Acknowledging fatness

I don’t remember a time in my life where I haven’t been fat.

Or whatever word you want to use: chubby, husky, stocky. I’ve used them all.

When I look now at most pictures of myself as a kid, I don’t see a fat kid staring back at me. In most shots, I look pretty damn standard for a child — especially if I compare those shots to kids of today.

But I was never that rangy, thin kid who could climb, jump and bounce everywhere. I was never the kid who ran around from sunrise to midnight, a ball of burning energy.

And at some point, the numbers got out of balance and I was, indeed, fat.

My weight is something I’ve struggled with my entire life.

This particular post isn’t about having an online therapy session, or to elicit sympathy. It’s really not even about the struggle itself, or the cultural lenses through which we view fat and fatness in this country, at this time. (Another post, another day.)

What I’m examining here — what I’m finding interesting, what I’m finally acknowledging — is how much I’ve distanced myself from it.

45899_420627588423_332431_nIn many ways, it’s similar to the ways I lived my life when I was still ‘in the closet’ as a gay man. It’s there, but it’s something that has to be carefully navigated, discussed and presented.

I came out as gay many years ago, but I don’t think I’ve ever acknowledged the reality of my size, of my fat body, before.

It was such a source of teasing as a kid that disconnecting from it all was a survival tactic. (Helpful note for parents: if you think your kid might be fat, don’t name him/her with anything that rhymes with the word ‘fat.’)

That may have had a silver lining; shrinking into my own head helped my creativity and my storytelling capacities. While others were teasing or ignoring me, I was in another world, my rich inner world — writing and directing my own TV show in my head.**

But I’ve had an epiphany recently about my fatness and my creativity, and it’s this: that protective distance is getting in the way of a lot in my life, but in particular, it’s affecting my writing and my creativity.

There are so many fantastic, amazing writers I know that talk so honestly about their lives, or so bluntly about the shitty, messy parts of life just as skillfully as the joyful moments. They serve up that authenticity in a way that’s impossible to ignore.

A few of those fantastic writers – Samantha Irby and Laurie Ruettimann – are on my blogroll here.

Hell, Irby refers to her body as a “meatbag.”

But I’ve always had a protective distance in my writing. Every editor I’ve had in the last ten years told me that I write “too safe.” Or that I bury the lede.

My most recent journalism professor, a newsman with decades of experience, called me on it many times. He asked why I felt like I always had to explain everything before I got to the point — to the news, to the lede, to the focus of the story.

At some point in the last few months, it hit me: that’s also the way that I talk.

A guy I dated called it my ‘language’ – something he always had to interpret. I’m all metaphors and hints and setup, and only after I’ve set the stage — and determined that I have a trustworthy audience — does the lid come off.

This spring, when I professed surprise in one of my classes that anyone could see me as aloof, another professor offered this: “It’s clear that you’re thoughtful about what you say, that you consider it carefully before you say it.”

Well, she was right.

The pieces are coming together. I’m understanding it now.

I’m probably still doing it here. I can’t tell you how many times during the composition of this post I had to remind myself — no, force myself — to put the word fat in the first sentence, the first paragraph. Attached to me. I wanted to build up to that revelation, you see. (As if it’s a surprise to anyone who meets me!)

I’m sure it’s affected my career, my ability to start new friendships — in short, every part of my life.

And it’s all sort of hit me: I’m in the closet, with the light off.

Again.

It’s hard to write about ALL THE FEELS from an icy altitude, a huge emotional disconnect.

I’m fighting my fatness and working on getting healthier, because it’s something I want for me and for my partner. And if I can graduate from college after a hundred years of being away, then damn it, I can do this too.

But first, I have to come out, again. Into the sunlight. I have to acknowledge my fatness, own it, and understand it’s my reality right now.

And so, this post.

Step one.

 

** Though my retreat into inner life was never so severe, it’s often been a tool others have deployed to cope with trauma or abuse. It’s not uncommon for gay men, in particular, to make arch humor of sad or challenging things in their lives. Films like Jonathan Caouette’s Tarnation are examples of this sort of utter disconnect from the current moment, and framing events as something happening to someone else — or something you’re watching, not experiencing. 

EDITED TO ADD: I just Googled “fat closet” and wow, there’s a lot of people who have had similar epiphanies. Worth checking out if you’re interested.

The worst urban studies student ever……

My freshly minted college degree includes a concentration in urban studies.

While I have no plans at the moment to become an urban planner, I’ve always felt that many of urban studies’ core ideas — about the ways we live and the demographic groups that define us — were deeply relevant for the 21st century and are applicable to just about every industry and every part of our country.  I found that it encompassed many of the things I’d been writing about for years, the changes in how we live and work.

In my personal life, I’d been doing a lot of things we’d discussed in class. I have never owned a car and, perhaps more shockingly, have never held a license to drive. I’ve walked or taken public transportation for most of my life, and I always lived in the core of a city, so I could have an existence that allowed for walking and mass transit.

Three years ago, my partner and I bought a home in the middle of a neighborhood close to Chicago’s Loop.

Our neighborhood (the West Loop) has growing density, a great walkability score, access to multiple channels of mass transit, two parks within a few blocks, and more restaurants and nightclubs than I can count.

Yes, it's true: The crane is the official bird of the West Loop. (Internet photo)

Yes, it’s true: The crane is the official bird of the West Loop. (Internet photo)

There’s only one thing: I’m really unhappy living here.

Some of the things that I’ve always endorsed? Are driving me crazy.

I am the worst urban studies student EVER.

The biggest negative impact for me has been noise pollution. While we live in a nice building, literally every flat space surrounding us has been under construction for three years. THREE. YEARS. That’s three years of not being able to sleep past 6 a.m., of constant drilling and hammering and bulldozers and cranes.

A new company has moved into a neighboring commercial building (formerly part of Harpo Studios), and promptly installed a motion alarm on their parking gate that I am pretty sure can be heard in Aurora. Possibly in space.

Indeed, our neighborhood is BOOMING. Google’s Chicago headquarters are moving just a few blocks north. A hotel is opening just east of us, and many of the small, nondescript factory spaces dotting the West Loop are being snapped up by developers. A company called Sterling Bay has, to a large degree, bought the West Loop and is now developing its use.

Of course, beyond the noise, which feels as if it will never end, many of the issues that are emerging show the wisdom of good urban planning and the repercussions that happen when it’s absent. It’s nearly impossible to cross Madison Street now with the boom in traffic, and lack of pedestrian crosswalks near us.

Parking has become a huge issue. The West Loop, like the South Loop and Andersonville, desperately needs a dedicated parking area. Instead, patrons who think nothing of spending $200 at a Restaurant Row eatery or at a Blackhawks game will insist on parking for free on one of our streets. (With car alarms set to stun; the West Loop is a symphony of sounding car alarms every day.)

Parking in the city is its own nightmare (Google Chicago parking meter deal)  but I’ve never understood why parking doesn’t come *before* or *as part of* planning here. There’s a huge, hulking half-built building at the west end of the West Loop that would be perfect to retrofit into a neighborhood park house, with shuttles running up and down Randolph.

Residential development has been the main part of the boom thus far, but as commercial development continues, a conflict is emerging between the two camps. I haven’t seen any movement to define patches of the West Loop as solely residential or commercial. We’ll have two rooftop bars opening soon near us – far closer to residences than they should be.

The other main irritant hits a little closer to home.

In my mind, I always thought that living in close quarters with your neighbors would lead to that kind of engaged community, where neighbors became friends, where people socialized and looked after one another.

A few homeowner’s association meetings have disabused me of that notion.

With precious few exceptions, our neighbors create more drama than Downton Abbey, and are guilty of more metaphorical backstabbing and bloodshed than Game of Thrones. It’s a toxic batch of entitlement and manipulation. (While we’re on the pop culture references, the most entitled and manipulative ones bring to mind Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.)

There’s still much to be said for sustainable urban living, and I haven’t changed my stance on those ideas, those policies.

I think it might just be that we’re outgrowing this place. This neighborhood is becoming a huge cluster for clubs and nightlife, and will be a fast-paced hub for twentysomethings. My twenties are a bit in the rearview mirror for me, though.

My partner and I want something quieter and calmer for our next home, and will likely move out of Chicago to find it. But I think we’ll be sticking with urban settings, or the “cosmoburb,” where access to walking paths, bike paths and mass transit still exist.

Of course, I also know that I’m ridiculously lucky. Lucky to have a home, lucky to have a choice to leave a place that isn’t a good match.

We’re in Chicago, where bad planning and years of discriminatory zoning and lending policies have created neighborhoods where basic life, liberty and safety are harrowingly hard to come by. Lots of people don’t have the choices we do to change neighborhoods, or to move at all.

Rahm Emanuel has followed in the footsteps of the Daleys, enacting or sustaining policies that stand in the way of evolution or change for disadvantaged neighborhoods. 2014 feels a lot like 1974 in some of these neighborhoods. It feels impossible to effect change here.

Hopefully, our next home will be in a place where we can take advantage of good planning and great living space — but also contribute to our community, where we can become advocates for everyone who lives there.

I’m going to brainstorm about this right now! You might not be able to hear me, though, with the noise in the background…….

 

Making the message make sense

Something very cool happened last weekend.

I finally earned a college degree — a little later than planned, but it happened. I’m incredibly proud of that accomplishment.

The days before graduation and the day itself were filled with speeches and talking – a whole lot of communication goin’ on.

I wasn’t part of the traditional group of graduates, so I was able to shift my focus and observe what was happening. (That’s also the journalist in me emerging and taking notes!)

I noticed a few interesting things about the ways that people communicated — what worked, what didn’t, and why.

AUTHENTICITY RULES: Several students spoke at the Saturday morning baccalaureate service, and while everyone was thoughtful and prepared to speak, I found the response from students fascinasting. The speakers that elicited the strongest response weren’t necessarily the smoothest speakers. But they were the ones who were willing to be vulnerable and real in front of a crowd, and they got a lot of respect from the audience.

I was stunned by one student. I’d been in a class with him and he always seemed nervous when he spoke. But that day, he stood in front of 500 other people and delivered an amazing set of remarks. It was all authentic, all him, and all heart.

SELECTING THE RIGHT MESSAGE: On the other hand….well, how do I say this diplomatically? Our commencement speaker, for all his accomplishments and good intentions, missed the mark.

I suppose I could be thankful that he didn’t launch into a flood of Commencement Clichés, but….I’m not sure WHAT it was that he said to us. I think it would be best described as a speech for a Kiwanis Club meeting, or maybe something you’d deliver at an industry conference or a job interview.

After a promising beginning with a few jokes, the speaker essentially recapped the minutiae of his career for what seemed like forever — in front of 500 graduates roasting in the sun, all waiting for That Guy To Stop Speaking. (Heck, I knew a bit about his line of business and *I* was praying for a strong wind to carry the stage away.)

That can’t in any way be called a success.

Anyone on the speaker circuit probably has a core speech they give to everyone, with alterations here and there based on the audience. But it’s important to remember that whether it’s a commencement address, an annual shareholders meeting or a town hall debate, the message has to fit the event. Too often, we try to plug a one-size-fits-all set of remarks into an event that needs to have its own story told.

SIMPLICITY IS BEAUTY:  Students often take the same approach to a speech that they do to writing a term paper: more is more. But the simplest communication can be the most effective.

The graduating class always collects money to start a scholarship fund, and this year’s seniors had been hounded via e-mail to make a contribution. Those efforts were falling short.

A class leader who had the mic at an event asked everyone who had received scholarship money to stand. It was ninety percent of the attendees.

THAT made an impact, and the senior class ended up collecting well beyond its goal.

Sometimes, the simplest message is the strongest one, and the one that can make the biggest impact.

Questions run too deep

I’m a person who lives in the current moment and cherishes it. After a lot of work and a lot of patience, I’m as content as I’ve ever been in my present day life – ridiculously, joyously head over heels in love, a secure home, a happy life.

But there’s always a bit of an interesting tension playing out between past, present and future.

You can’t hit middle age without the presence of memory making its way, swimming its way back to you. Sometimes it’s just a hint of something, a smell of fire evoking fall bonfires, or a song on the radio taking you back to a specific place and time.

When I was young, it seemed that life was so wonderful
A miracle, oh it was beautiful, magical.

At other times, memory comes rushing back in an overwhelming flood.

Last week, a student at my alma mater, my former high school, stabbed almost two dozen people. No one seems to know or understand why.

I don’t know any of the people affected. I don’t know any of the teachers in those buildings – my teachers retired long ago. I don’t even know the area that well anymore – it’s been over 20 years since I last lived there, and it’s been almost two years since my last visit “home.”

But watching those familiar buildings on national TV was surreal. And it brought back some intense memory for me.

I’ve talked about this before in this blog, here and here. I won’t repeat the details in depth here, but my experience at that school was, to be diplomatic, less than ideal. I was physically attacked for four years, several times a week if not every day. It was a war zone for me.

Aside from one amazing fourth grade teacher who was always in my corner, I had precious few advocates who would speak for me. In my last year of school, the people who were accountable and could make changes were among the people joining in the teasing, taunting and bullying.

But then they send me away to teach me how to be sensible
Logical, responsible, practical.

I’ve got a great career now – a multi-faceted one. And in my work as a journalist, I always want to examine the whole story, to look for relationships and causes.

It’s been so damn frustrating to watch this story and not have any real voice to ask questions, to wonder if everyone’s voice is being heard. It’s a huge lesson on how important the work of journalism is to the people whose stories are being told, one that I’ll never forget.

The news organizations are not doing a bad job – not necessarily. They did wonderful work with the breaking news elements.

But the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette ran an article this past Sundaypainting the town of Murrysville as a near-Garden of Eden, with Franklin a Shangri-La fouled seemingly for the first time by a dissenter, a bad seed emerging from the flock. They even used the term “near-perfect” in their headline.

Franklin_regional_middle_schoolThere is one brief mention of Delmont and Export as two other towns “that contribute to Franklin Regional.”

But no mention of the conflict that’s always existed between affluent Murrysville, middle-class Delmont, and working class (and sometimes quite poor) Export, where coal mines were operating a century ago. That’s fueled at least some of the conflict that’s happened here over the years. 

I know my personal story is just that – personal. It’s not enough to build a narrative around. I’m just one person, after all, and though my perspective is valid, one person’s experience does not make a trend, or a pathology.

One of my most consistent faculty tormentors is nearing ninety on the beaches of Florida. Another is long dead. There is no one to interview. And quite frankly, I don’t want to be the story. (The reflex of a journalist kicking in, I suppose – rule number one: never be part of the story.)

But news outlets have also missed a more recent case of conflict, one with perhaps a more viable source of verification. ABC’s “20/20″ visited Franklin Regional in the late 1990s (1997, I believe) and featured a story where four young female students were having a fight. The two victims were suspended, while the two instigators remained in school.

Even a decade after I’d left, the ability to resolve conflict and mediate those kinds of issues within the walls of that institution were called into question.

They showed me a world where I could be so dependable
Clinical, intellectual, cynical.

Last week’s event is SO not about me. I know that. But it’s impossible to wipe my own experience out of my head, and look at it through any other eyes but my own, my perceptions shaded by experience.

I’ve shared my concerns about school safety with every horrifying, sad event that has happened here in our country, ever since Columbine. I’ve had the same reaction each time.

What drove this kid to do what he did? Mental health issues? Bullying? No one seems to know.

And while I am deeply sad and horrified for everyone that he injured, and agree he needs to be held responsible for his actions and answer for what he did, I can’t help but wonder about him.

We may know very little about him, other than the fact that he’s been described as ‘quiet.’ But the obvious piece that leapt out at me was that no one stepped forward to say, “Hey, I was his friend.” He was likely navigating those halls on his own, with no advocate, no guidance. Those are rough roads to walk.

Now watch what you say or they’ll be calling you a radical, a liberal, fanatical, criminal.

Sometimes, trying to have a conversation about the complexities of an event like this does earn you a label. These events always bring the conflict over gun rights and criminal law to the forefront, dividing lines between liberal and conservative.

We’re living in a world that is far more politically volatile than when I was in high school. The growth and plenty we enjoyed as kids has shrunk in size and magnitude. My whole hometown region shed its primary industry.

The late Harold Lasswell once said that politics is “who gets what, when, and how.”  And when things get less plentiful, people make lists, and divide into camps. I’m sure I fall into the liberal camp on many issues, while much of western Pennsylvania is a conservative area.

But the mental health of teenagers, the importance of teaching them how to resolve conflict, to speak up for help? This transcends political beliefs and divides. It’s a complex issue and will require a complex set of responses. And one of the first ones will be parents deciding not to model those simple label “us vs them” reactions, and instead teaching children to allow the humanity of everyone around them to exist, rather than trying to make people disappear.

At night, when all the world’s asleep
The questions run so deep, for such a simple man.

I’m an oddball. I’ve always been the salmon swimming upstream. I suppose it’s more socially acceptable, more righteous for my public face and career, to steal a term from Malcolm Gladwell and say that I’m an ‘outlier.’  I always have a perspective that seems to be in radical opposition to the thing everyone else is seeing.

That might serve me better as an adult than it did as a child, but still, my eyes are elsewhere.

Last week my fellow alumnus proudly displayed solidarity with our alma mater, changing their Facebook photos to our school logo, stating their class year in a status update, echoing the chant of “WE ARE FR!”

I couldn’t do it. Not because I don’t support the school, or mourn the injured, or respect these fellow alumni and their pride. They’re all good people, with kind hearts.

It’s my curse to think – perhaps overthink – these sorts of things. But I couldn’t do it.

I was never really FR, you see. It was never really mine to call home. I could not raise the flag to celebrate a house that never welcomed me.

And it’s the remaining question nagging at me about this young man, the one who picked up two knives and wanted to harm so many others, the one whose motives are a mystery.

A line has forever been drawn by those knives, one of no return. And now his name, Alex Hribal, will be writ in history books. His name will be whispered in the prescription pickup line at Ferri’s Pharmacy, at the Cozy Inn between the clinking of draft beer glasses, at Pat Catan’s by housewives helping their sons and daughters with a school project.

Those people all know they’re loved and supported, as a town, as a school – they’ve seen it in image after image on TV and in print. They are FR. The breach in the circle is closing as we speak, soon to be healed.

But the question I can’t get out of my head: Was Alex Hribal ever FR? Is he FR now? Or has the transgressor been erased from memory? Was he ever one of us?

Then again, what can you expect from an outlier like me? It’s a legitimate question to pose from out here, outside looking in.

Won’t you please, please tell me what we’ve learned
I know it sounds absurd – please tell me who I am.

(Lyrics from Supertramp’s “Logical Song” – no copyright infringement intended.) 

MUSIC MONDAY: Jonatha Brooke

I’ve been trying (without success) to see Jonatha Brooke perform live for almost twenty years.

Seriously. Twenty years, folks.

I first discovered her when her band The Story released “The Angel In The House.” It was great guitar pop, with songs like “When Two and Two are Five.”

The Story. 

 

Brooke went on her own soon after and released a long string of great albums, but my favorite for a long time was “Ten Cent Wings.” It’s one of those perfect albums from beginning to end.

Like so many of my favorites – Aimee Mann, Alison Moyet, Kirsty MacColl (to name just three) – Brooke wrote great material and had a beautiful voice, but was woefully mishandled by record companies. In Brooke’s case, she was on tour for “Ten Cent Wings” when MCA dropped her from the label.

(Of course, these fantastic artists are all intelligent, fascinating women, and not pop tartlets who can be mass packaged and merchandized…but that’s another post for another day.)

Missing Jonatha Brooke’s concerts has become sort of a comical thing for me now.

I missed her several times around the Ten Cent Wings era. She played at a Borders near me and I had to work at the competition (B&N) across the street the night she played. I missed other shows because of work. Or they were sold out. There must have been at least a half dozen show in the early 2000′s I missed.

“Crumbs” from “Ten Cent Wings.” 

 

I started to look for her shows not just where I lived, but wherever she played. She played in my hometown of Pittsburgh, but I missed that show, too (working again, couldn’t travel).

It was always the wrong place, at the wrong time.

Brooke has had quite the journey the last few years. She cared for her mother, who passed away in 2012, through the final stages of dementia. And she wrote an amazing album and play, “My Mother Has 4 Noses,” about the experience.

The play had a reading in Pittsburgh last summer. (Need I tell you that I missed it?)

It’s in New York now, in an acclaimed run that’s getting people talking about Brooke’s great music and fresh narrative voice – not to mention the emotional, heart-rending story at its core.

The song “Time” from “4 Noses.” 

 

Rumor has it “4 Noses” will appear in other theaters across the country.

If it comes to Chicago, I’m going to be as optimistic as a Cubs fan in April that I can break the curse and finally see Jonatha Brooke on stage!

alison

2nd Annual Ubiquitous End of Year Best Of List (2013 Edition)

Yes, despite the fact that everyone else in the ENTIRE FREE WORLD is compiling their best of list, I have to add my random-almost-invisible-blogger list to the pile, too.

I’m still light years behind in film and television (academic demands have pulled my attentions elsewhere) so this is all about the music.

Here are the albums that are, in my opinion, the five finest works of 2013.

5. Boards of Canada, “Tomorrow’s Harvest”

BoC has been around for almost 20 years – I’ve just discovered them in the last few years, as I’ve sought out new soundscapes and started to explore ambient, electronic music. I loved their earlier work, often compared to the soundtracks of 1970s filmstrips.

While much of that earlier music had a sense of warm nostalgia, “Tomorrow’s Harvest” had a darker sound to it. It was well worth the long wait since their last album, and pieces like “Reach for the Dead” were great works.

4. Bibio, “Silver Wilkinson” 

Bibio’s been working in a vein that really speaks to me: combining electronic sounds with more traditional, guitar-based structures. Like Boards of Canada, he’s also really great at creating a whole soundscape that sets a mood.

Bibio’s music also has a wonderful thread of joy and wonder running through it. After a funk detour with “Mind Bokeh,” this was a return to the hybrid that Bibio’s been creating, and it was a mainstay on my playlist this year.

3. Prefab Sprout, “Crimson/Red”

I’ve loved the masterful songwriting of Paddy McAloon for many years, and the earlier catalog of Prefab Sprout remains a constant on my spin list. But the hopes of a new Prefab album had been all but forsaken. The last truly new work (Gunman and Other Stories) just didn’t speak to me, and while I enjoyed the release of Let’s Change The World With Music a few years back, it was a “lost” album from the mid-90s.

I also didn’t expect any new releases because of McAloon’s double-whammy health conditions – a visual impairment and a case of tinnitus that’s affected him for years.

So to hear Crimson/Red at all is a joy. For it to be so damn good is a gift. There are many songs that stand with the best of McAloon’s underappreciated songwriting, but for me, “List of Impossible Things” is achingly, hauntingly beautiful, and at 56, McAloon’s voice still sounds as swoonworthy as it did years ago.

2. Janelle Monae, “Electric Lady” 

I loved Monae’s new album. Monae, to me, is one of the most exciting new artists to come along in years. I remain mystified that Monae isn’t a megastar, though I wonder if the mythology of her albums – the android symbolism, the emotional remove of singing in character – is keeping some listeners from tuning in.

Electric Lady was another ambitious work and it (almost completely) worked. Few songs this year were as fun and funky as the title track. Heads exploded when Monae and the iconic Erykah Badu  joined forces for “Q.U.E.E.N.” (That track had an amazing video – Monae and Badu onscreen together is, in a word, electric.)

While the album is a shade long – and its spoken interludes have been criticized in the press  - it’s an achievement for Monae, who is making the most intelligent – and most fun – hybrid of pop and R&B out there.

Electric Lady reaches high heights in its final third, with the emotional “Ghetto Woman” and “Victory,” repeating, almost mantralike, “To be victorious/You must find glory in the little things.”

And my number one album of 2013:

1. Alison Moyet, “The Minutes”

I’ve been a fan of Moyet for 30 years, since she hit the scene with Yazoo. And I’ve loved Moyet in all her faces and voices.

But like several of my favorite artists – including Aimee Mann, Jonatha Brooke and Kirsty MacColl – Moyet has had repeated run-ins with several record labels. Despite her magnificent voice (one that can sing any style) and great batches of songs, it seemed like the only thing several of Moyet’s labels were any good at was getting in her way.

Her 2002 album Hometime was a high-water mark, but while I also loved Moyet’s subsequent albums, it seemed like she was increasingly pigeonholed by the industry, only “allowed” to make a certain kind of record, perpetual sequels of sorts to her 80s jazz cover of the standard “That Ole Devil Called Love.”

Moyet had embraced a wide range of genres – including a stint in a West End production of “Chicago” – but the more diverse her explorations, the more she seemed to be pigeonholed. In 2012 came news that Moyet and her label were parting ways, and it seemed unlikely that any new Moyet music was soon to be forthcoming.

Just over a year later, The Minutes was released. And it is a triumph in every possible way.

This is no rehash or victory lap for a veteran act. At 52, Moyet is in this moment and sounds magnificent in contemporary arrangements that range from electronic to more mainstream rock (“When I Was Your Girl”) and even hinting at dubstep (“Changeling”). There’s so much great songwriting here, especially with tracks like “Remind Yourself,” “Horizon Flame,” and the exquisite “Filigree.”

Moyet seems to be more comfortable in her musical skin here, and it comes through in every song. This work doesn’t read like the preconceived narrative of some record label, or the faux creation of a mask of celebrity. This is the authentic voice and the story of a confident, talented, mature woman, and it is glorious to hear.

Changeling:

When I Was Your Girl:

Other notable stuff:

A few other notable music notes for the year:

Getting lucky: I know that Daft Punk’s “Get Lucky” was a divisive song, with a hipster backlash against it almost from the start.

Whatever. I loved it – it’s got a fun vibe and it did remind me of those 70s and 80s disco songs, songs that seemed to have warmth and love instead of a sterile coldness and an ugly violence in them, as I hear in so much contemporary dubstep and dance. (It also didn’t have the ugly subtext of its fellow radio earworm “Blurred Lines.”)

Welcome back: Another welcome return this year was Boy George, who released a new album. He’s also appeared on a few tracks as a guest vocalist.

Best new artist: 

There were few new artists I really liked this year – most of them sound like really tinny versions of 80s synthpop bands – but I really liked Junip, especially their song “Your Life Your Call.”  (Though the video IS odd….)

So what did you love? Hate? What are you hoping for musically in 2014?

Creative class, revisted

(Internet photo)

(Internet photo)

Richard Florida came to speak at my college (Elmhurst College) a few weeks ago. Here’s my write-up on the lecture for our student newspaper, The Leader.

FLORIDA DISCUSSES CREATIVE CLASS

He’s been called a rockstar and an urban savior — as well as a charlatan and an elitist. One thing is clear — urban theorist Richard Florida elicits strong reactions to his ideas.

He shared some of those theories, and his ideas about what he called “the biggest economic shift in modern human history” at a Sept.19 lecture in Hammerschmidt Chapel.

Professor Florida is best known for his book “The Rise of the Creative Class.” A revised version of the book, originally released in 2002, has just been published.

His appearance was part theatrical performance and part classroom lecture, with a twist of urban evangelism.

Florida, clad in a sleek suit and black glasses, talked about the experiences that shaped his theories about the creative class, and his time as a professor at Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh in the late 1980s.

He said that Pittsburgh, the former “Steel City,” was an example of a place that had nearly collapsed after de-industrialization. “Pittsburgh was almost as desolate as Detroit,” he explained.

But while that city built a whole new industry in high tech fields, the people and companies that sprouted there would move to other places.

Florida cited this as an inspiration for the idea that a job or career isn’t enough to keep a person or a company in a particular place. He cited the three T’s — “technology, talent and tolerance.”

One of Florida’s assertions is that people want to live in diverse, vibrant cities with arts and culture. He courted controversy by ranking cities on a “gay index,” to illustrate the point that cities welcoming of LGBT people often had stronger economies and more innovation.

Florida joked that he was criticized for pushing his “gay agenda” but said diversity was a key factor in his findings.

“To be creative, you must be enmeshed in a creative community.”

And according to Florida’s theory, being creative, and being part of the “creative class,” is a key to success. That class includes any “knowledge work” and captures a wide range of industries, from the STEM sciences to arts and culture.

Florida said while unemployment during the most recent recession hit double digits in many job sectors, the “creative class” held up well.

“Unemployment didn’t even hit 5 percent,” he said.

Florida told the audience that he believes the places we decide to live in are as important, if not more important, that the choices we make for our careers and for our life partners.

He wrote about this idea in his book, “Who’s Your City?”

“It’s not just quality of life,” Florida said. “It’s quality of place that was enabling people to thrive.”

Florida is considered a key figure in the New Urbanist movement, which highlights the benefits of living in cities and advocates for walkable, dense living areas.

But he’s not without his critics.

Joel Kotkin, a geography professor and author, has criticized Florida’s ideas, and believes that Florida’s suggestions for Rust Belt cities are superficial ideas; he called Florida’s creative class theory “pernicious.”

In 2012, writer Frank Bures penned “The Fall of the Creative Class,” an article for Minneapolis-based Thirty Two Magazine.

In the article, Bures explored the story of several people (including himself) who moved to a city (Madison, Wisc.) based on its ranking on Florida’s Creative Class index — and had less-than-stellar experiences.

Florida recognized his critics during the lecture, but had a surprising response.

“I love my critics,” he said. “I learn from my critics.”

An earlier post on Richard Florida’s work can be found here.

Finding joy

NOTE: Thanks to everyone who’s checked out Elegy and Irony; this is my hundredth post! 

For many people (including me), today marks the end of summer. Kids are back in school. I’m starting my last year for my degree work.

Summer was supposed to be a rest and respite, a time for relaxation.

For me, it was anything but.

My summer was a big shit sandwich.

I had a health issue that required surgery, and for a brief period, the diagnosis was even worse than it thankfully, ultimately, turned out to be.

Let me be clear: in the big scheme of things, all of this was manageable. There are people who have far bigger challenges than me in this department.

But it was scary. It was a wake up call.

I’ve been working this summer on balance in my life, in my work, in how I approach everything.

When I was ill, I read several books to pass the time. Two of them – Life Happens, by Connie Schultz, and Life Itself, by Roger Ebert – had “life” in their very titles, and through all their pages. (I took those to the hospital with me.)

The story of Roger Ebert’s last few years is one of suffering, but also of great life, and great contentment and joy.

The words of a man who has been through a long, arduous journey but understood the value of embracing that journey at every step:  “I believe that if, at the end of it all, according to our abilities, we have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do. To make others less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts. We must try to contribute joy to the world. That is true no matter what our problems, our health, our circumstances. We must try. I didn’t always know this and am happy I lived long enough to find it out.”

I’ve thought about Ebert’s wife Chaz several times since his passing. She’s coped with his passing, led the efforts to keep Ebert’s writing voice and platform for commentary alive, and explored her own voice in her own works.

But in the midst of all that, a few weeks after Roger’s passing, this happened.

This makes me smile every time I see it. And by ‘smile’ I also mean ‘bawl like a baby.’

In the midst of a season of pain, it’s beautiful to see Chaz Ebert (and the other people there) celebrating life, living in a moment of joy.

The balance of joy and pain, of celebration and suffering.

I, too, did not always know this, but am happy that my eyes are opened and that my awareness and appreciation is wide awake.

Here’s to good grades and good health for you and yours.

(P.S.: Tilda Swinton is a goddess. That is all.)

The Heart Of The Matter: Adding insult to injury for transgender murder victim

news_leadLast week, Cleveland’s Plain Dealer newspaper ran a story about a person who had been murdered. A body had been found in a pond in Olmstead Township, a small southwestern suburb of Cleveland.

What made the coverage of this story stand out was that the body found was of a transgender woman, Cemia “Ce Ce” Acoff.

I’m a member of the LGBT community. I’m also a journalist.

I’ve got a few fistfuls of bylines, and I’m also in the unique position of being back in college.

I’ve been studying the art of journalism – an art I’ve already practiced. I’m digging deeper into the finer points of reporting and writing.

And I can say, unequivocally, that the Plain Dealer has repeatedly dropped the ball on its coverage of Acoff’s death.

(more…)