20 December 2006

The Quiet...

A few years ago, I was reading George Carlin's book Brain Droppings, and he had a fascinating tidbit in there about the noise of the world now and the world little more than one hundred years ago. He mentioned that one hundred years ago, there were no cell phones, no televisions, no satellites, no internet, no radio. Today there are waves of nearly every form and frequency flowing through the air and through our very bodies. Constantly. We are ceaselessly bombarded now. One hundred years ago there was nothing. Complete silence. No wonder disappearing into the high California mountains has always felt so healing and clean (despite the usual company I was with.)

This thought came back to me the other day as I was getting my morning dosage of my unfortunate addiction. At the gas station, pumping through the speakers that freezing morning, was music. A radio station is on for all to hear. It occurred to me that not all too long ago, one would rarely hear music on a daily basis. At least not as we do today.

From every direction and angle, music is piped into our lives. There is now no longer a corner of our world free of music. That is not to say music is in any way a bad thing. Humans have always not only enriched their lives through music, but have used music to help define it. But now, the overuse of music has diminished its impact, leaving it trivial and empty.

Perhaps this is evidence of a different situation altogether. Having all this music around to accentuate our lives is creating something. We now can have our own personal soundtracks as it were. As though one's life is a movie (which many dream it could be), background music can emphasize, accentuate, or even change our moods. One may envelop themselves into a world of their own creation. Well, not exactly their own creation, as the music is composed (or, more frequently, manufactured as I tend to call it) by those not even remotely connected to them.

Individuals seem to now close themselves off from the world more frequently and quite voluntarily. They see and hear only what they wish to. The true reality that they are in fact touching, smelling, and hearing, is being shunned for their own preferences. A music player always in their ears and colored sunglasses in front of their eyes, they drown out the world around them to instead feel what they have carefully filtered and adulterated. The sense of distinction between what is actual versus notional, as well as the feelings of connection to what naturally encompasses us all, dull to the point of numbness.

The topic of this sort of self-absorbtion is one on which I shall assuredly return. While I am a strong believer in the idea that the individual human will is the single strongest force we know in this world, I also fall into what is simply a truth; that we are not alone and that we are inherently social creatures. The soul of a single person grows from its interactions with others, and it is this collection that creates a community, allowing us to achieve more than any one person could ever possibly do.

And that last paragraph gave me a whole other set of ideas to play with. Toodles~

13 December 2006

Dvorak...

I've recently decided to try a little experiment. On my old PowerBook, I have decided to rearrange the keyboard. It now has the Dvorak Simplified Keyboard layout. I'm still quite slow on it, but I only just changed the keys last night. It does feel like a more natural way of typing the English language.

For those who don't know, here is what the Dvorak keyboard looks like:

The main principle behind its design were to make one's fingers alternate between vowels on the left hand and the heavily used consonants on the right hand. I'm actually typing this entry using this system, and I can already tell the difference. So far I think the hardest change is the 'L' key.

I have had an interest in the Dvorak system ever since I was little. I remember reading an article about it in US News and World report and being mystified by the fact the QWERTY keyboard was designed to slow a typer down. What boggled my mind even more was that people didn't switch to a better keyboard with the creation of the electric typewriter or the personal computer. So I've always had an inclination try it out, and now that I have an abundance of computer gear I figured I'd be able to learn without interfering with others' work.

While seeking the settings for this different setup, I came across this article which had apparently been originally published almost exactly one century after the invention of the first typewriter. It shows some of the research Dr Dvorak of the University of Washington, Seattle did. It is quite a fascinating read. For a little more information, I also read the Dvorak keyboard entry at Wikipedia.

So far, I like the way this works. Besides, what can it hurt? It's not like learning this new system means I'll suddenly forget how to type the other way. With each new musical instrument I get under my fingers, I'm still able to play my saxes with no trouble. I highly recommend this experiment to anyone if they have time enough without anything urgent on their plate.

Ta~

29 November 2006

My Wandering Mind...

This I Believe is a fascinating program. It is just a three-minute essay written by anyone and everyone about what they see in the world and the things that form their beliefs. I plan to keep reading and listening to what I can, so as to inspire me to write as well.

It seems an unfortunate thing that I cannot access my blogs here at work anymore, for whatever reason. Nearly every day, something triggers my mind to fire into contemplation, but it has nowhere to go. Granted, it is difficult in itself to find a long enough span of time free to spend writing out a complete thought, but I would prefer to have access to what tools I need in order to write.

Of course, the computer is a very poor writing tool for me. I do all my work at the computer. I have most of my forms of entertainment at the computer. And these days I now have the majority of my communications over internet connections. So a computer has become a rather distracting device in my world.

At any given moment, I can tab over to a different program, changing my entire thought. My thoughts are disjunct due to the availability of media in the same space. Because of this, my concentration is not what it could or should be. What's worse is that it has ingrained itself to an involuntary action. Like a nervous tick, I look away or switch screens. I dare not hold onto a single sight or idea too long, apparently.

My life does not appear to hold time enough for me anymore. Writings are left unwritten, instruments are not practiced, and projects fall to the wayside. The actions I take are dictated by the whims and wills of everyone else. At work, I get called in for immediate action. At home, my son and my wife take attention away from my inner thoughts. Even when the others are taken care of, there are maintenance duties that I have to perform around the house if they are to be done.

I just had a brief moment here at work where I could write. And just like some chaotic clockwork, I am called to duty in the middle of a thought, so the thought is now gone. Until the timing of a thought and writing collide again, I bid you all adieu~

02 November 2006

O those kooky Christians...

As of late, I seem to have run into more than my standard share of kooky Christians. Now, before I begin, I would like to let it be known that I have nothing against Christians who go about their business in society, regularly worship, and whose faith actually improves their lives. I am not a Christian, or even a religious man in any doctrinal or organized sense. But my respect is always given for those who believe differently and can still think others are good people.

My respect, it hardly needs to be mentioned, is not reserved for those whose faith removes them from civility. The first recent episode to get me on this line of thinking came a few weeks ago. The world, it seems, shrinks to an incredible size sometimes. As I was walking back into a grocery store in Coon Rapids, Minnesota, someone I had just walked past called out to me. I didn't recognize him at first, but he apparently recognized me. The man who got my attention was someone I not only went to high school with, but was also a fellow bandmate of mine! Of all the curious things to happen to me, this was by far one of the less likely.

Speaking with him briefly, it turned out he was out in this area on mission for his church. And for that reason, this incredible coincidence went sour. He took the opportunity of speaking with someone from his hometown over two thousand miles away in order to try to sell Christ to me. I told him that it was unnecessary, but that it would be great if he had the time to stop by for a spot of tea and to chat and catch up a bit. I left him my number and we parted ways, for I had ten pounds of beef in my hands I had to return. It haunted me a little that he went into his spiel on 'talking to me about Christ', the apparent randomness of our meeting being lost, but I shrugged it off. I was not expecting to hear from him again, and left the incident to stand alone as an odd little memory in my mind.

About a week later, I did wind up getting a phone call from him. Once again, he brought up the idea of coming to my home in order to talk to me about Christ. I told him again it was unnecessary; that I was not a Christian and that it held no appeal for me. It was about at this point, I gave up on the idea of meeting with him again to talk about things other than religion. He had some very kinds words to say about his recollection of me from band, and I had quite nice things to say about him and his brother in return (for I knew his brother better than I knew him). We bid each other farewell, and it would seem that we will never speak again.

It saddened me to think that his religion kept him from taking up an opportunity to speak with someone based on a lucky random chance. I'm sure that it was partly due to him being out here to accomplish this duty of his. But my problem with this incident still remains. I was quite looking forward to speaking with him over a cup of tea, being a proper host, and thoroughly soaking in conversing with someone hailing from the same town and now in the same area of the world as I. Unfortunately, it was not meant to be. I say unfortunate, because it seems to be that his faith and views on his purpose in this world stopped him from engaging in a simple pleasantry with his fellow man and former schoolmate. It was a shameful loss, in my opinion.

The second occasion that prompted me on this line of thought came at Halloween. We took our son around the neighborhood for the very first time trick-or-treating from our new house. Everyone in the neighborhood was positively grand, and by the time we got to them, quite generous with their remaining candy. One house we stopped at had a kind gentleman handing out little goody bags, with candy and toy money and a little book. When we got home and inspected the good stuff Austin collected, it turned out that goody bag had an ulterior motive.

First we noticed the million dollar bill that came in the bag, and I originally thought it to be a fun idea for a 'trick' gift. Upon further inspection, however, it became obvious this was not simply a fun thing. Written along the edge of the bill, in tiny writing, were lines attempting to forcefully, and in a rather misguided fashion, spread the word of Christ. It opened with text about the sin of lust and pleasures of the flesh and how to reject those evils by following some church's teachings of Christ. The other object in the now cruel gift was a small booklet on tips for memorizing the Ten Commandments and how they should be considered in one's life.

The implications of all this did not hit me at first. I had long been used to being of foreign thought among Christians and having to thoughtlessly toss away the self-proclaimed truths they attempted to sell to me. There has never been a moment of my life that I could not see those ancient myths as just that, myth, and that all the 'truths' attempted to be taught to me could be torn apart by logical reasoning. (Though that is not to say if there could ever have been a meeting between Jesus Christ and Socrates that I would not have been in attendance.) So unfortunately I just tore up and threw away those unpleasant gifts given to my son (hence the lack of citation in this post.)

It was my wife who saw this neighbor's gift as a great indiscretion, and leave it to a mother's instincts to find actual truths in this world. These were not handouts for me, they were directed at my three year old son! Attempting to give messages to a child so new and innocent in this world about lust and sin is truly a horrid act. To this man, ensuring the perpetuation of his own views far outweighs a child remaining innocent in this world. Heaven (apparently) forbid people to be naive to evil, no matter how young they may be.

This is only a small sample of the many examples of why religion never stuck with me. Not only do so many viewpoints touted by religious institutions disregard or turn a blind eye to logic and evidence and science, but to general pleasantries and kindness to those who think differently. Of course, this is not the vast majority of those with faith in this world, and to them and their generosity in my life, I will be forever thankful. But it seems that all major western belief systems have those too-large-to-ignore fringes who would readily be soldiers for their faith, to the point of being against their fellow countrymen and even neighbors.

This fringe, it must be noted, would be utterly impossible for me to police. By me, I mean the secular, civil world. I can do nothing for these people, for my words would be from the mouth of a heathen and be immediately disregarded. It is for the members of their respective faiths, to which the fringe claims to belong, to police. I know it is difficult for those moderate and civil religious members of society to do, as they would much prefer to distance themselves and not make it their own problem.

My small rant here has gone on long enough, and has been a wandering mess of thought over many days. I think the general thought is these sorted situations weigh negatively on my soul. It is so unfortunate that for some, the concept of acceptance and civility towards those who may even think directly opposite does not exist. They will never have peace in their lives. I suppose it is all well and good for them, as they believe they are doing the right thing and though they will never know contentment in this life, they believe they will in their next one, so it is a tolerable condition.

It also hurts me that those who know of my ideas and work their lives to change my ideas. I do nothing to them except personally disagree, yet still they try. I fear that these regular barrages may harden my soul, turning it rough and bitter. I live my life by the view that though I may not be a religious man, I am still wholly capable of being a moral man. Goodness is a logical product of thoughts on potential actions. I try to be moral because it makes sense to be so, not because I am threaten to do so or I am to be rewarded in a way my current life will never experience. To me, this is the only life I will ever get, so why waste it on the fouler things?

Take care, folks~

27 October 2006

The music of my past...

Last night, I had a bit of time to myself and went searching through my music library. First, I was looking for Bach's Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring, so I put 'Jesu' in the search field. Now, it turns out I don't have that exact piece, but what came up was an excerpt of the colonial chorale When Jesus Wept from my American Music class. After listening through that piece that has a sound so distinctively American to me now, I had the inkling to then search for 'New England'.

What popped up was Ives' Three Pieces from New England and Schuman's New England Triptych. It was for the Triptych that I was looking, for it was the most amazing set of works I ever played in high school. I still feel like I know those pieces inside and out; we rehearsed them and tore them down and rebuilt them so thoroughly. We then performed that set, along with other works, for the state conference on music education in California in my junior year. I still have the program we displayed for our performance, because I used that for signatures as opposed to a yearbook.

I'm not quite certain why the music activated my memory so vividly last night. A whole flood of semi-dormant memories came back to me, and they still are this morning. Now that my thoughts are in that section of my mind, I can recall sitting in the band room, watching my favorite teacher conduct the Euphonium portion of the chorale from When Jesus Wept, the middle movement of the Triptych. That moment was such as special place and time, a small portion of a great thing I was a part of while being educated in music under that teacher (who I miss a great deal).

I think that what helped to bring all this to the fore in my mind is that I'm working in a school with kids just starting out on their instruments. It's bringing me back to my own beginnings in music, of which there have been many. And so with that weighing on my mind, and then hearing the Triptych, it all came back to me. I, of course, had no concept of how truly special that band program was at the time, but since leaving it and encountering so many others, my old band had a quality and caliber rarely seen elsewhere.

I very much want to give that same kind of experience to these kids here. Granted, these aren't high schoolers who have been playing at least four years prior to arriving, but I can at least get them all started on the proper footing. It's thrown my aspirations for a bit of a loop, as through much of college I had decided I would rather pursue a career in teaching government and history, rather than music. And keeping with that allowed me to graduate sooner and begin my life with my family.

But now, it's getting hazy. I'm working the technology end at an arts school which puts me in cahoots with music teachers more than anyone else. And starting in January, the jazz band will be under my direction alone. My work experience and my minor have been invaluable to me, and my full degree has done little more than put me in a higher pay scale (nothing to sneeze at, of course). At least I know that in some capacity I want to be a proper school teacher, and that will come in time. It is just that who and what I would be teaching has become less clear. What keeps recurring is the feeling that as music and band have always been not only so important to me, but such an integral part of me, and I think has done nothing but made me a better person, that I want to make sure it is given to kids forever more.

For still today, even at a school for the arts, the importance specifically of music is completely underappreciated. In nearly any study taken at any given school, those schools with proper music programs have students who are better disciplined and have a higher capacity for learning than those schools without. Just another item on my list of things to change or improve in the United States, and I swear, it seems the section on education keeps getting longer.

Ta~

04 September 2006

What's wrong with modern schoolbooks...

For some time I've been meaning to scribe on the topic of modern textbooks. Having just completed my four-year degree, I've run into a plethora of different makes and styles. Though, I will readily admit, as I progressed I stopped purchasing books that weren't absolutely necessary. But I digress.

On the cover of the Saturday 19 August 2006 Wall Street Journal was an article on textbook manufacturers using able-bodied children to pose as handicapped to fill their percentage quotas for diversity. While this is certainly an appalling practice, it is unfortunately not surprising in the slightest. I think we all know that American society is regularly working to cram diversity into every place without so-called proper representation, even when the debate should not even have arisen. However, I think there is a far more deep and dire problem that is being allowed to become commonplace and unnoticed.

By the fourth paragraph of the article, the problem to which I am alluding is mentioned: "In recent years, the quest to meet these targets [quotas] has ratcheted to a higher level as technological improvements enable publishers to customize books for individual states, and as photos and illustrations take up more textbook space." The underlining is my added emphasis, and I believe is the bigger problem. When text space is taken up for a sidebar or illustration, information is lost. The idea that a picture is worth a thousand words does not apply when trying to convey specific and accurate ideas.

Cracking open a new textbook during my last semester of college, this idea was driven home. The book looked less like an actual written work, and more like a multimedia presentation. When I would read through a chapter, I found half a thought on the bottom of one page and the rest on the following page. The reason the thought could not be completed on the first page was that the top seventy-five percent of the page was taken up by an insert with a large photograph and a complete aside from the topic in the main text. What was worst was the fact that the insert was where my eye was drawn (as it was designed to do) and my train of thought on the main meaningful text was lost. Reading this textbook was tantamount to watching television while attempting to study. All this was no mere isolated incident; all new books are published in the same way.

This condition was also mentioned in the article by professor and writer Diane Ravitch. There is also a nasty consequence brought up in the article coming from the combining of a mixed-media format and forced diversity: loss of history. To make room for the pictures and the specific numbers of people from different backgrounds, other important events and dates fall to the wayside. While I do not obviously speak for everyone, I do feel that any loss of factual information from history limits what we may learn from our predecessors' actions and wisdoms.

While attending my dear friend's recital, I had a chance to peruse a used book sale outside the library of San Jose State. There I found a wonderful old book. It was a gradeschooler's textbook on the famous men of Rome. Best part of all, the text was over one hundred years old. Actually, the best part had to have been the fact the book had actual continuing text throughout. There were very few pictures interjected, and they never interrupted the flow of the writing. It was sweet and simplistic a delightful read. I truly believe that having to read through entire pages of English strengthens not only a child's abilities in the language, but trains them to sit through a full thought. Attention spans would be lengthened. What an amazing concept, no?

So my point here has become quite evident. But from one last testimonial of my own, the best books I have ever taken to heart have been ones with pure, clear language and contained no other form of input. In fact, my best schoolbooks have not been textbooks at all. They were normal books, with opinionated authors and conflicting points of view. Then our interpretations could be brought to a discussion and the knowledge of the works would deepen. 'Twas a beautiful thing, and I do believe that this practice could be brought to younger ages, making them more complete and thoughtful people.

26 August 2006

User Pics







17 August 2006

It begins anew...

While still unemployed and most of my spare time spent with my family, I do plan to start keeping up with the news again and posting my thoughts and ideas. I've been quite out of it since I graduated, having only used the minor of my degree, and even that for an all too brief time.

The Amphitheater has always been a project of mine. What originally inspired me was the wonderful grassy amphitheater next to the music department of CSU Stanislaus. Early on in my studies there, I had a lot of downtime while flailing about, trying to find what I wanted to do with myself. So after late evenings spent practicing and working, I would wander out onto the stage and think of the ancients. I would imagine how the world worked with no electricy, no visual media, no amplification of any kind, and still a person could stand before others and hold them attentive to their every syllable. The greatest of deeds can only be accomplished when great words are attached to them.

Anyway, I hear Austin running the faucet too much. I'll find something to write about later.

~Evan