There are a lot of things I dont understand about US television, though. Why are there so many cop shows? Are we so obsessed with murder that we have to make it a constant form of entertainment? I realize that a large percentage of these shows arent even violent, they’re just boring. How many pseudo-profound things can David Constantine say before Pete Townsend screams? I have to admit that I sometimes watch CSI:Miami just to see Emily Procter, but that doesnt indicate that I’d like to spend two hours every night watching her on TV. Have we run out of interesting story lines that dont involve death, kidnapping or emergency rooms?

If we have to continue with the theme, could we do a western version?

CSI: The Early Years - Starring Tom Selleck as Cuss McKinley, a crusty ex-lawman who solves crimes as he drifts along the trail. The back story could involve flashbacks of his life as a Marshall/Sheriff and include scenes with his beautiful wife, Belinda (Jessica Biel), who is evidently dead, but we dont know exactly how she died. We only know that it soured Cuss into a tragic figure with a hard fist, a fast gun and a tender side that he doesnt like to show.

Then we could spinoff CSI: The Next Generation, in which Mark Wahlberg plays a no-nonsense police captain in the 23rd century. He has never been married, because he’s in love with the badge. There is a romantic connection between him and a certain woman of questionable repute (Halle Berry), on Delron 5, but it can never go anywhere because he suffers from an incurable disease which could kill him at any time.

Another time we’ll discuss my complete inability to comprehend our preoccupation with reality shows, and my incredulous disbelief that Disney replaced Lizzie McGuire with Hannah Montana.

Meanwhile, enjoy this clip from “Help, Hobo! Help!”

I did one myself. It’s interesting to see the responses I got. Especially since I didnt comment on anyone else’s. People are surprised by some things. Some have suggestions. The majority of people responded by not responding.

What is it that makes us want to open up that kind of can? Is it to impress others? With what? Our openness? All the things we’ve done and experienced? Maybe it’s that we feel disconnected and we want to get plugged in to others who can identify with things on our list.

We are social creatures and a loth of the things we do are to build support systems around ourselves. We joke. We flirt. We volunteer. We interfere. We pry. We take sides. We just need to feel like we belong to something bigger than ourselves.

What a silly notion, when I think about it. We want to feel important. We want to be needed. We want to make a difference, when the reality is that, whether I single handedly wipe out poverty and disease or eorchestrate the murders of sixteen million people, it doesnt make any difference in the universe. The existence of our species is absolutely unnoticeable on a galactic scale. We are insignificant, unless one believes in the eternality of spirits. Then our existence becomes a lot more interesting.

If we are spiritual beings, somehow connected with etenity, then what does this life mean? Is there purpose or are we in some kind of cosmic way station waiting for revelation?

I have, of course already answered these questions but push them your way to make you think. If we are spiritual creatures, then why dont we feel the tug of eternity? If we were more than just a collection of molecules and electrical impulses, wouldnt we have some kind of need to discover our true nature and connect with whatever lies beyond the confines of earthly existence?

On the other hand, if we are not created in some divine image – if we really are nothing but a random result of some coincidence, then doesnt it make sense that none of these things would matter? Why would we search for meaning in life? Why would we have any urge to explore beyond the physical environment? And wouldnt it be the highest arrogance to say to someone else,”You shouldnt do that. It’s wrong.” What makes it wrong?

Without a divine realm, we are free agents flying around the sun once a year, giving birth, giving love, killing, jumping to conclusions. In short, we are meaningless temporal entities who want to believe that we are somehow important to the workings of the cosmos. Without a spiritual connection, we are simply deceiving ourselves.

I happen to believe that we are spiritual beings and we know the truth, but choose to ignore it because acknowledgement of that truth brings responsibility and we dont want any of that.

Instead, we’ll do just about anything to make up for our lacking spiritual lives by overemphasizing the importance of social networks.

Go Facebook and MySpace and YouTube and whatever other means we use to feel more connected. May we all feel better about ourselves together.

Yall have a good day. See you soon.

I’ve been thinking about the relationship of art to art. One thing influences another. For example, consider a fire engine with the number five painted in gold. William Carlos Williams saw one on a rainy night and wrote his poem The Great Figure. It, in turn, directly influenced Charles Demuth in 1928 and Robert Indiana in 1963. Both painted their own interpretations of that piece. WCW’s poem, of course, was the result of some anonymous truck painter’s influence.

How many times has Romeo and Juliet been reinterpreted in one form or another? And wasnt it taken from the Chinese story of the Butterfly Lovers? Okay, so we cant really know that, since Shakespeare’s very existence is still a matter of some debate.

What about the Japanese folk song Sakura, Sakura? Here are some YouTube selections to illustrate what I mean. From the traditional folk song, someone composed a wonderful choral arrangement. Then, who knows how much later, Thelonious Monk did this mui fabuloso jazz interpretation.  Who would have guessed?

Look what Betsy Ross’ design did for Francis Scott Key. Every time her flag goes up, somebody sings his song. No royalties for either of them, but nobody forgets their names.

They say to be a good blogger you need to write every day and have lots of pictures. Hmm…how good am I at either?

Right now I’m watching The Mothman Prophecies. It’s a fun movie. I’ve seen it lots of times, but I still enjoy it. “Wake up number 37.”

I get off on unusual, quirky movies. One of the more recent ones is Wristcutters. It a story about a place people go who commit suicide. It’s no use my trying to explain it or summarize, and I dont really recommend it, unless your tastes go to the strange, trivial and pointless.

The thing is, that’s the direction my tastes often go. I watch them because they were made. Some are a waste of time, others have redeeming qualities. The Mothman Prophecies keeps me interested, I guess, because of the cinematography. It’s innovative and unique. In some ways it reminds me of a David Lynch piece. There’s one scene in which Richard Gere’s character is talking on the phone by a mirror. The reflection moves opposite to his. When his head turns left, the reflection does, too, not to the right like a normal reflection.

Anyway, it’s just a movie and it’s late and I should get to bed…as soon as it’s over.

They ran out of sour cream, so the guy put mayonaise on his burrito. That’s just sick.

Dont you just have to wonder about some people? I know I’m strange, and people tell me so, more or less, but things like that are just not right.

I couldnt tell you the strangest thing I’ve ever done, or the most stupid. At the same time, I cant really name the smartest or the thing I’m most proud of either. There are some really embarrassing things, but I wont share them now.

 This is one of the most enjoyable things I’ve done. It’s a sketch for a painting by Robin Cheers. She lives near the ocean, in Texas and when I saw this little sketch, I just had to get it. Expensive? Perhaps, but no more than some people would spend on a dress or new shoes.

Who was it that said,”A thing of beauty is a joy forever.”? Frost or Shakespeare, maybe Alice Cooper. The thing is, I will be enjoying this lovely thing far longer than any shoes or clothes I’ll ever buy. I have other pieces in my home, as well, and they all bring me a joy that I wouldnt trade for anything. Perhaps I’ll post some lo-res photos another time.

I am plagued by beauty. If given the opportunity, I will gaze, even stare at a thing until it’s embarrassing. It  can be almost like a trance for me to look at a thing, or listen to a voice or well played instrument. I remember the first time I heard Sylvia McNair’s recording of the Pie Jesu from Faure’s requiem. It gave me goosebumps. I played it for an ex-priest and he wept for the beauty of it. (I dont know why he was “ex”, but that isnt important to this story.) What about Rostropovich’s recording of the Bach cello suites! Is there anything more beautiful?

Even food can be an ethereal experience. There is a little restaurant, not far from our home, where they make the best chilaquiles. I can never eat it all, but I chew slowly, letting each bite rest on my tongue for a moment, enjoying all the wonderful layers of flavor.

What about poetry? or writing in general? I love it. William Carlos Williams rocks! Naomi Shihab Nye, Elizabeth Knies, or Seamus Heaney can say things so simply, yet with such dexterity of vocabulary that I find myself thinking about their words long after I’ve put the book down. One of my favorite books is Annie Dillard’s Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. Sure it’s old and odd, but so am I.

Then there are movies – films, if you prefer. Some strike a deep chord while others just entertain, but I am addicted. From last years Ironman to classics from Bergman, Hughes and Ford, there are many that I have to watch over and over.

Who can disregard the internal struggle of Gary Cooper in High Noon? Or Ingrid Thulin as she tries to grasp true faith in Nattvardsgästerna (Winter Light)? Think of the visual beauty of Tran Anh Hung’s Mua he chieu thang dung (Vertical Ray of the Sun)! Of course, there’s the struggle of a man trying to come to terms with limited immortality in Groundhog Day. (Did I just put Groundhog Day in a list of beautiful things? Well, it does feature Andie McDowell and that has to count for something.)

It’s raining. That seems odd to me. The last time I saw rain on Christmas was when we lived in LA. Hmm…We’re back to that California thing again.

While I’m here, I’d like to try and get over to Scottsdale. There are some galleries I’d like to visit and see what kind of work is being shown here.

A friend gave me a disk with a collection of her father’s paintings on it. He lived in California and worked there. He did wonderful work, but it started me thinking again, about California and going out there to paint. Now I’m watching a film titled, “Model Shop”. It was filmed there in 1969.

I miss the hills and trees, and the water, of course. When I lived there I didnt paint. It’s strange, but sometimes I feel a kind of pull, as if there’s a reason for me to go back there.

I know there is none, apart from a desire to paint those hills and stones and the ocean. Still, it is in me.

On winter mornings the floor would be so cold we’d climb out of the bed, grab our clothes and jump back in to put them on. If we’d been outside, we’d stand in front of one of those heaters till the back of our jeans got hot. Then we’d turn around and warm the front. There’s something about the feel of hot jeans against the back of your knees that you just dont forget.

It’s the same for meadowlark’s song.

The front of the house was mostly a broad, covered porch that faced west. On summer days we kids would sit on that porch and talk or sing or make up stories. It was cooler there. Just north of the house was a wide field where nobody ever planted anything. I dont remember any trees there, but meadowlarks would land on the fence, or grasp onto tall weeds, and sing. It’s a lovely little song, which I cant imitate. Still, it’s in my memory.

I suppose it should be called snowcream.

Having Rachel and the kids here is so much fun. I do wish that Michael and Tristan could have come. I’d still like to go out there soon. Maybe I can make the trip for Easter again.