear that I would

Do my best to follow through

Come up with a master plan

A homerun hit a winning stand

A guarantee and not a promise

That I’d never let your love

Slip from my hands

If it’s the beaches

If it’s the beaches' sands you want

Then you will have them

If it’s the mountains bending rivers

Then you will have them

If it’s a wish to run away

Then I will grant it

Take whatever you think of

While I go gas up the truck

Lock the old love letters up

We will read them when we forgot why we left here

The Avett Brother's specificity is disarming, almost intruding. It’s as if we are invited into a very private conversation that we're familiar with. It’s clearly the story of a man holding on to a relationship – of any sort – by any means. The Avett Brothers have presented us with a protagonist.

The first verse is our protagonist pleading. He’s willing to change, to bend and break and “push his feelings all aside” for this person. He is a man on his knees.

The second verse presents why he’s in this predicament. “If I could go back…” is all we need. There was clearly a point, earlier on, where this man made the mistake of not communicating his love during a time when someone needed it most. Or, even worse, taking the reciprocation for granted. “A guarantee and not a promise/That I’d never let your love/Slip from my hands.”

The last verse ends with a glint of hope, that at some point during this dark journey they embark on they will read their old love letters and realize exactly what brought them together in the first place. Using nostalgia as a glue.

This is an extremely personal song. A song of redemption and love, flaws and mistakes. This song is a story.

Bringing punk rock energy to folk. 

Musically speaking, it’s gorgeous, even chilling. The soft strum of acoustic guitars, the lonely violin, and a piano as heavy as a set of weights; it’s as if every note cuts a small hole where the song can flow, like a river flooding dry creek beds.

Art has two basic functions – to either expose the culture, or expose the artist. Some artists become zeitgeists, expressing their culture through their medium. Others, put their heart on their sleeve and inform the world what’s going with them. They mold and chip away at certain personal aspects until they have the best representation of themselves, and then present it to the world.

This what the Avett Brothers have done.

"The Cave" by Mumford & Sons from Sigh No More

It's empty in the valley of your heart


The sun, it rises slowly as you walk


Away from all the fears


And all the faults you've left behind



The harvest left no food for you to eat


You cannibal, you meat-eater, you see


But I have seen the same


I know the shame in your defeat



But I will hold on hope


And I won't let you choke


On the noose around your neck



And I'll find strength in pain


And I will change my ways


I'll know my name as it's called again



Cause I have other things to fill my time


You take what is yours and I'll take mine


Now let me at the truth


Which will refresh my broken mind



So tie me to a post and block my ears


I can see widows and orphans through my tears


I know my call despite my faults


And despite my growing fears



But I will hold on hope


And I won't let you choke


On the noose around your neck



And I'll find strength in pain


And I will change my ways


I'll know my name as it's called again



So come out of your cave walking on your hands


And see the world hanging upside down


You can understand dependence


When you know the maker's land



So make your siren's call


And sing all you want


I will not hear what you have to say



Cause I need freedom now


And I need to know how

To live my life as it's meant to be


And I will hold on hope


And I won't let you choke


On the noose around your neck



And I'll find strength in pain


And I will change my ways


I'll know my name as it's called again

The lyrics scream – almost literally – of change, redemption, and personal victory. Existential elements that require serious self-awareness, combining these types of epiphanies to an allusion of leaving Plato’s Cave. It takes knowledge – something brutal and painful – to create the conflict needed for this kind of self conscious breakthrough. “Cause I need freedom now/And I need to know how/To live my life as it’s meant to be”.

But, unlike the Avett Brothers, their lyrics lack a certain amount of specificity and personality. In fact, they maintain a “just right” balance of nebulous and thematic wording. We understand what Mumford is talking about – we get it, we’ve been there -- but we don’t get the intimacy we did with Avett. This is definitely by design.

“And I’ll find strength in pain/And I will change my ways",  are words that clearly ring with crisis, conflict, and triumph, but their simplicity and lack of Identity allow us to fill it with our Identity.

It’s as if we wrote it.

Sigh No More ...

Which is a very smart move on the their part as far as commerciality is concerned. This turns Mumford & Sons into our band. They have that perfect blend of epic optimism with allusions to a vague angst. This balance – a lyrical game, so to speak – is akin to the likes of:

Britney Spears, Madonna, and Lady Gaga.

It’s just enough to get a certain theme across while not getting too intimate. It’s enough for us to relate to it without being challenged. It’s remarkably uplifting, extremely catchy, and makes us feel smarter and better about ourselves.

The Mumford & Sons have created folk-pop.

This is also shines through their image. Their previous tour – with hipster demi-Gods Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes – was spent on a train traveling around the country. They would play their shows then jam at random public places during the night -- like 19th century musical vagabonds making thousands of dollars a night. 


The extravagance really kicks in when they get back to their train to an open bar and a jam cart. Even Jake Gylenhaal jumped on board in LA.

Mumford & Sons is the bloated, commercialized, cash cow of Americana. They have the music chops, lyrical skills, and presence to be a major "niche" pop star -- which is good for them.

It's clear that the two bands are dopplegangers on the rise. Although Mumford may have had more commercial success than the Avett Brothers, the Avett Brothers' critical acclaim, cult following, and creative history make them a more mature band.

This doesn't -- necessarily -- mean they're a band for "mature" audiences, but a band that's been around the block. A band that's earned the awards and acclaim they've gotten. A band you can trust is writing -- and performing -- from the heart. That challenge us, and themselves, in their songs. Whereas, Mumford is a band that hit a homerun on their first swing -- which is great -- but they don't have the sense of vindication that the Avetts have earned.

In the simplest sense, Mumford is a band that will lift you up, inspire you, bring you to your best and cheer you on. They are a much needed band in our trying times for our "trying" generation.

But, the Avett Brothers is a band that will make you a better person. And that's needed all the time.

Stars in ______

Jamey Johnson has always been one of my favorite country artists. He continuously redefines and revises the genre -- alluding to past giants while carefully blazing his original trail. He's smart, plain spoken, and bold in his challenging song design (thought he never truly breaks from the "standard" format, but place himself far enough away, as if you're experiencing something "new").

This song, "Stars in Alabama", off the nearly perfect album That Lonesome Song, is a particular favorite because: 

A. The story is crystal clear and the characters well defined. 

B. The specificity of the writing is engaging -- it's clear that Johnson is not only writing from the heart, but also knows how to dive into his heart and bring out complicated emotions in an extremely simple way. That's art.

C. The tone of the story is captured perfectly in the music. 

D. Substitute Alabama and Tennessee for whatever state you're in and where you're from. It's completely universal. 

Enjoy. 

I said, “Mama don’t you worry

I’m getting by just fine on the road

Yeah, tonight we played in Knoxville

And tomorrow night it’s back to Music Row

No, I don’t know when I’m comin’ home

Montgomery seems so very far away”

She said, “Boy it wouldn’t kill you now

To look out past the bright lights on that stage

‘Cause God put stars in Alabama

You just can’t find in Tennessee

The same ones are waiting on you

That taught you how to dream

I know there’s big names up in Nashville

And you’ll be one before too long

But God put stars in Alabama

To help you find your way back home”

I hung up the phone and I could feel

The emptiness at 80 miles an hour

And I listened close and I could hear

My heart beating louder than the tires

This old bus was headed west

But my mind was drifting

Somewhere towards the South

And I closed my eyes and I could see

The bright lights shining clearly through the clouds

‘Cause God put stars in Alabama

You just can’t find in Tennessee

The same ones are waiting on you

That taught you how to dream

She said, “There’s big names up in Nashville

And you’ll be one before too long

But God put stars in Alabama

To help you find your way back home

Yeah, there’s stars in Alabama

That just can’t wait ‘til you get home

By Teddy Gentry and Jamey Johnson

Performed by Jamey Johnson


Stay tuned for a post on the difference between The Avett Brothers and Mumford and Sons and what they each mean to us!

Timshel

The following is a guest post I wrote for my friends over at Stuff BU Kids Like. I hope you enjoy it and do check out their site. It's absolutely hilarious. 

“To have a reason to get up in the morning, it is necessary to possess a guiding principle. A belief of some kind. A bumper sticker, if you will. People in cars on busy freeways call to each other Boycott Grapes, comfort each other Honk If You Love Jesus, joke with each other Be Kind to Animals – Kiss a Beaver. They identify, they summarize, they antagonize with statements of faith: I Have a Dream, Too – Law and Order; Jesus Saves at Chicago Fed; Rod McKuen For President.”

n     Ordinary People by Judith Guest

For the past sixteen years – whether you know it or not – you’ve been laying the foundations of a house. This house will be you. And, on the Sunday morning of May 22^nd, 2011 you will begin constructing your house the moment you open your eyes. The moment you make a choice either to sleep forever – completely ignoring the moving, changing, and confusing world outside – or to wake up and be someone.

The moment you wake up on this impending Sunday – hung over and potentially still drunk – everything you do from then on will be for you. No longer will you acquiesce to the desires of Professors, coaches, TAs, RAs, and Dorm Security Guards. There is no one left to impress – save for the people you want to. You have earned the power of choice. But, this choice and how you use it says multitudes of who you are and what you stand for.

So, I hope you’ve laid your foundation properly.

The key to not being overwhelmed – should you choose to participate in life – is to know why, exactly, you get out of bed in the first place. Why wake up? Why not just lie there and sleep – unable to be contacted, to disappoint, to shame, to be vulnerable. Why subject yourself to this cruel, unforgiving, and dispassionate world? Knowing what gets you out of bed, and knowing why these things get you out of bed, is paramount in understanding yourself.

Knowing who you are is like hiring the best architect or interior designer for the house you’re creating. Who else would know how to design the kitchen or where to place the master bedroom? Who else would know what off shoot of burgundy the dining room should be or what wood your dresser should be – cherry or oak? By understanding why you choose to live you understand what makes you … you. This is an incredibly powerful asset.

By understanding you, you are now invested with the power of change, with the power of editing and revising. We, like a great work of art, are beings of constant flux. We ebb and flow with the path that Life puts us on. It’s imperative, for our happiness and our prosperity, that we understand – truly understand – who we are, where we’ve been, and where we are heading. This can only come through the introspection that is necessary of analyzing why we get out of bed every morning.

So, when you’re two years into the “real world”, unemployed, and scratching for reasons to wake up – think about what’s gotten you up for the past twenty something years. Think about what keeps you up at night. What you day dreamed about while strutting down Comm. Ave on your way to class – looking good and feeling even better. Who are you at your best and what brought you there? Knowing yourself is not only a tool for improvement and understanding, but perseverance and strength.

The same can be said for when you’re two years into the “real world” and realizing that this job you were so excited for isn’t what it was supposed to be. You start to feel that horrible, sinking, feeling that creeps in at night when you begin to realize that your hopes and expectations are nowhere near being met. Knowing yourself gives you the power to make the change you need because of the faith it puts in yourself.

Because – sometimes – change is a choice, too.

So, lets say by now you know who you are – hypothetically – now what? You put it into action i.e. you get a fucking hobby.

We are creatures of creation – just look around. You are surrounded, everyday, by edifices we’ve constructed. Buildings, art, food, roads, cars – all manmade. We thrive on purpose and when that purpose and creation is involved in something we love – a passion – then that leads to internal happiness unparalleled by any other experience.

A happiness that can keep you up at night and out of bed in the morning, that grants you peace of mind and a foundation to stand on. A happiness that is contagious, inspiring, and separates you from everyone else.

I urge you all to be someone – at the very least. To be constructive with your cognitive energy and not spend your time on Facebook or Twitter. To not get sucked into the terrible toxin of reality TV – a unique phenomena that has, unfortunately, taught us Millennials that you do not have to be worthwhile to be “famous”. I urge you all to make yourself vulnerable, to get out of your comfort zone, to participate in the world that is outside your window. To make a difference, an impact, to embrace the pain.

I hope you all – in complete sincerity – fall flat on your face in failure then rise to be better than before. You are human – malleable, plastic, adaptable, and changeable.

You are not made out of glass.

We are given no purpose when we enter this world, we are given no set of instructions, and no path is opened for us. We are merely given a toolbox and ourselves and must make do with what we have, make the best of what God gave us.

Doing this successfully only comes from knowing why the Hell you got out of bed this morning.

What's Going on at 808 Comm. Ave?

In complete honesty, I don't go to the 808 Commonwealth Avenue art gallery. Let's just say, I'm not their biggest fan. But, recently, they exhibited work that the costume, stage, and lighting design majors at Boston University's College of Fine Arts did -- for both undergrad and grad students.

And I was thoroughly impressed.

It was clear how much care had been put into displaying these costumes, scene sketches, and lighting outlines. They were presented in a way that was clean, organized, and stylishly informal. It was a welcoming and -- most importantly -- engaging presentation.

As I meandered through the wide, well-lit, gallery I started to notice that they were not only showing the final products of scenery paintings and intricate hand-made costumes but also the rough sketches, outlines, and drafts. They weren't just displaying the finished product -- but how the artist got to the finished product.

This I found very exciting.

Rarely do we get to see the creative process of such talented craftsmen -- we are presented with their final product and all our judgments -- everything we perceive -- is from this "final" draft. As a writer, I know that what the artist puts out to the world is only the tip of the iceberg.

Creating something -- anything, really -- is like finding a diamond. You can't put this diamond and it's awkward cut, dusty coat, and worn out edges on sale and expect people to shell out thousands. You have to edit it. You have to revise this diamond, dust it off, cut away the unnecessary aspects and smooth out the edges.

You have to turn it from a dirty diamond in the rough, to a fine piece of jewelry you've been dreaming about. It's how well you execute this revising -- this mending and bending -- that dictates how happy you are with the final product and how good you are at the craft.

Everybody starts out with a blank slate, and all our first drafts are atrocious -- true creation, true art, comes from the ability to revise, change, adapt. To edit. True art comes from a teleological process; a long march towards an end goal.

That being said I urge you all -- if the exhibit is still up -- to take a look at what these kids have produced and how hard they've worked along the way. From sketch book to final product, you'll learn that art isn't all grand muse and romance -- it's work, planning, and trial and error. Really, creating something is a testament of passion, desire, and work ethic -- just like being good at anything else out there.

Early designs and cloth ideas stapled to them.

Rough sketch to colored final.

The sketches themselves are worthy being framed.

Look closely to the one on the left. The artist didn't even erase the perspective lines. 

Close up of lighting outline. All those little boxes in the middle are lights ...

Wide of lighting outline. Almost overwhelming how much Light Designers have to keep track of.

Rough lighting and scene sketches. Beautiful in themselves.

What I Learned Underwater in Hanouma Bay

"I am challenged to estimate the esthetic value of, say, a drawer stuck into a canvas. But nothing I've ever seen can teach me how this is to be done. I am alone with this thing, and it is  up to me evaluate it in the absence of available standards. The value which I shall put on this painting tests my personal courage. Here I can discover whether I am prepared to sustain the collision with a novel experience. Am I escaping it by being overly analytical? Have I been eavesdropping on conversations? Trying to formulate certain meanings seen this art -- are they designed to demonstrate something about myself or are they authentic experience?" 

--Art critic, Leo Steinberg via his essay "Contemporary art and the Plight of its Public".

Not long ago I was blessed with the opportunity of snorkeling in Hanouma Bay, the Hawaiian cove formed in the mouth of an underwater volcano and home to thousands of fish, turtles, eels, and a massive coral reef. It was beautiful and the activity itself a great source of pleasure -- like going to a zoo without the sinking feeling that the animals are actually imprisoned. But, this major tourist site turned out to be an extremely profound experience.

I was in Hawaii as  part of a training trip. A training trip, for those who don't know, is when a swim team goes somewhere tropical to train for a week. To swimmers, it usually means a week of adventures and beaches in between hard work outs. To non swimmers, it usually doesn't make any sense.

Either way, I was the only guy who opted to go snorkeling in Hanouma Bay. Just me and a van load of chicks. So, naturally, I already felt alienated. Granted, I was comfortable with this group, I've known most of them for the better of three years and got a long well with the assistant coach brining us. But, there was still the feeling of being on the outside looking in that every guy gets when stuck with a group of girls. Their constant chatter of things so irrelevant and petty to male lives, it's almost like being in a foreign country.

When we arrived at Hanouma Bay it was hot and sunny. We got shoved into this little waiting area that looks out over the bay where you wait for your instructional video to start screening. You must do this in order to paddle around in the bay below. We then get ushered into -- like cattle covered in beachwear and sun screen -- a tiny movie theatre and forced to watch the campiest and most stereotypically Hawaiian instructional video out there.

View from waiting area.

Between the opening montage of hula dancers, Iz, Hawaiian music, volcanoes exploding, and the Sesame Street gone Hawaiian jingle about not stepping on the coral, I started feeling assaulted with a pre-packaged, processed, and FDA approved Hawaiian snorkeling experience. And then, looking at all the sun burnt tourists I was huddled with, I got the awful feeling that I was just another part of the millions of people that paddle, pee and, probably, poop in this bay while taking in these beautiful fish and extremely rare forms of life. This did not make me happy.

But, as we all mooed and shuffled our way out of the theatre I put these thoughts on the shelf. I was determined. This experience will be mine, whatever it may end up being.

Once we successfully traversed the steep slope and set up shop on the beach (hey, sorry girls, but can someone rub lotion on my back?) we proceeded to wade into the bright blue Pacific. We paddled around, already equipped with our own snorkels, goggles, and fins and pointed at various fish as they darted beneath us, completely indifferent to our enamored presence. We were in their world and they knew it.

There's a lot going on under those waters.

I, being of large and lanky stature, started to feel bad about my fins. When snorkeling, one will be paddling around and suddenly come to a massive reef. To swim around would be impossible, one must go over. But the water is already shallow and this reef that has just thrust itself upon you only gives you six inches to swim over it. My fins were dragging everywhere and I felt awful about it after that beautiful jingle.

So, I went back and took my fins off.

I spotted my crew of female swimmers -- they're not hard to spot -- and paddled back out, much more comfortable and confident in traversing the reefs. But, I soon lost them, unable to keep up with their kicking abilities.

At first I was worried. The video informs us to always have a buddy, but I was a DI swimmer and only a hundred yards from a beach full of tourists and lifeguards. What's the worse that could happen?

So, I went solo.

Then, as I started paddling around, I started to feel more and more vulnerable.

Ever since I watched Jaws at an age much too young to comprehend -- and appreciate -- it, I've had a very deep fear of water that I can't see the bottom of -- especially if it's over my head. And, after watching a DateLine episode when I was -- again -- far too young, I've also been afraid of rip currents and being too far from shore. Naturally, in a world where it's just myself and my thoughts, these demons started working their way into my consciousness.

It wasn't long after climbing over coral for a while that I found myself in a ravine. Completely lost, alone, and vulnerable, I sunk down into this ravine, about six or seven feet underwater, and looked around.

I was surrounded by beautiful fish. Colored and shining in the sun. They chewed on the coral reef -- you could even hear them munching. But unlike the annoying guy you on the subway eating his Ritz Crackers obnoxiously loud, their eating noises were endearing.

Here I was, alone and in a world that I was not evolved to be in, utterly vulnerable and going against all of my deep seated phobias. At any moment these fish could gang up and attack me, killing me off in seconds. The spiky coral reefs could shoot their spikes out at me, or emit some kind of poison that only these prehistoric fish have adapted to and end me right here. For once in my life, I was not in control, completely vulnerable, and at the will of Mother Nature, Fate, and God.

Then, one fish -- big, shiny, and striped, about a foot away from me -- turned from his meal of coral and looked directly at me. For five seconds that seemed like thirty minutes, there was a moment where it acknowledged my entirety. He acknowledged my vulnerability, my loneliness, every single insecurity and ridiculous thought my imagination could muster. It was as if he said, "I know you're here, Matt. I know you're scared. And that's perfectly fine."

Then he turned back to his coral and continued munching.

This was as much as I could take.

I pushed off the bottom and booked it for land, longing for something familiar, something human, something terrestrial. I spent the rest of the day surrounded by sun bathing women. I went in a couple more times, but nothing as intense.

I was clearly shaken. What happened down there? What had I experienced? These questions had stuck with me for the rest of the trip and remained unanswered. They just collected dust in the back of my mind, waiting for an answer to bring them off the shelf.

When I read Leo Steinberg's essay, I was immediately struck with this memory once I hit the passage above. At no point in my life had I been prepared for the moment that I experienced six feet underwater in the middle of a coral reef. I had no idea how to handle that situation, how to be so far out of my comfort zone and so vulnerable and human. It was as if being in a place so foreign made me realize what I am. This was a collision with a novel experience that happens very rarely, especially in such an undesigned and unplanned forum. It's in these experiences that we realize more about who we are than in any other.

I had never been so human.

I urge you, wholeheartedly, to embrace these experiences. I'm not saying to seek being thrusted out of your comfort zone, but when the occasion arises -- to embrace it, accept it, and deal with it honestly. I was scared shitless that day in Hanouma Bay, but I'm glad I was able to be put into such a position. I believe art's best, and most important, function is to put us in these situations.

To challenge us.

It's how we react to these challenges that shows us more about who we are than about the art that we've been experiencing. Art (including film) -- at its highest -- charms us, disarms us, and then challenges us. It's in these challenges that we find who we are.

Thank You Drive-By Truckers

I recently bought an excellent album called Go - Go Boots by a great band called Drive-By Truckers.

Drive-By Truckers have garnered quite the reputation as being this dark, intelligent, and story driven band of the South. They're the front runners in the Southern Gothic genre for the musically inclined. I've always been a fan of their brooding darkness with glaring hints of light trying to peel through their black canvas saturated with booze, blood, and tears. They're a really great band to get you in the mood to write, long drives home, and lazy lonely evenings during sultry summer nights.

But, their newest album, Go-Go Boots, is surprisingly... optimistic. It's as if something snapped and Patterson Hood (the brain of the group) said, "Hey. Life ain't so bad after all, is it?" This is evident from the Beatles-esqu "Everybody Needs Love" to the uplifting final song "Mercy Buckets" about the power of friendship and unconditional love.

And I'm glad they did. They still maintain the tone of of someone who has been through something disastrous -- but they emit the emotion that they came out of that disaster better than they were.

It's as if the Phoenix has finally burned the nest.

There are two great things about every DBT album and those are the music (obviously) and the album art. The album art for every DBT album has always been original paintings by artists whom they personally met along the way. One of whom, Bryon Wilkes, has unfortunately passed away recently.

But, one thing that separates Go-Go Boots from all the others is the first page of their liner notes (yes, artists still make albums, with album art and inside these albums they still have liner notes that they pay attention to) Patterson Hood has shared a poem with us:

The Movie Version


It's The Movie Version
Names were changed, storylines simplified, characters unified and plotlines streamlined.
It might have happened. 
Might even be a true story, but we're not calling it that.


It's The Movie Version
Real life might be stranger than fiction.
It's certainly messier.
A fact is a fact (or so I heard).
That might have been a lie.


But the lighting is impeccable and the camera angles sublime
and the Set Director did a stunning job.
The parts were all well cast and the dialogue was snappy.
The Actors all won Oscars and the Director was a sadistic tyrant
but the DP's bloodshot eyes were unfailing
and the audience was stunned and amazed.


It's The Movie Version.
It's not better than "real life". 
But for a couple of hours, "real life" stops and we get to tell this story.
Not quite how it really happened.
But hopefully a little more entertaining.


As a person who grew up loving movies of all types it can be hard for me to, sometimes, discern between why I love certain parts of life. Do I love the way something looks because it would look great in a movie? Or is it because the way the sky and the architecture of the buildings, street, and urban design mix together? Are all my pleasures in life derived from film -- would this look good in a movie? this is so cinematic! -- or from a mix of pure sensory perceptions that haven't gone through a cinematic filter first?

People with photographic memories have been known to have issues in separating imagination from reality (if you were to remember and think that much, wouldn't you?). Film lovers and filmmakers have been known to issues separating life from the cinema. Do I like this moment in my life because it's similar to what would happen in one of my favorite movies or because of actual, real, sensory perceptions creating an influx of happy chemicals? This poem, I believe, helps me discern this difference.

The difference, it seems, isn't from discerning between the two but in recognizing how they blend. Understanding and consciously shifting how we think.

"I recognize my affinity for this situation in my mortally inexplicable life and wish to weave into whatever creations I may make (stories, paintings, films, etc...). "

NOT

"This would look cool in a movie. I like it."

We don't exist in films -- nor do we exist in songs, or paintings, or novels -- but are certainly welcome to take what we may from this realm of our own reality and share it with everyone else via film. In fact, it's encouraged, so long as we do it right.

It's in recognizing this difference between the two, and the cognitive practice of copying and pasting, that we can create great art. And it's this practice that the Drive-By Truckers have mastered.