She may not look like much, but she’s got had it where it counts, kid.
Johnny Cash, my all-time favorite recording artist, died the day I turned 21.
I woke up early to read the news before heading to class (I was in training school at this point). I was stationed out in the middle of the Mojave Desert at the time, and Stan the Mad Russian, who was my roommate, and I kept up with the doings of the world via an Earthlink connection. I logged on and brought up the morning news, only to read a headline I wasn’t ready to see.
At age 71, The Man in Black had passed on. Respiratory failure, brought on by diabetes-related complications, had silenced the most iconic of American voices.
Choked up, I called my dad, the man who had introduced me to Johnny Cash as a kid. We talked about his death, his music, and the emptiness that must have plagued him following the passing of his wife June in the spring. Saddened as we were, we didn’t mention the big event in our own lives 21 years earlier, and soon I hung up the phone, got dressed, and went to class.
It’s been an empty three years in American music since Johnny Cash left us. The American V album has compensated a bit, but it’s impossible to fill the void left when that voice, bigger than the sky over Montana, deeper than Lake Superior, and more American than Mt. Rushmore, left when it was silenced early that morning.
I’ll fly a starship across the Universe divide
And when I reach the other side
I’ll find a place to rest my spirit if I can
Perhaps I may become a highwayman again
Or I may simply be a single drop of rain
But I will remain
And I’ll be back again, and again and again and again and again
- Johnny Cash’s verse of “Highwayman” by The Highwaymen
Lately I’ve been disappointed with the quality of my writing here. When I started consistently updating Carriage Return I was writing much more prolifically, and with higher-quality content.
In the recent months it seems that my focus has shifted away from presenting well-reasoned, interesting, and engaging articles to a constant stream of musings and Op-Ed mush. I’m not very much happy with this development, precisely because I want to, if not compartmentalize, at least organize my writing.
I write in three different places, all with completely different purposes and directions. My columns for the Winona Daily News are generally derived from experiences I’ve had which I use to tell a larger story or to illustrate a question or point of meditation. When I originally proposed my “angle,” if you will, to Jerome, my editor, I also made a suggestion that I could act as a sort of inside-the-loop outsider. As a Winona native I know exactly how the town operates and what it is like to live there, but because I haven’t lived there in four years, I’m enough removed from the actual workings of the town to talk about life as an expatriate.
I used to be a somewhat prolific poster on a now-defunct website called Twins Territory. Twins Territory was my first attempt at serious blogging, and although it was about a game (baseball), I felt quite strongly that I made great strides as a writer there, particularly in tailoring my writing to an audience. I also felt what it was like to regularly write columns around 1000 words or more, which is no mean feat for a guy in his mid-twenties holding down a 50-hour a week job (even if I do manage to get some of this writing done at work). To be honest, I felt a little pressure when I was writing there, and I was almost a bit thankful when the Twins started falling out of contention and a big field operation came along which basically finished me as a frequent poster there.
The blogger I most admire is a guy named Aaron Gleeman. I’ve mentioned Aaron a few times in this space before, predominantly in reference to his website. Aaron’s one of the most respected bloggers in the Minnesota Twins community, and he’s been the subject of a profile in Sports Illustrated.
Aaron’s not my hero because he writes about my favorite baseball team, or even because he’s hugely famous in his own niche. Aaron’s a Hero of the Blog because of his ability as a writer to put out over 1000 words a day without fail on subjects which, for a baseball fan, are quite interesting. His opinions are well thought-out, but most importantly, he’s engaging to read, which isn’t an easy task considering how much he has on his plate. He’s also my hero for caring so much about a subject to have built himself up into such a well-respected figure exclusively through his own hard work and perseverance.
If I could be like anyone as a writer, at least in terms of my presence on the Interweb is concerned, I would like to be like Aaron. The scope of Carriage Return is different than that of AaronGleeman.com, but if I could co-opt the quality writing Aaron does into topics I’m interested in, I’d be very pleased with myself.
I never would have expected myself to become a perfectionist like this. For years I was content to do things as well as they needed to be done and then leave them at that, but first culinary school, then the military, awakened the dormant Virgo inside me. There are some things that I demand of myself now that I wouldn’t have even been worried about four years ago, and that is going to translate into a desire to make this blog a more worthwhile read.
This also necessitates me delving into the news more often than I have been of late. I firmly hold to a policy which keeps me from discussing either political or religious views outside of a small circle of individuals, mostly because such discussions tend to have a point of diminishing return which is encountered early in the process. There are plenty of other subjects, equally or perhaps even more interesting, out there to discuss, such as when I posted about the value of preserving a historical landmark like Tiger Stadium in Detroit or the ins and outs of high-speed rail service in the Midwest. I was quite proud of both of those posts when I made them, and they will serve as models for what I hope to bring back to the table in the future.
Short Term Goals
In short, I’m going to start writing over 1000 words, good words, myself in my updates. Anything else isn’t going to satisfy my much longer, and I think that, as a writer, it’s the right direction to go. The added pressure might be tough at first, but I’m trying to make something of myself here. I’m also going to shift the content back from Op-Ed stuff (which I can confine to my WDN column) and to something a bit less personal and more topical.
Long Term Goals
When I first purchased the domain I had a vision that one day I would have my own online blogging community, somewhat in the vein of Twins Territory, though not concerned with baseball. The interplay between the posters and readers at Twins Territory was a huge draw for both sides, and I think it’s much more interesting to read six different articles all in one place, with the same readers contributing feedback on each individual post, then it is to read six individual blogs.
I know quite a few talented writers who I would love to invite into a writer’s community, and I had hoped to structure this site so eventually there would be a wide variety of things to read all in one place. I’m not going to equate the concept to The Huffington Post or anything like quite like that, nor am I going to set a specific timetable. I’m simply stating that this is a direction I’d like to go, once I get my own situation in order.
Finally
Apparently something is wrong with my coding here on the site, because when we were looking at it at work yesterday on Internet Explorer everything looked all messed up. Any faithful IE users out there who can tell me how long this has been going on?
I’ve been waiting to write about this subject for a while now. I was planning on writing about how my interest in writing and literature for my Wednesday entry, but I had to push it back because I wasn’t in the proper frame of mind to do proper justice to the individuals who fed my early desire.
The story starts back in seventh grade. Up until my English class that year, I’d been a fairly well-rounded student, not particularly gifted in one area more than any other (with the exception, perhaps, of music, since I’d been playing violin for eight years at that point). I was a good (and voracious) reader, pretty decent at math, and enjoyed learning about history and, to a certain extent, science.
Seventh grade was a bit of a crossroads. My love of history didn’t waver, but I started to lose interest in science and mathematics. This was a bit of a problem for a young fellow who thought he wanted to be an architect (my idol at that time, from a career standpoint, was Frank Lloyd Wright). I wasn’t any less gifted when it came to mathematics, but there was absolutely no desire to excel in it, or really, to even apply myself, whatsoever. As long as my GPA didn’t suffer, I was just fine with paying less attention to that area, which was kind of sad, because Mr. Gulbranson, my teacher, was a very nice man getting close to retirement. I enjoyed him as a teacher; I just didn’t buy what he was selling.
Fortunately, the right teacher came along at exactly the right time. Her name was Mrs. Robinson (no jokes, please), and she was the perfect individual to start me in the proper direction.
During junior high I was a bit of a loose cannon. I wouldn’t shut up for the life of me, and had several well thought-out (to my mind) theories about the school district and American society in general. It didn’t help that I had practically no filter between my mind and my mouth. Whatever I was thinking would literally just tumble down some special chute, perhaps one of similar design to the pneumatic ones you’d use at the drive-up portion of a bank, directly from my mind and out my mouth.
One of Mrs. Robinson’s tasks was taming that mouth, and she managed to successfully turn that need to talk toward a need to write. Knowing I was a good reader, she would give me all kinds of different books, short stories, and articles to read. I devoured them as quickly as she could give them to me, and she encouraged me to write down what I thought about each book in a sort of log. She gave me another outlet for my mouth as well - theater. Our class (the fast-track English kids) put on a mini-production of Macbeth, and Mrs. Robinson gave the title role to me. In an extremely astute move, she gave the role of Lady Macbeth to Kim Klein, a sharp-tongued, quick-witted redhead who I gave me fits because I couldn’t stand her even though I simultaneously had a huge crush on her. Kim and I never learned to get along, but pitting us together was practically the seventh grade English version of Katherine Hepburn and John Barrymore off-set in A Bill of Divorcement.
The next advance came two years later, during my freshman year. Shannon Hanzel’s upper track Freshman English was yet another push. The entire English department at Winona Senior High had adopted a portfolio standard, that is, every student developed a collection of work, highlighting their best efforts, from each unit of instruction throughout the year. The portfolio Mrs. Hanzel had us construct included works of creative writing (both prose and poetry), critical review, and topical essays we had written in the course of her class.
I’d never done such a project before, and sifting through all the papers I’d accumulated that year was an invigorating and pleasurable task. I spent weeks editing and making additions to my portfolio, and the sense of satisfaction I got from putting it together was very addicting. Little did I know I’d have the opportunity to do it every year.
By then the wheels had started turning in my mind. Maybe I should become a writer of some kind, or perhaps a journalist. I started taking every course in English I could - ancient, American, and British literature classes, Creative Writing, AP Composition, Principles of Theater - anything that would improve my command or understanding of the language, widen my reading repertoire, or give me the outlet I needed to create and have my creations critiqued.
About that same time my parents became friends with Dr. David White, professor of World Literature at the United States Naval Academy. Through their friendship with Dr. White I had the opportunity to attend several of his week-long seminars, ranging from Shakespeare’s sonnets, the Divine Comedy, and the writings of Evelyn Waugh, Flannery O’Connor, and Walker Percy. These lectures, which I attended over the course of a few summers during my high school years, continued to fuel that desire I felt inside me to write.
And then came Dr. Kent Cowgill. Dr. Cowgill was one of the first professors I had at Winona State University, a guy I’d heard a lot of wonderful things about. He was a medievalist (read: Chaucerian) by trade, a published novelist, and an incredible professor who had a way of speaking that reminded me somewhat of a Midwestern Christopher Walken.
The first course I had Dr. Cowgill for was an Antebellum - present American literature course. Listening to him talk about how Twain, Bierce, Cather, and Frost used the sound and imagery of the language to describe more than just the words themselves conveyed literally. I was mesmerized, and I would often feel very let down at the end of a class period. I wrote some of my best papers in that class, and at the end of the semester I asked if he would sign a blue-card (a waiver of prerequisites) for me to take his next class, a Junior/Senior level course on William Blake.
The Blake class was incredible. Only twelve students were allowed, and all of them except me had been at WSU for at least three years. The discussion would range afar, expanding beyond Blake’s literary importance to explore the artistic and philosophical ramifications of his work. Often times we’d go a half-hour over our time limit because the discussions would be too good to walk away from.
Dr. Cowgill seemed very impressed with how I was progressing, so it came as a bit of a shock when I told him, near the end of the semester, that I was leaving to attend Le Cordon Bleu. He retired soon afterward, and although he’s still in Winona, I haven’t seen him since my last office-hours session with him. I doubt he even knows I’ve spent the last four years in the Marines, though I think, in some ways, he’d approve. The experience has certainly given me a far more complex patina, a broader foundation from which some day I hope to build from.
Chris Robinson, Shannon Hanzel, Jim Miller, Holly Egge, Char Juaire, Mel Bailey, Jan Moeller, Doris Jensen, Dr. White, Dr. Galbus, and Dr. Cowgill, someday I’ll do something to make good on the investment and faith you’ve made in me. For now, you’re among the Heroes of the Blog.
A little over a month ago it was his first major break alongside Henry Winkler in Ron Howard’s Night Shift. About the same time I took a trip to visit Jo in Chicago. She had to work a few of the days I was there, and one afternoon while I was waiting for her to get home I watched Much Ado About Nothing and ate a turkey sandwich.
Tonight it was One Good Cop, a movie completely new to me. Tomorrow night it will be Pacific Heights, one of my favorite movies ever, and the one which ranks as Keaton’s greatest performance, at least in my eyes.
Almost twenty years removed from his peak years, it might be hard to believe that Keaton was once one of the most sought-after actors in Hollywood. From 1988 to 1993 he put together as good a five-year run as any actor ever has, with stellar performances in big roles like Beetlejuice, Batman, Batman Returns and great character pieces in Clean and Sober, The Dream Team, and the aforementioned Pacific Heights, One Good Cop, and Much Ado….
Apart from Jackie Brown, Keaton hasn’t had many good roles to sink his teeth into since the early 1990s. He got fairly good reviews for Desperate Measures and The Paper, and I liked Multiplicity, but I think I’m in the minority there. Jack Frost and First Daughter weren’t the kind of movies you continue a legacy with. Even worse, between 1998 and 2004, Keaton didn’t appear in a feature film.
There are some actors I come back to occasionally, and Keaton is on that short list. I can’t really pin down the exact reason for this - it might be the eyebrow (which first drew me in during the contemplative scene in the Batcave in the first Batman), his obsessive, off-beat, twitchy on-screen personality, or just the way he can looks when he’s thinking something over. If it weren’t for Steve McQueen, Michael Keaton might just be my favorite actor.
Good things appear to be on the horizon. Keaton’s due to appear in The Last Time (currently in post-production) this year, and is also slated to be in the final Indiana Jones installment, due out next year. Of course, after Herbie: Fully Loaded, Keaton fans need a something to wash out that bad taste in our mouths.
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