Carl Weathers Was the Worst Mercenary

Mix for 11/04/10 - Thematic Distraction

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A friend said to me, "None of us are doing anything we're good at," a statement only slightly different than the more traditional idea that it's hard to find a job that you enjoy. But it's a fact of our lives (my friend's, my own, and those of our mutual friends) that very little of our work experience is rooted in anything that we're especially competent with or trained in, even if we're finding some margin of success. Part of this stems from how we're all largely "artists" of one form or another, a character description that has little practical application, yet it's strange to think how we've become so cut off from our primary skills.

Of course it's entirely my own fault for being a bit of a nitwit without an ounce of entrepreneurial instinct. My brief attempts at freelance show how little I enjoy the act of selling, whether an idea, object, or my identity. My current job asked that I revise my biographical blurb so that it's more appealing to the clientele, but I find myself completely incapable of abiding by their suggestions because the thought of third-person self-aggrandizement triggers acid reflux.

And so it was, when I went to pick up some photographs of mine that had been kept at my old high school, the woman at the counter asked me if this was my job (referring to the photos) and I could only shake my head and laugh. It's been almost five years since I've taken a picture, which is unbelievably discouraging. Two years ago, when I posted the image of the Daibutsu, I had no idea that I wasn't even a photographer anymore.

I Remember One Sentence

Years pass with an unexpected quickness; though at this point I suppose that quickness should be expected. But if an hour of tedium can expand and overwhelm, why does everything condense in retrospect?

Does time slow for those with a gift of recollection?

My dad was diagnosed with Parkinson's some 10 or so years ago. It may have been longer, but my parents being who they are chose to wait to tell us children until his tremors were apparent. Today he's a shambling shell of the brilliant businessman he was, speech slurred unintelligibly and mind caught frequently absent, and I wonder if this condition is even more torturous than it seems. Some relation of his (an uncle or great-uncle or something more obscure) has turned 100 years old, approximately one quarter-century older than any of my grandparents ever survived, all succumbing to one form of cancer or another before achieving that indignity of centenarian repose. An awful thought occurred to me that my poor old man might find himself cursed with an exceptional lifespan to accompany this dreadful disease, as improbable as that may be.

/ / /

Memory, memory, memory.

Sometimes I'm terribly nostalgic, but only in this strange unmanageable way, where I'm not necessarily yearning for a time past, but still hit by waves of wistful confusion.

I have regrets, though I try to deny that as much as possible.

/ / /

A friend linked me to this interview on the decline of creativity. Though the interview is both dense and dry (bear with it if you can), it provides some statistical support to what any teacher is sure to suspect. Most enlightening is how it breaks down the many facets of creativity as defined by the Torrance Tests of Creative Thinking. My own day to day teaching experience is rife with students that lack the remotest capability for vertical or lateral thought, a quality that impacts all aspects of academia, not simply those traditionally creative domains.

/ / /

And since I'm talking about creativity, let's talk about these new mix[tapes]:

The White Noise Companion - 58'11''

Calcium Fortified - 31'08''

The first mix, The White Noise Companion, is meant to be an accompaniment to a reading of Don Delillo's novel, White Noise. It's hard to express how an hour of music is supposed to guide you through a 300 page novel, but in one way or another each song incorporates one or more of the following qualities:

• Abstract noise (feedback or irregular, non-musical sound)
• Reference to civilized malaise or degradation
• Suggestion of murderous intrigue or intent
• Reflection upon regret

The second is designed as an attempt at making a mix that avoids conceptual restrictions and does its best to present songs that are easily palatable and poppy, yet offering that depth of emotion and musicality that can sustain frequent listens.

Enjoy!