When I hear music, I slightly bob my head and often drum my fingers. I like all kinds of music and depending on the mood, the genre could range from “country to hard rock”. I am a runner and the thread mill requires the highest of upbeat music, as the beat is transferred into my effort. I used to listen to rap and enjoyed the beat, but unfortunately, most modern rap has regressed to vulgarity and profanation. I certainly don’t want to expose my kids to music that glorifies disrespect and a life of crime.
Recently, I have found myself listening to old 70’s songs. They are easy to sing along with and many are just fun. Thank goodness for XM radio, now I can pick any genre at any time and enjoy it all. If you really want a fun taste of the 70’s, you must see Mamma Mia! the recent smash hit musical based on the songs of ABBA.
One of my fondest memories of music is really more of a recent discovery. My dad has a group of buddies that are quite talented. They look a bit haggard in their overalls and work boots. Most of them enjoy a taste from the bottle and to be honest, likely personify what many would call, “rednecks, hillbillies or hicks”. I was amazed one night as they started pulling banjos, guitars, and fiddles from their trucks. These old men circled around and after a minute of tuning up, started “pickin”, the sound was almost hypnotic. I was amazed that these old guys had such talent, not a single one had a sheet of music and I doubt any of them ever had a formal music class. They smoothly rolled into song after song with casual ease, reminding me that this was certainly a work of art that took years and years to perfect.
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Africa...Continent...Images...
When I think of Africa, I think of it as a continent. I have had the privilege of working and living with a group of South African men that were much more in likeness to the Australians and British. This is explained somewhat by the large Dutch and British influence/control of the region during the 1800s. Even today, English is the predominate language in South Africa. Australia is close to South Africa and its influence is obvious. In fact, many middle and upper class families have fled to Australia in the past 10-15 years due to the extreme violence that has followed the post apartheid government.
In comparison, Egypt is to the northeast and is quite different from the 4th world countries that make up the vast of Africa; in fact there are 33 4th world countries in Africa. This is the poorest region in the world. In contrast, Egypt is fairly prosperous, with gleaming cities and large cultural centers. The government is extremely stable and peace is the norm. Egypt is considered one of the oldest of civilizations.
In summary, I consider Africa very much a continent with fascinating differences in the countries that make up that continent. The size of the continent is second only to Asia. The geography is varied, ranging from tropical to subarctic, with vast deserts in between. Its wildlife and jungles has been the backdrop for thousands of movies. As a boy, one of my favorite shows was Tarzan. Africa will always be known for its slave trading history, the television documentaries on lions, elephants, and other wild African animals, the diamond trade and for sports fans, the 2007 Rugby World Cup.
When I hear the word “Africa”, I think about the chaos, the starvation, the wars, and the corrupt government that dominates most of Africa today. Of course, the peaceful and productive countries are not news worthy by modern media standards, so it is the ugliness that we see on TV and in print. I also think about my good friends from Africa that have seen the country of South Africa tumble from one of the most productive and peaceful countries in the world to the most dangerous place to live.
Kevin
In comparison, Egypt is to the northeast and is quite different from the 4th world countries that make up the vast of Africa; in fact there are 33 4th world countries in Africa. This is the poorest region in the world. In contrast, Egypt is fairly prosperous, with gleaming cities and large cultural centers. The government is extremely stable and peace is the norm. Egypt is considered one of the oldest of civilizations.
In summary, I consider Africa very much a continent with fascinating differences in the countries that make up that continent. The size of the continent is second only to Asia. The geography is varied, ranging from tropical to subarctic, with vast deserts in between. Its wildlife and jungles has been the backdrop for thousands of movies. As a boy, one of my favorite shows was Tarzan. Africa will always be known for its slave trading history, the television documentaries on lions, elephants, and other wild African animals, the diamond trade and for sports fans, the 2007 Rugby World Cup.
When I hear the word “Africa”, I think about the chaos, the starvation, the wars, and the corrupt government that dominates most of Africa today. Of course, the peaceful and productive countries are not news worthy by modern media standards, so it is the ugliness that we see on TV and in print. I also think about my good friends from Africa that have seen the country of South Africa tumble from one of the most productive and peaceful countries in the world to the most dangerous place to live.
Kevin
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Images and my kids.
My little girl was and is still camera happy. She loves to have her photo taken and it is always with some devilish grin or quirky smile. But as a baby she was sweet and innocent and void of driving her mother so crazy with antics that she probably inherited from me.
From the images, there is a father watching his child on the bed. That photo reminded me of a picture that my wife snapped one Sunday morning as I lay in bed with Megan (spelled backwards for Nag em!) in my arms. My little girl sucking on a bottle and looking at my face like babies do. It is a picture that I treasure very much. When I look at it sometimes, I am reminded at how young we both were.
Kevin
From the images, there is a father watching his child on the bed. That photo reminded me of a picture that my wife snapped one Sunday morning as I lay in bed with Megan (spelled backwards for Nag em!) in my arms. My little girl sucking on a bottle and looking at my face like babies do. It is a picture that I treasure very much. When I look at it sometimes, I am reminded at how young we both were.
Kevin
Images, childhood...that masked bandit
Blog assignment: What memories did the images remind me of in my childhood?
The photo of the two kids that have paint on their faces reminded me of an afternoon that I had with my younger sister. It was in the fall and we were around 9 and 10 years old.
In the afternoons we would sneak to the store and buy a piece of penny bubble gum. On this particular afternoon we had completed our convert operation and as always we were taking a short cut back home. As we cut through Mr. Aycock’s side yard, I noticed a wonderful bush that was loaded with the most colorful flowers. Against my better judgment and my sister’s wishes, I picked the biggest one. We took off in a hurry, I knew that it would be only moments before I was caught and my dad notified. The thought of my dad being called sent terror through my little bones. None the less we made it almost home and an odd looking fellow with a camera around his neck stopped us and asked us what we were doing. We were just little kids and felt compelled to stand and answer his questions. I told him that we were just walking home from Mr. Aycock’s where he gave us this nice flower. The man with the camera asked if he could take our picture and in those days it seemed the cool thing to do. But, there was a voice deep inside of me that argued with my easy going nature and that voice told me that trouble might be looming.
It just so happens that my class had made face masks that day in art class. Perhaps it was a Halloween project, I don’t remember. It was basically a piece of paper with two eye holes and a string attached that served as my face mask strap. It was brightly colored with the best that Crayola offered in the early 1970s.
As the camera man began to focus his camera I reached in my pocket and put my mask on, surely this would protect me from identification. A few minutes later we were home and I soon forgot the entire incident.
A few days later, my grandmother called my mom and to our surprise she told my mother that I had somehow gotten myself and my sister in the weekly paper. My mother went out and bought the paper and sure enough there was a big picture of me and my sister with that stolen flower in the paper. Of course the malicious crime spree was recorded for the entire county; however, I wasn’t thinking of such a large audience, I was only thinking of the one person that was sure to read the paper when he got home from work and that thought petrified me. Funny thing, I can’t remember what actually happened when my dad found out what I had done; I guess my moment of fame surpassed the memory of dad’s reaction.
A few years ago my grandmother died. My sister and I were going through her stuff, helping my mother sort through a lifetime collection of trinkets, do-dads and such. “Ma-Ma” had an old bible that was read many times, I was casually shifting through it and that old yellowed newspaper clipping of the flower bandit was found in her bible. My grandmother’s death naturally saddened us, but this discovery and the memory of that day as kids made my sister and I laugh so hard. Of course we still blame the other for the misgiven deed, but it was a refreshing break in an otherwise stressful day. It was almost like the seed of that flower had been planted by our grandmother for such an occasion.
Kevin
The photo of the two kids that have paint on their faces reminded me of an afternoon that I had with my younger sister. It was in the fall and we were around 9 and 10 years old.
In the afternoons we would sneak to the store and buy a piece of penny bubble gum. On this particular afternoon we had completed our convert operation and as always we were taking a short cut back home. As we cut through Mr. Aycock’s side yard, I noticed a wonderful bush that was loaded with the most colorful flowers. Against my better judgment and my sister’s wishes, I picked the biggest one. We took off in a hurry, I knew that it would be only moments before I was caught and my dad notified. The thought of my dad being called sent terror through my little bones. None the less we made it almost home and an odd looking fellow with a camera around his neck stopped us and asked us what we were doing. We were just little kids and felt compelled to stand and answer his questions. I told him that we were just walking home from Mr. Aycock’s where he gave us this nice flower. The man with the camera asked if he could take our picture and in those days it seemed the cool thing to do. But, there was a voice deep inside of me that argued with my easy going nature and that voice told me that trouble might be looming.
It just so happens that my class had made face masks that day in art class. Perhaps it was a Halloween project, I don’t remember. It was basically a piece of paper with two eye holes and a string attached that served as my face mask strap. It was brightly colored with the best that Crayola offered in the early 1970s.
As the camera man began to focus his camera I reached in my pocket and put my mask on, surely this would protect me from identification. A few minutes later we were home and I soon forgot the entire incident.
A few days later, my grandmother called my mom and to our surprise she told my mother that I had somehow gotten myself and my sister in the weekly paper. My mother went out and bought the paper and sure enough there was a big picture of me and my sister with that stolen flower in the paper. Of course the malicious crime spree was recorded for the entire county; however, I wasn’t thinking of such a large audience, I was only thinking of the one person that was sure to read the paper when he got home from work and that thought petrified me. Funny thing, I can’t remember what actually happened when my dad found out what I had done; I guess my moment of fame surpassed the memory of dad’s reaction.
A few years ago my grandmother died. My sister and I were going through her stuff, helping my mother sort through a lifetime collection of trinkets, do-dads and such. “Ma-Ma” had an old bible that was read many times, I was casually shifting through it and that old yellowed newspaper clipping of the flower bandit was found in her bible. My grandmother’s death naturally saddened us, but this discovery and the memory of that day as kids made my sister and I laugh so hard. Of course we still blame the other for the misgiven deed, but it was a refreshing break in an otherwise stressful day. It was almost like the seed of that flower had been planted by our grandmother for such an occasion.
Kevin
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Art America
I think that the arts have a significant place in American culture. I don’t necessarily think that art has greatly influenced America. We really are not a society that places a high emphasis on art, at least not the general population. Our society focuses more on hard work and the rewards that work can bring a family. With that said, I think that most Americans appreciate art more than art influences them. We enjoy going to the art museum on occasion, maybe grab a show at the theater or even go to a concert at times. But, we don’t spend time considering the value that art adds to our community. I have jokingly told many of my friends that the best piece of art in Raleigh is the enormous statue of Jesus in the Memorial Gardens Cemetery at 7200 Glenwood Ave. It is certainly the only piece that the city council hasn’t taken an argument for or against. Perhaps, that is why North Carolina’s capital city has very little public art.
One particular art form that reveals the heart of America is music. Americans love music more than any form of art available. It is cheap, easy to attain and the genres are almost infinite. American music is a multi-billion dollar transnational form of art. In every part of the world, the one piece of American art that is on every street corner, restaurant, T.V, and radio is American music. It may not be the dominating style of music in other countries, but it is definitely influential and prevalent. In fact, American music likely affects foreign youth more than any other influence.
After reading some of Dissanayake, I wonder if American sports are to be considered a form of art. Ocho Cinco, Rodman, T.O. and others certainly make an interesting case. Are these guys more than players, are they artists? Dissanayake points out that, “art and play share many salient characteristics, and it is understandable how some of the functional and emotional values of play have frequently been assigned to art”. Hmmm, I am still on the fence with this opinion.
Kevin
One particular art form that reveals the heart of America is music. Americans love music more than any form of art available. It is cheap, easy to attain and the genres are almost infinite. American music is a multi-billion dollar transnational form of art. In every part of the world, the one piece of American art that is on every street corner, restaurant, T.V, and radio is American music. It may not be the dominating style of music in other countries, but it is definitely influential and prevalent. In fact, American music likely affects foreign youth more than any other influence.
After reading some of Dissanayake, I wonder if American sports are to be considered a form of art. Ocho Cinco, Rodman, T.O. and others certainly make an interesting case. Are these guys more than players, are they artists? Dissanayake points out that, “art and play share many salient characteristics, and it is understandable how some of the functional and emotional values of play have frequently been assigned to art”. Hmmm, I am still on the fence with this opinion.
Kevin
Saturday, September 13, 2008
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