Tonight is a simple quote, from a new friend:

“You never know who you’re going to meet, never…”
- Steve

1 + 1 = 2, and that is beautiful.  Assuming we are using the standard number system learned in America, it’s beautiful because it’s correct; it has a defined answer that can be solved.  There is no confusion.  Numbers are beautiful for this reason – even delving into far more complex equations: 1345 x 3485 / 48395.987 + 98/89 = ?, there is still a definitive answer.  To take it another step, we know that 2 is greater than 1 ( 2 > 1).  While these symbols are defining abstract concepts, we can agree on the numerical amounts.  That is an ideal.

In life, there is not a definitive answer.  Attempts are made to place a value on things, one may attempt to apply a utilitarian moral code to a situation to decide on the best course of action, ie. Giving Joe a car is of a greater value then myself getting a candy bar, therefore, if I need to choose between giving Joe a car or getting a candy bar, I should give Joe a car: but what if Joe will get into an accident with that car?  Then it would seem that I should getting a candy bar has more value then getting Joe a car – we don’t want to see Joe get hurt.  But what if, if Joe’s not hurt, he would (insert some ghastly deed here)…

We could continue to add on situational changes in value of an action to infinity.  The continued additions are what we cannot know; what nullifies any application of value to a situation.  In math (at least in basic maths) there is an indubitable value.  In life we constantly choose: “Do I do action A or action B?” “Do I say ‘yes’ or ‘no?’” “Do I kiss her or do I not kiss her?” “Do I give Joe the car or get myself a candy bar?”  There is no agreed upon value in these choices.

In math there is a number: 1; and another number: maybe a repetition of the first 1 or maybe a new thing, like 5; and there is an answer: 2, or 6, or something else, depending on the numbers.  But there is a solution.  There is not a consistent chaos as the utility of an action, or inaction, tumble around.  There is no answer that is agreed upon; no indubitably ‘right’ way to choose: you can’t know if you should take the ‘road less traveled’ or the superhighway that speeds past fast-food places ever twenty feet.

And it is for that reason I sometimes envy numbers.  1 may never be greater than 2, but that is something it knows will never change.  That is the beauty of numbers.

Tell me,
If you could,
What it means when you smile:
To share a joy that softly brings to life
Confusing thoughts: a wish? a hope? a dream?

Tell me,
If you could,
What it means when I blush:
My Cheshire grin compelling my bashful
Face to turn; my eyes still lost in dreams.

Tell me,
If you could,
What it means when you laugh:
Vivacious airs emerging quick; which mock
And lightly pamper my foolish, foppish grin.

Tell me,
If you could,
What it means when I brush,
With tender strokes, the hair from out your eyes;
No need exists, yet nary do you withdraw.

Tell me,
If you could,
What it means when we hold
Two hands together, fingers tangled tight,
A union formed in what is only now.

Hello friends,

I’d like to take this moment to tip my hat to Samuel Clemmons, perhaps better known as Mark Twain.  I just finished watching a documentary about his life, by Ken Burns, and though I knew bits and pieces about his humble beginnings, his liberal outreach, and the many tragedies that surrounded him, this film gave a new realization of his life; and what affected me most was his constant criticism of humanity (particularly western society), but how, though he chastened society for its countless hypocrisies, I always feel a hint of hope for humanity through individual humans; with individual acts of love.  In a beautiful moment near the conclusion of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, we find Huck with a great dilemma: Jim is a runaway slave getting ready to steal his wife and child from a slave owner; if Huck doesn’t turn him in to the authorities, the common belief at the time was that he would be risking eternal damnation, yet here is Huck’s thought process, as revealed in the story:

“And got to thinking over our trip down the river; and I see Jim before me all the time: in the day and in the night-time, sometimes moonlight, sometimes storms, and we a-floating along, talking and singing and laughing. But somehow I couldn’t seem to strike no places to harden me against him, but only the other kind. I’d see him standing my watch on top of his’n, ’stead of calling me, so I could go on sleeping; and see him how glad he was when I come back out of the fog; and when I come to him again in the swamp, up there where the feud was; and suchlike times; and would always call me honey, and pet me, and do everything he could think of for me, and how good he always was; and at last I struck the time I saved him by telling the men we had smallpox aboard, and he was so grateful, and said I was the best friend old Jim ever had in the world, and the only one he’s got now; and then I happened to look around and see that paper.

It was a close place. I took it up, and held it in my hand. I was a-trembling, because I’d got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it. I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself:

“All right, then, I’ll go to hell” - and tore it up.”

-The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

Here Twain shows how, if a person uses the reason they are granted with, they can come to a moral, humane conclusion as to how to act.  I feel Twain’s work is particularly important in today’s culture, as we are assaulted by fallacious rhetoric from both sides of the (supposedly) two party system we are mired in; we cannot forget that we are all human, no matter where we live: be it Pennsylvania, Tennessee, Iraq, or anywhere else.

I hold Twain to be a master storyteller because, through his writings and (perhaps more importantly) his lectures, he was able to communicate with the common person of the world.  He was hailed as “The Funniest Man in America,” but he used his, sometimes sorrowful, humor to teach and show the dangers we often are seduced into believing.

Mark Twain was not only a master author and creator of tales, but he was also a man who took it upon himself to argue for humanity.  Let us not let the passion he had, a passion I sometimes feel bubbling beneath the surface of so many people, fade away.  This is not a call for you to stand upon a soap box and shout out your logical thoughts to the world (though I support that passion); instead this is a reminder that we must all be critical of any political and/or social rhetoric that is thrown our way; I hope that we all (myself included) can take the time to examine what we are told to believe, and see this coincides with a basic human respect; that we have the strength, when faced with what seems an immoral choice dictated by society, to be as Huck and say, “If that is my choice, to blindly follow what I am told or to go to hell, alright then, I’ll go to hell.”

That’s my passionate stance for the night.  I don’t intend to be preachy, but those are my thoughts for the night.  Thank you for reading.

Best,
Lethan

9/4/07 – Ray Hicks: Wicked John, audio recording

Wicked John is a story I know, and I knew going into Hicks’ version of the tale, yet his twisting of tale brought me into a completely new story.  Hicks has made this story his own (a “signature tale,” if you will) by granting a depth to the characters and allowing the audience to see why this tale is important: how the tale is about any person and not some fictional buffoon.

The basic premise of the story is simple: Wicked John is a mean man, but by a fluke of fate manages to be kind to St. Peter, who has come from the Pearly Gates to check on earth; so St. Peter grants Wicked John three wishes, and John wishes for earthly goods, not eternal peace; this allows John to continue in his fowl ways till the Devil hears of him and tries to bring him down below, but John’s too wicked – even for the Devil; and the conclusion comes when John finally dies and can’t get into heaven (too many wicked deeds) and can’t get into the hell (the Devil’s scared), so John is forced to float about for eternity trying to find a place to set up his own hell.

This sounds simple, but Hicks has recognized how complex this basic story is: how often a person we view as wicked might just be finding a way through life, and cussin’ is the only way he can; or how that same wicked man might want only earthly peace because he is a man of the land: man who only works with what is solid.  Through his portrayal of John in this way, Hicks changes the story from a comic tale of “just deserts” to a sad, human tale of a man trying to make his way through life in the only way he can.  Wicked John isn’t “wicked,” he’s just working with what he knows and comes off harsh to many people.

Hicks creates this John by putting himself in the story: he knows John, he has seen John’s struggles, he knows John cusses because its the only way he can let out his frustration, and he knows John only wants to help those that need help.  This gives John a human element that I have never found in the adaptations I’ve read or heard of the story.  It doesn’t try to justify John’s actions, but it doesn’t criticize them either: John is a working man.  We also know Hicks is in the story through the details inserted in the piece: these are details only a man who has lived through could know: we hear of John’s needing to keep the cream on his milk; of his knowledge of how to move cows; of the dangers of leaving a horse shoe half finished.  This paints a complete picture in the mind.  The storyteller doesn’t need to fill in all the details, but, from the sense of the story I received in his telling, I saw every iota of the scene.  Words were not necessary.

As a performance, once again, there was none.  This was not a recording of a man “performing” a story; this was a recording of the story.  Hicks did not use voices, did not attempt to add emotion to the words, did nothing but tell the story in a slow, steady, southern drawl.  This technique reminded me of my workshop with Bill Harley when he said, “You don’t need to add to what’s already there: trust the story.”  This is something I am still struggling with in my own work, and am not sure what I feel about the idea, but I do know it is beautiful to listen to: to just let the story speak.  While I am still exploring this idea, I feel that each day I learn more about how to explore.

Hello friends,

Happy Labor Day, I hope you all had a splendid time with friends and family, maybe sharing some good cooking out, maybe playing a game or watching a movie, or maybe just having some time to all relax together.  I know my day was simple, working on some stories and keeping my routines, but this evening I had the pleasure of sharing a cookout, a meal, and some time with my house-mate, Raynor, and his girlfriend, Samantha.  It is a pleasure to find new friends that help you feel right at home, even if you’re in a new place.

I’d also like to share one amusing story with you:

I have a new female friend (I’ll tell you more about her a later day) who will be visiting our apartment tonight.  Raynor and Samantha have not met her yet, so I mentioned to them that she would stop by: so Raynor remarked, “Well, I should probably get cleaned up a bit for her then.”

This caused a reaction in Samantha: “WHAT! You get cleaned up for his date… and I’m your girlfriend… what!  How!  I mean!”

It was here that I departed.

This just goes to show: in romance, becoming comfortable with a partner can be a dangerous thing.

Best,
Lethan

Hello,

A simple day today: spent getting some work done (a lot of reading and quite a bit on the script for Alice…), having a nice meal with Raynor at The Firehouse Restaurant (where his girlfriend works), and watching the film masterpiece, The Big Lebowski.  Simple and nice… just nice… until next time…

Best,

Lethan

Hello friends,

It’s late (or early, depending on your perspective), so this will be a short entry.  Just to let you know a bit about today.  Several exciting events occurred today: for one, I began my work at the University School by meeting with Jean Smith, one of my supervising teachers, and her class.  We discussed a little bit about what my job will be, and what my job will help me to do: I will be teaching the students social studies and history through storytelling and also analyzing the results, allowing me statistics to support the benefit of my work: this left me even more honored and thrilled with my position.

I also was privileged to attend a potluck dinner at the house of Dr. Sobol (my academic advisor) and his wife with several of the other storytelling students.  My time there was perfect.  We shared a splendid meal and had a relaxed, casual conversation.  There was even a cat who stopped by: at first we (the students) thought him to belong to the Sobol’s, due to his casual entrance, but we later learned they did not know this cat at all: so we concluded this cat was simply attempted to take over the house through its occupation, and it almost succeeded (it was a cute cat), until we learned which neighbor it belonged to.

After this enjoyable meal, I accompanied one of my fellow students to a contra dance.  This is a dancing style often compared to square dancing, but at the same time very different.  You find a partner (different partner for each dance), and are told/shown/taught a series of steps you perform with your partner and another couple: then, when the steps are completed, you move to the next couple: all the while a sort of Irish influenced folk music is being played.  These dances are certain to loose most of the dancers each time, but it is arranged so that if a dancer looses his/her place, they can soon find their way back into the tangle.  The atmosphere was also such that no one cared if a mistake was made: there was simply a laugh and then moving on.  And every so often the dance would simply flow for a few patterns and it was beautiful to experience this almost out-of-body experience as you find yourself twirling and twisting with your partners, most of whom you have never met, in a tangle of arms, while music that exudes joy manages to present some vague sense of order amidst this chaos: a wonderful way to meet new friends and share in a plethora of types of fun.

And of course, as often ends a magical evening, there was a bit of romance.  I went on a late night date with a new friend, and it was magical, or at least felt so to me, and she certainly seemed to enjoy herself.  But I won’t burden you with those details yet, instead, for now, I will simply wish you all the best and I look forward to seeing you soon (when I am able to arrange a tour, if not before).

Best,
Lethan