Beijing Journey Starts in Eugene--US Olympic Trials

Eugene, Oregon is known as Track City. It's a long story but the condensed version goes like this: The University of Oregon established a tradition of track excellence early in the 20th Century. By the 60's, a succession of outstanding athletes and a pair of legendary coaches gave Eugene a high profile in the track world. This, in turn, gave Eugene the chance to host the US Olympic Trials in Track and Field in 1972, 1976 and 1980.

Of all the great Olympians connected with Eugene, Steve Prefontaine's legacy is most enduring. Today isn't the day for a post about Pre though. It's a story about the return of the Olympic Trials to Eugene. The Trials began here yesterday and they will continue until July 6.

Some call it the most exciting track meet on earth, better even than the Olympics themselves. Why? Because you can't be a member of the US Olympic team unless you finish in the top 3 in the Trials. No exceptions. As a result, sometimes the best athletes in the world don't make the team.

This event has brought our community together like nothing else could. Folks have come from every state to attend the Trials. Huge crowds, great weather, outstanding performances, all combined with a festive atmosphere. That's a tough combination to beat.

Every day after the Trials end, a music festival begins next to the stadium. Excellent cover bands rock the place, local microbrews (and of course Bud and Bud Lite) are abundant and the living is good.

Even for people who don't know much about track, this is an unforgettable event. I'm proud that our community is rising to the occasion and happy that so many visitors get to see Oregon at its finest.

For the athletes, this means everything. The dream of Olympic glory in Beijing cannot become a reality without success in Eugene. Poignant moments abound. The realization of one athlete's dream means failure for another. Such pure athletic competition is hard to find these days. I love it.

The Etiquette of Barber Break-Ups

Nathan was my barber, oops, I'm mean "hairstylist", for 15 years. No, this is not an obituary. Nathan is alive and well. It's just that I don't see him anymore.

Nathan always did a good job and the conversations were plenty interesting. Nathan's shop is in the heart of downtown. This means that he cuts the hair of many professionals and businessmen.

When I started playing more gigs a few years back, my Nathan-esque haircut started looking out of sync with my performing self. It had a slightly comb-overish quality. This really bothered my wife, a person who used to do hair in a fashionable salon on the Oregon coast. And I can't say I blame her. In fact, I greatly appreciate her concern for my appearance.

Once I agreed to let my wife cut my hair, that was it for Nathan. But the thing is, he's a guy I like, respect and admire. And I never took the time to discuss this change with him. Once I bumped into his hair-cutting partner Mac and explained the situation to him. He said they figured something like that happened. But that's not the same as me telling Nathan.

Why am I writing about this? My sensitive side is telling me that I owe Nathan the courtesy of a face-to-face explanation. What is the etiquette of barber break-ups anyway? Does it depend on the nature of the relationship? Or the length? Or the reason for making a switch?

I'm thinking I'm overdue to drop-in on Nathan and tell him what I great guy I think he is. To tell him that my wife now, more or less, insists on cutting my hair and pointing out that the avoidance of domestic strife is a smart man's top priority. And I know he would understand. I feel like a little bit of a jerk for not doing this a long time ago.

But the thing is, if I just drop in on him, he'll probably be cutting someone's hair when my mea culpa moment arrives. That seems awkward. Calling him on the phone is too impersonal. Hmmm.

Yes, there are bigger problems in the world but right now, I want to set things right with Nathan, my old barber friend.

A Little Encouragement Goes A Long Way

Thanks. I guess maybe somewhere deep inside, I needed a dose of encouragement. In lasts weeks post, the implied message was that it seemed like my live-performance activity was something I could let slide, and somehow feel ok about. Suddenly I started getting inquiries, lots of them, about when I'm going to play again. They were coming from sources near and far, known and unknown, in person and by email. Enough of them to convince me that people really do care, more than I thought.

I remember an old tv commercial from when I was growing up, one of the many really dumb ones. It was an advertisement for an after-shave product, maybe Gillette's Skin Bracer After-Shave. A guy is looking at his freshly shaved, quite ordinary face in the bathroom mirror. A hand appears from off-screen and slaps the guy hard on the side of his face. The guy says "Thanks. I needed that."

Now I'm that guy. So to all of you who have been asking when I'm going to perform again and encouraging me to do so, I say Thanks. I needed that. I'll make the changes necessary in my life to make it happen. And I can't wait.

Finding Time To Perform

I admit it. Lately it's been tough to find the time to perform. It wouldn't be so bad if it were easier to book satisfactory gigs. But it isn't easy. Sometimes I'm tempted to think that this problem is uniquely mine. Not so. Every musician I know experiences this problem.

Discussing this topic with my LA producer/long-time friend Gary White, I have learned that even for first-call session players, things can be tough. Not exactly headline news that things have always been tough in the arts.

My situation IS somewhat unique though. Here I am, still working my day job as an attorney, mainly defending poor folks charged with misdemeanors---minor crimes which are generally the result of making dumb decisions after drinking too much. Then I discovered that I really enjoy creating new living environments using sustainable products. Some people characterize this new activity as real estate development but I don't really think of it that way. I prefer to think of it as community re-development because I'm taking worn-out, unattractive buildings and replacing them with new places for people to live that are visually striking and environmentally sensitive.

In the process, I've learned a lot and made many new relationships with architects and professionals in the building trades, many of whom are artists within their own areas of specialization. Through a highly collaborative process, we have designed and built a couple projects which some describe as "Northwest Urban" architecture.

I am proud of what we have accomplished. I have a newfound passion for this and I find myself wanting to do more. But there are problems. For one, it is not without significant financial risk. But mostly it takes a lot of time. Before I starting doing this, I was very busy with music and law. Now that I have added so much real estate activity to my slate of activities, I'm busier than ever. Something had to give. None of what I do is easily sacrificed but it seems that the task of trying to book gigs is the thing I am least inclined to do. The result---performances have been rare.

I still pick up my guitar every day. And I still intend to push the music when time allows in the future. But for now, I'm seriously immersed in a new kind of creative process. Without seeking any recognition for this new activity in the media, I've gotten plenty. I've been featured in several articles recently and I'm happy to say that the portrayals have been flattering. One called me a "renaissance man". I am humbled and flattered by such attention. But mostly I hope that my example inspires others to be adopt building practices with a greater sensitivity to the environment. Yes, it costs more money initially to build using sustainable practices and materials, but in the long run, you save money, the consumer enjoys a better product and society benefits. If you know any developers, encourage them to learn more and if they have any questions, have them contact me. I would be delighted to share my knowledge and enthusiasm.

When Tragedy Strikes Strangers

You read it every day---"teen killed in drive-by shooting", "tornado in Georgia---8 Dead", "50,000 Die in Chinese Earthquake", "140,000 Cyclone Victims Perish In Myanamar". The frequency of such tragic news has a way of numbing my soul, coating your feelings with teflon. But the collective weight of so much death eventually drags one down. And the knowledge that the victims are all innocent, that it could be you, can prod you to a state of heightened empathy. Still, there is a strange comfort that arises from the thought that such deaths are, in a perverse, disconnected way, anonymous. And the less you are connected to such deaths, the more abstract they seem.

Such is the odd and unsatisfying knowledge that although death visited itself upon thousands, at least you didn't know them. Not personally anyway. And not their friends or family, hopefully.

A few evenings back, I heard there was a terrible accident justs two blocks from where I work. The following morning, newspaper reports told the story of the accident---a motorist collided with a bicyclist and the bicyclist, a 27 year old man, died. Having lost a friend in a bicycling fatality two years ago, I found myself feeling one thing: please let this person be a complete stranger. The newspaper didn't identify him pending notification of his family.

The following morning his identity was revealed with harsh impact. We didn't know him but we know his parents who we recently befriended. They live in our neighborhood. We have many friends in common. Our children attended the same schools. It turns out his parents were traveling in Italy when they got the call that is every parents' worst nightmare. His mother is a gifted musician who founded an all-woman steel drum band, the kind that cranks out happy music that can keep you dancing for hours.

My feelings of sorrow and loss for our friends cannot be captured in words. Such feelings were once abstract in my life, but with the unexpected loss of my brother several years ago, I discovered a new kind of grief. I feel that kind of grief for our friends now.

Dreams About Flying and Finals

I guess I'm not so weird after all. Turns out a couple of my recurring dreams are shared by many. Not every last detail, thankfully, but the gist of these recurring dreams is surprisingly common. One dream is liberating and magical, the other a harsh dose of "I'm in college-age deep shit now and I can't believe I let this happen".

THE FLYING DREAM: In this one, I develop the supernatural ability to fly. I fly over beautiful landscapes, arms outstretched, dreamily euphoric. Sometimes I ascend to great heights, then zoom low for a better look, effortlessly maneuvering around majestic rock outcroppings. Occasionally I fly indoors, often in gymnasiums where my ability to slam dunk draws gasps from the crowd.

I am told that such drams are a sign of good mental health. Sounds reasonable, but why then do I sometimes find myself surrounded by a forest of high electrical lines threatening immediate death by electrocution?

THE UNEXPECTED FINAL EXAM DREAM: This one leads to a restless sleep. I find myself back in college near the end of a term. Suddenly I realize that for the last few months, I haven't attended any classes, read any of the material or prepared for finals in the slightest way. What to do? Is there any way to avoid failure? And what would failure mean in my life? How could I, a normally responsible person with a record of solid academic achievement to that point, allow this to happen? Oh, the horror!

I hear it's fairly common to experience "worst nightmare" dreams too, so I guess I'm not as neurotic as I once thought. In real life, I don't think I'm neurotic at all. So why does this dream pop into my sleepy brain several times a year? Is there part of me that needs reminding that if I don't stay responsible, the consequences will be bad? That people will think of me as being an undependable flake with a questionable reasoning skills?

In truth, I've had far worse dreams than the recurring final exam dream. The one that really bothers me deals with death and has me as the central figure in an unsolved murder. When this dream starts getting really ugly, there's nothing I like more than waking up to remind myself that hey, it was just a dream.

My favorite dreams? Once every couple years, sometimes when I'm in a foreign land, my dream takes on a quality so realistic that I am find myself completely immersed as if the dream is actually real, and in the dream, I am interacting with a historic figure at an important point in time. In such dreams, the experience is so poignant that in my mind, the dream is inexplicably real. Once when I was in Paris, I had a dream in which Napolean and I spent a few enjoyable days of friendship together. This was pre-Waterloo and his later exile. "Nappy", as I called my newfound chum, was musing to me about his rise to power, the joys of conquest and sharing personal thoughts in the way close friends do. Another time, back in the days of pirates, I walked the streets of Christiansted, St Croix in the US Virgin Islands on a night with scattered clouds and a full moon, savoring every moment of danger and intrigue. Although both dreams occurred years ago, they are permanently etched on the bedrock of my memory, both occupying a treasured place.

I never studied dream interpretation and don't pretend to understand what all this nocturnal nonsense is about, but I must admit, for the most part dreams are wonderful things. Very often my dreams are whacky as hell but there's something about how the sleeping mind works that fills me with gratitude. With a few notable exceptions.

Michael Franti and Spearhead

Tomorrow night Michael Franti and Spearhead are performing at The Cuthbert Ampitheatre in Eugene, Oregon and I'll be there, rain or shine. I'm amazed how many folks remain unfamiliar with this band. I give them my highest recommendation.

Franti and Spearhead are Jamaican and at times, they sound totally reggae but that's not their whole deal, not by a long shot. They have a world beat sound, they rock like crazy and their music compels you to move.

Best of all, they have a message---in the best tradition of artists like Bob Marley and John Lennon, theirs is a message of peace and of revolution. Their lyrics raise important questions about the true motives behind most modern wars and they have a fresh way of articulating their skepticism about political leaders worldwide.

Add it all up, and it's easy to understand why so many are hopping on the Spearhead bandwagon. Their fans are mostly young latter-day hippies with a fondness for herb. Yup, tomorrow night should be great fun. I'll let you know.