Paying attention to autumn

The trees around here have put on quite a show this fall.
I haven't seen colors like this
south of New Hampshire or Vermont
or perhaps anywhere:
rich eggplant, rosy pomegranate, carrot, cantaloupe,
apricot, lemon, and honeydew. The lowliest median strip
glows fuschia or coral. The usual eye-catchers --
4-way stops, detour signs, crossing guards, school buses --
stripped of their usual impact, blend into the insane palette
of a limitless Van Gogh canvas.

I've been photographing our front yard every couple of days.
I'm trying to make a "poor man's time-lapse movie".
This is how it looked one morning last week.

Traveling in the vernacular

As the temperature drops into the low 30s, it's again perfect for bicycle commuting. I'm finally getting back on the bike after several weeks of mostly driving to work. (Once we got a second car last year, the reasons why it "made more sense" to drive on any given day seemed to multiply: running late, overtired, rain in the forecast, lunchtime errands, groceries on the way home..... Enough!) If I can keep this up, I'll once again be able to say I'm a bicycle commuter -- as I'd done for many years. I consider it a rare privilege, in these Washington suburbs, to be able to ride to work; and besides, it's no coincidence: when we moved to the area, I pulled out a map and used a piece of string to draw a 7-mile-radius circle around my workplace: "Here's where we'll live." So far, we've been able to stay well inside that circle... so I am without excuse.

This week's NYT article and video on bicycle-friendly culture, and David Byrne's recent Manhattan helmet-cam ride video (*), have been inspirations. (This post's title is from Portland frame builder Natalie Ramsland's nearly poetic coda to the NYT video, at 3:53.)

In that general vein, I've always thought it'd be fun to list the various spills and accidents (FDGBs) I've had in 30-odd years of cycling. But I don't want to sully this post (or Natalie's or David's good name) with that, so ... another day.

(*) I would embed that video here but it seems LiveJournal's RSS aggregator truncates posts with embedded content.

In my head and now in yours

In thinking about that last post while preparing the next one, the Talking Heads' song "Heaven" has taken up residence in my mind: "The name of the bar: the bar is called Heaven..." I suppose this was inevitable. So, for your enjoyment and (hopefully) my relief, here it is, from the "Stop Making Sense" film.

I saw that film 6 or 7 times at the Brattle Theater in Cambridge, MA, back in the day; bought the DVD on eBay a couple years ago and it's quickly become a family favorite. Awfully hard to stay gloomy after pressing Play on that disc. It seems to trigger whatever innate dance reflex humans have: even little Timo (1-1/2) moves in time to the beat; his brothers run laps around the room.*

The initial "Thank You" you see here is for the brilliant bit of performance art (video) that opens the concert (Mr. Byrne flails all over the stage each time the beat skips a groove). That, the famous Big Suit (video), and the elusive self-interview (video) still feel so otherworldly and unique that we squirm a little. Or maybe it's just me. But "Heaven" underscores the whimsical longing underneath it all.

I've been finding YouTube and its ilk to be a treasure trove of music new and old -- fodder for a future post perhaps. It gets pretty captivating sometimes. "Its hard to imagine that nothing at all / could be so exciting, could be so much fun..."

* 'Course they also do this for Black Flag -- our music of choice when the day is especially dreary (and mommy's far, far away).

My epic night out

I am in teh coffeehouse: dusty brocade sofas, leftover Christmas lights on the walls, free wifi, weekly open mic, outstanding (Original Sin) hard cider, and a sign over the bar: "No Pissy Attitudes". Welcome to the College Perk. Tonight's entertainment: The Glad Version. Last week I knew I'd found some signs of life here when a dreadlocked 50-something played strange beats on a portable keyboard, mumblsinging what I eventually recognized as "yo ho ho and a bottle of rum." Then someone plugged in a projector and showed a strange short film he'd made. I hope heaven is a little bit like this. Meanwhile, I think I'll make this a regular hangout on my weekly Epic Night Out.

ENO is a new tradition chez nous, instituted by my lovely wife: she's taken a night out each week for a few months now; me I'm just starting out. The "E" is reminiscent of my first week, which was anything but epic: I crisscrossed the county looking for something to do; finally settling for an overpriced latte at Borders Books near closing time. But I'm getting better at this. We'll see how it evolves; I've been trying to find time away to read, write, pray, reflect, meet with folks, and take in some culchah ... and this may be part of the answer.

Justice in the burbs

Just finished Will & Lisa Samson's book, "Justice in the Burbs: being the hands of Jesus wherever you live." It's the most enjoyable book I've read in quite a while; not just thought provoking, but quite pleasant to read: it interweaves a fictional plot with a consistently generous, conversational tone. It even ends with a benediction to the reader -- as though the authors were laying a hand on my head and praying for me. (It sounds odd but they pull it off somehow.) By Ch. 2, I'd been gently drawn into the book's story and argument, and didn't want to put it down. Time and again I felt like it had me pegged -- the Mon.-Fri. paper pusher, Sat. lawn cultivator, Sun. pew warmer; who robs Peter to pay Paul and wonders at night, "is that all there is?" -- until I realized how many others 'round here would squirm just as much. Especially memorable was a chapter on mountaintop removal mining, which showed how going with the flow of American convenience and comfort underwrites grievous insults to God's creation and surprising degrees of greed and human misery. Other chapters discussed less dramatic, but also important concerns, such as alienation and loneliness -- also part of what "living justly" is concerned with. I'll be recommending this book to many; it's a persuasive explanation of how anyone can (and why Christians need to) be involved in tangible efforts to "love your neighbor"... both "over there" in places of obvious injustice or poverty, and "right here" with our literal neighbors, and through the everyday choices we make. Several stars.

My only quibble: in guest author Tony Jones' short "meditation" after Ch. 3, he refers to the Holy Spirit as "she" -- seemingly for no other purpose than to get a rise out of more traditional thinkers than himself. As a result (people being what they are) I have to think twice about whom to recommend this to. I wonder what Tony's like at parties.
[UPDATE Nov. 6: I misread Tony's intent. See his clarification in the comments.]