Is there anything better than meeting a personal hero? It's a rhetorical question, so don't bother answering as you and I all know the answer. So it goes that this Saturday the wife and I got to meet Kris Krisfuckinstofferson at the Johnny Cash Music Festival in Ventura. I saw the flier a few weeks ago and thought it would make for a fun day, and it did.
I've seen Kris (he's my friend now) perform before at UCLA's Royce Hall. Steve Earl warmed up for him and then KK played for 3 hours non-stop, just him and the guitar, every song he ever wrote, which is a lot of songs. That show was cool, even if a bit long. He played "Moment of Forever" towards the end, a song he wrote with another guy I know, Danny Timms. Timms was in a band with a colleague of mine and they played our wedding. I told this to Kris on Saturday in the 30 seconds I had to say everything I have ever wanted to say to him. This is what I got out:
Me: "Mr. Kristofferson, Danny Timms played "Moment of Forever" at our wedding, can we have a picture?"
Kris: "Sure"
Me: "Thanks, I'm a high school English teacher and I teach William Blake every year"
Kris: "I can't figure out cameras today"
Me: "Can I make a request? Would you play "Junkie and a Juicehead"? It's pure poetry"
Kris: "They only gave me 30 minutes, so we'll see"
Me: "Thanks"
That was it. My wife got the picture, from her Iphone (that's what confused Kris) and the whole thing was over. I stood stunned for a couple of minutes, then the tears started. Those of you who know me are not moved by this; I've been known to cry during television commercials, but I was moved. The William Blake thing was a bit of a fib as I haven't taught Songs of Innocence and Experience for four years, but I wanted to say something that would reveal my profound knowledge of KK's life. So he went into the gated area and we went back to get another beer and a good spot for the performance, which was a good thing.
Kris came on a stage and fiddled with his guitar for a few seconds (there was feedback) and then he tried to sing over the sound of the car races happening a quarter mile away. Now I know it's mildly sacrilegious to say so, but the man could never sing anyway. This isn't as damning a claim as it may appear. The list of singer songwriters who I love, who can't really sing isn't that short: Dylan, Todd Snider, Tom Waits (though in his case, it's intentional), etc. Alright, maybe it is short, but it's not unheard of. In any case, KK tried to sing over the cars and the feedback and a crowd that was talking a lot, and what do you think he played. For his second song, for the first time in a long time, "Junkie and a Juicehead" made the list. This song has five or six of the greatest lines in lyrical history in it:
"So I drank the whole thing over, puttin one and two together and it added up to more of what I didn't want to be"
"He says every empty bottle is his private crystal ball, where he stares into the future finding nothin there at all"
Check it out below and call me a liar if it's not as perfect as I claim.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZU359hdM1w
So he plays the song, not well, missing some of the lyrics, looking unsure, and he finishes, saying: "I wasn't gonna play that song today but somebody out there requested it" And my wife screams, "It was us" and I scream "thank you", and the tears roll again. He finishes with "Moment of Forever" and all I can do is hug my wife, kiss the back of her head and thank God I'm here right now, today.
In the end, that's mostly what I took away from the day--my wife is awesome. Who else would get this excited about meeting a guy my parents' age whose name doesn't even register for most people our age? Who would stand for an hour with me at the back of a warehouse because I'm convinced that that's where Kris will be coming in? Who else would go to this show with me, knowing me, understanding that they will be selling beer? It's been a lucky week, decade, perhaps even life. My second grade teacher, Mrs. Shimizu, gave me a certificate at the end of the year naming me "most likely to be happy-go-lucky" and I have no idea how she knew, but she was dead on.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
The Rapture
I get one or two epiphanies a year, moments of higher brain function than my normal high school teaching slog requires, coming almost always at the end of a semester or on a break from the grind when my mind is otherwise unoccupied. Epiphany is a strange thing, equal parts inspiration and ephemera, but I had to share this:
End of the world movies and stories are not the self-fulfilling prophecies of a species lucid enough to know it's killing itself and the planet, but too drunk to care. Rather, they are a very perverse kind of wish, a certain desire to have every trapping of modern life, the cars, the toys, the clothes, the food, the shit, without quite so many people. That's how fucked up we are as a species. We know it's the cars that are killing us, so we rationalize that if there were simply fewer of us, we could all drive Hummers. Think about it for a second, all the disaster movies (from Zombieland to The Road, the comic to the tragic) have this thing is common--not everyone dies. This was the most absurd part of I Am Legend, the part that made it so much less appealing than Omega Man. The later ends with mother and son survivors finding a "safe-town", complete with white church steeple, suburban streets and plenty of gun and ammo. The message is clear--there was nothing wrong with the way we were living, there were just too many of us.
Disaster films suggest that all we really need to do is find some way of killing off 99% of the world's population, after which, we can go back to eating bacon and watching Shrek. Sure it's a heavy price to pay for the 99%, but they'll either go quickly, or turn to zombies and wouldn't we really rather be dead at that point anyway? Fuck population control, sustainable energy, cleaning up the rivers and lakes, getting rid of nuclear waste, what we really need is a bad mutant virus to escape from a secret government lab. Sure, there will be the unpleasant period of time when we are eating each other and cooking babies, but it will pass and there will be a family, complete with dog, who live in the woods to take us in. Then we can start all over.
This shit we feed ourselves is not some masochistic, self-flagellation we have imposed on ourselves; it's our escape plan. Deep in our American psyche lie buried a simple thought: the freeways and the planes and the "food" we eat would all be fine if there were far fewer drivers, fliers and buffet lines. God forbid we should examine whether in fact we are living the good life. It's far easier to imagine, long for, a hundred different calamities that could do for us what we are too fat, too stupid and too lazy to do for ourselves. At the end of the day, what we see in disaster movies is what we truly want--99 out of 100 of our fellow earthlings to die. It beats giving up the Lexus.
End of the world movies and stories are not the self-fulfilling prophecies of a species lucid enough to know it's killing itself and the planet, but too drunk to care. Rather, they are a very perverse kind of wish, a certain desire to have every trapping of modern life, the cars, the toys, the clothes, the food, the shit, without quite so many people. That's how fucked up we are as a species. We know it's the cars that are killing us, so we rationalize that if there were simply fewer of us, we could all drive Hummers. Think about it for a second, all the disaster movies (from Zombieland to The Road, the comic to the tragic) have this thing is common--not everyone dies. This was the most absurd part of I Am Legend, the part that made it so much less appealing than Omega Man. The later ends with mother and son survivors finding a "safe-town", complete with white church steeple, suburban streets and plenty of gun and ammo. The message is clear--there was nothing wrong with the way we were living, there were just too many of us.
Disaster films suggest that all we really need to do is find some way of killing off 99% of the world's population, after which, we can go back to eating bacon and watching Shrek. Sure it's a heavy price to pay for the 99%, but they'll either go quickly, or turn to zombies and wouldn't we really rather be dead at that point anyway? Fuck population control, sustainable energy, cleaning up the rivers and lakes, getting rid of nuclear waste, what we really need is a bad mutant virus to escape from a secret government lab. Sure, there will be the unpleasant period of time when we are eating each other and cooking babies, but it will pass and there will be a family, complete with dog, who live in the woods to take us in. Then we can start all over.
This shit we feed ourselves is not some masochistic, self-flagellation we have imposed on ourselves; it's our escape plan. Deep in our American psyche lie buried a simple thought: the freeways and the planes and the "food" we eat would all be fine if there were far fewer drivers, fliers and buffet lines. God forbid we should examine whether in fact we are living the good life. It's far easier to imagine, long for, a hundred different calamities that could do for us what we are too fat, too stupid and too lazy to do for ourselves. At the end of the day, what we see in disaster movies is what we truly want--99 out of 100 of our fellow earthlings to die. It beats giving up the Lexus.
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