“… take the blows that come our way”

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I spent yesterday evening putting together next Sunday’s Cephas Hour. It’s a good one; wide variety of music without illogical genre shifts, superb songs from start to finish. The host could use some work, but he knows that. All too well.

Although I was primarily focusing on song selection, making the segues from one to the next smooth and then choosing my words for the banter in-between sets, my mind did occasionally wander across the country to a piano bar where BlogBash was being held. For the uninitiated (count your blessings), BlogBash is a now annual subgathering during the annual CPAC gathering of conservatives, said subgathering consisting of a self-selected few conservative bloggers who gather together to party, give each other awards and send innumerable tweets and photos of each other, far more often than not in various stages of inebriation. Not my idea of a good time, but to each their own. As to CPAC itself, Madison Rising’s manager sums it up quite nicely.

There are invariably people attending such events I’d like to meet in real life. That said, such a gathering is hardly my definition of a quality meeting place. I prefer small groups, no more than three or four including myself, where everyone spends actual time talking with and getting to know each other. And everyone in attendance is sober. Most preferable is one on one, and not the schmoozing kind where you’re greeting whoever you are currently speaking with while simultaneously bobbing up and down to look over their shoulder so you can see if there is someone else in the room with whom you’d rather converse. Genuine one on one, with both people sharing, caring and making a meaningful connection having nothing to do with mutual career advancement.

It warrants mention that I am far, far more likely to be the next cover story for GQ than be granted admittance to a BlogBash or variation thereof. Doubtless this is all my fault, and if I were the organizers of such events I wouldn’t let me near the place either. Too outspoken; too willing to cross swords and otherwise be an irreverent loose cannon. Also, a champion go along to get along type with charter membership in the mutual admiration society I am not. I truly suck at sucking up. Much more the type who has burned, if not outright dynamited, several bridges behind me over the decades.

Age hopefully brings wisdom. I do my best to be far more circumspect these days, trading a tradition of truculence for a more taciturn approach. Getting far too old for the angry young man shtick, which is nothing more than self-righteousness pretending to be a holy crusade. However, when it presses on me that something need be said, it is said. I may be more particular these days when choosing which hill to die on, but when it is called for my action plan and attitude toward same mirrors that of Esther: if I perish, I perish. The truth, in all its forms, is what matters. Me, not so much.

So many things are of infinitely greater importance than handheld mirror-rooted love feasts or Twitterati internecine warfare. A brutal reminder of this came a few days ago, when a woman I know on Twitter suffered the unspeakable horror of her daughter being killed in a car accident, the daughter leaving behind a young son. I, as do all in the unfortunate fellowship, know from personal experience the heartache of burying your parents and a sibling. Yet even as deeply as these moments hurt, they are expected events. Every child knows and reluctantly accepts that one day they will say goodbye on this earth to their parents. No parent, save in their worst nightmare, contemplates having to say goodbye to their child. For this blinding pain there can be no preparation. For those hit by such a tragedy there must be nothing but love and prayerful support.

Praying properly for others requires proper preparation. I am reminded of Pope Francis I and his introduction to the world; a quiet, humble man of faith and service whose first words to the people were a request for prayer. This is someone to emulate; this is someone setting an example via deeds and not words. This is also someone who incurred harsh criticism for remaining seemingly mute when Argentina was suffering under a repressive regime, it being revealed only years later that he had personally saved more than a few lives from his country’s then government at no small risk to his own. Again, deeds not words. Performance, not PR. Not a man who toots his own horn.

Far too often, an individual or group’s deeds are rendered impotent by the selfsame individual or group’s words. A prime example of this is when combating someone, or an alliance, that is both desirous to do harm in some fashion and feeds on attention. Certainly one must do what need be done to protect him or herself plus family and friends. That said, if the temptation of seeking sympathy by broadcasting your situation to the world is too great to resist you are immediately removing yourself from doing what is right, instead depositing yourself into a game of liar’s dice for a prize of fool’s gold. Recognition vampires will do anything necessary to get their name out there. Do not offer them your neck to bite by sticking it out while looking for your own recognition. Do these things privately. Do not so much as publicly breathe the name or names of the opposition. Do not acknowledge its existence. Quietly pursue justice. Any other course of action will make it that much more difficult to achieve.

Sadly, even as there are those who live to be noticed others live to be part of the Perpetual Sissyhood of Daily Martyrdom. Why? Some enjoy the sympathy, others how this makes for a marvelous fundraiser. For some, both. Bank account running low? Poke the hornets nest, call forth the cash cow… er, bogeyman and cue up “Poor, Poor Pitiful Me.” Works every time. Regrettably, to this group BlogBash was dedicated along with running the show.

An event such as BlogBash could prove valuable if it led to greater networking, encouragement and support for all bloggers, not solely those in attendance. This is not the case. Instead, BlogBash is Purina Ego Chow for petty little people on either side of the battlefield. The pathetic left uses it as a whipping boy for all they say is wrong with the right, while the self-absorbed right uses it as a way to say who’s in and who’s out among a little co-ed frat house blissfully ignorant of how no one outside its own circle knows it exists. Everyone is a misunderstood champion; everyone is a heroic victim of the other side. And everyone is shocked to learn none of it matters.

They ought not to be.

So much of life is lived only when we take the blows that come our way without alibi or fanfare. We will all experience genuine sorrow, the kind that can be effectively handled by no means other than becoming acquainted with the Man of Sorrows, the One acquainted with grief. We do not need sponsors, donations or high school cliques created by equally high school-ish drama queens. These are meaningless and will depart as quickly as they came, leaving behind no legacy other than a monument to folly. Even as only starving the attention seekers while working without notice to thwart their plans effectively counters their evil, only surrender to Jesus’ love and emulation of His service to others builds an enduring testimony to something worthwhile. BlogBash doesn’t qualify.

Therefore, let BlogBash go bye-bye.

Radio, Radio

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It’s oft been noted here and elsewhere that we need to do far more than preach not political correctness but rather correct politics. We also need to actively influence culture. Be it the arts, sports, media, what have you: we need to be involved, not hiding behind castle walls passing notes out through arrowslits but actively out there; open, honest and uncompromising while simultaneously presenting top-notch work.

The Internet has been a tremendous tool in this. We have the option of streaming our own audio and/or making our own videos. Also, while there is still far too much emphasis on inside joke material there are at least a few attempts being made to reach out beyond the echo chamber cathedral’s parishioner list and engage people where they are. I have my own modest effort; others have theirs. All of these depend on the Internet remaining unfettered by restrictions on what material can and cannot be presented. This unfortunately brings into play the synchronized beauty and horror of the Internet: fortunately, everyone can get on it; unfortunately, so can anyone. The best you can do is either ignore the drek and its purveyors, or have great fun at their expense (language warning, but it’s such a terrific video it’s given a pass):

I mention this to set up the following. On the surface it may seem unrelated to anything; industry shop talk useful solely to industry people. However, this is not the case. The ripples of what may well come to pass will directly affect each of us.

Gene Savage, mastermind of BlackLight Radio where Cephas Hour resides, recently linked to a most interesting blog post from a broadcast radio professional in which he noted that at least two major automotive manufacturers are planning on shortly doing away with AM/FM radios in their cars. Why? Not enough people listen to them to warrant making them available. Satellite radio, yes; although financially Sirius/XM is barely hanging on well enough to keeping the doors open. An input jack for your iPod or other MP3 player, sure. Internet radio? Most definitely, as this incorporates both Internet-only stations such as BlackLight and the streaming services such as iHeart Radio, TuneIn Radio and others most every traditional radio station now employs to make its broadcast available everywhere. But standard over the airwaves radio? Gone.

This raises more than a few questions, assuming it comes to pass. Will the auto manufacturers charge a fee for Internet radio access? Will it be satellite-based or dependent on local cell service? Given the latter’s inherently fragile and ofttimes spotty nature, in case of emergency will there be a fallback system? If scanning through stations now is a distraction, what will it be like when a driver can access most every traditional and online station in the world? One can safely assume there will be voice command to narrow down the search by category and genre; hopefully when the search term used is “music that changes the culture” my show will be among those listed. But I digress.

Given that most every cell network out there is stretched beyond capacity, one can only imagine how overloaded they would be should thousands or tens of thousands of cars in a single area suddenly access them for streaming media. To avoid this, it goes to reason that some kind of satellite service will be made available. Satellite internet is already with us, but as run by current providers it is extremely high priced with severely limited data plans. A plan and platform similar to what satellite radio presently employs is the most likely scenario, run by either an existing business or one set up on behalf of, if not by, the auto manufacturers. It also stands to reason that the auto manufacturers would work with existing streaming channels such as the aforementioned iHeart or TunedIn to avoid unnecessary work recreating what already exists.

While on the surface this has no great impact on society, presuming access to local channels remains intact and free of charge or at the least inexpensive, it does bring up a deeper point. What if the presumption is incorrect? If radio becomes a primarily or exclusively Internet-based service, and access in a car is through a provider, will it truly remain free?

What concerns me is the potential cableization, to coin a word, of radio, both traditional and online. An example of cableization is how Comcast XFINITY has no problem letting subscribers watch ESPN directly on mobile devices using ESPN’s app. When it comes to FOX News, which offers the same service through its app? No dice, despite many other providers making it available. While many factors go into such deals, although it usually boils down to three primary factors all of which are commonly referred to as “money,” it is a signpost pointing the way to what can happen when service providers base decisions on neither economic reasons or public demand, but rather personal (i.e. political) preferences.

In the streaming app world this is already in place. Case in point: on our occasional jaunts through Southern California Mrs. Dude and I habitually listen to KNX in Los Angeles for its regular traffic updates. Let’s say we were dependent on an online service to pick up the broadcast. Let’s also say our car radio has only one streaming service as its source. Using the currently available stations list, should the app be TuneIn or Radio.com no problem. iHeart? Well, ain’t life a bust and have a great time cruising down I-5 as it’s doubtless speed limit all the way. No KNX for you! It is a quite manageable step from there to “well, let’s dump these stations because no one listens to them. Oh, wait – they’re all conservative talk? Coincidence. Pull the plug.” You also face the prospect of high rollers (i.e. traditional stations owned by corporations with capital) putting the friendly squeeze on providers to leave out independent voices, such as BlackLight.

Another concern is how, if at all, artists will be paid for their efforts when stations play their music. This gets messy and insider-ish in a hurry, so I’ll skip the details. Suffice it to say that when it comes to who is owed what and how it is paid out it is a mess, with different rules for traditional and streaming stations. Regardless of who plays what, artists usually wind up holding the short end of the stick. After they have been beaten over the head with it. I’m not seeing this improving as the line between traditional and online radio grows ever more blurred.

Much of the above is speculation, and certainly alternate courses may be taken. That said, there is the strong possibility some, most or all of the above will take place during the next few years. If true, it will become that much more difficult to mount a successful outreach. And that is no static.

Banquet At The World’s End

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John Donne was quite correct when he noted that no man is an island, although in addition to his dour framing of this truism there is also a positive interpretation. There are no truly solo artists in life. Each of us benefits from the works of others, who hopefully in turn benefit from our works. This is the Christian way; each of us fulfilling our part by carrying out our mission as all of us are joined together into one body of believers by Christ.

I note this to both set a background for my assorted electronic ink scribbles this time through and properly thank a couple of people without whom Cephas Hour would not exist. There are many people to thank, but these two deserve special praise. First, there is Gene Savage who owns and runs BlackLight Radio. Gene is kind enough to turn his baby over to me for a couple of hours each week, in the course of doing so stepping away from the station’s 1980s hits format as I play the music to close to my, and it should be noted his, heart. Also, there is Adel Meisenheimer who has taken on the herculean effort of making the massive catalog of Frontline Records, on which many of the artists I play were associated, available in proper form after years of first slapdash chopped-up re-release abuse and then neglect. Not content to stop there, Adel has also brought back music from artists across multiple labels, working out all the logistics and legalities that go into such an effort. She and Gene deserve massive accolades for doing the work to make beautiful things happen. Me? I’ve got it easy. All I have to do is once a week pick sixty minutes worth of awesome music from a bountiful supply. Piece of cake. They’re doing the work. They’re doing something.

What does it mean to do something?

It means there is an effort; an outreach beyond trotting out the same ol’ same ol’ for an existing fan base. Doing something isn’t performing for an already enraptured audience. It’s not the home team putting on a show during batting practice. It’s when, to quote one of the artists in my book, you’re shooting arrows over the horizon. Ofttimes unrewarding, at least in the immediate. You don’t know who you’re reaching or so much as if you are reaching anyone. But you do the work anyway, because it has been pressed on your heart that this is what you must do regardless of whether it is known to be paying off. Or, for that matter, whether it pays period.

Compare this with the looming silliness of a convention, allegedly designed to promote a singular political philosophy, that is actively barring people of like mind from participating due to that epidural condition commonly known as a near if not utterly terminal case of thin skin.  Or sub-gatherings at such a convention getting together to throw a party that boast loud and long of their numerous sponsors, yet leaving gentle and good people doing the very work supposedly supported by the aforementioned sub-gathering dependent on the charity of others to attend. Classy.

It’s easy and highly tempting to dismiss works that on the surface seem like futile efforts as failures. Others grab awards and headlines, while the apparently despite their dogged determination unsuccessful receive for their reward at best polite indifference and usually open scorn. Not quite the wished-for support if you are on the receiving end. Yet, those looked down upon press on regardless, for they know what they must do. Namely, that which they have been called to do.

Which is nothing less than planting the seeds of cultural revolution.

There is much talk these days within conservative new media of the need to have a bigger impact on a world seemingly consumed with a passion for unknowing self-destruction on many fronts: political, economic, societal. It is nice talk. Pretty words. Unfortunately it is also, as that noted societal commentator Johnny Rotten noted a few decades ago, pretty vacant. Why is this?

Simply put, it is the unwillingness to reach beyond the comfort zone and do something — anything — beyond what is already known to earn accolades, and if played properly cash rewards, from a self-satiated circle proclaiming it wants to change the world yet in deed refusing to perform anything apart from what feeds the other circle member’s individual and collective ego, expecting the same in return. We say we want to change the culture. Great. An endless recycling and promotion by, in and of the same organizations, the same shows, the same guests, the same conventions that didn’t stop the societal/cultural downward spiral before, and aren’t stopping it now, is somehow going to suddenly not only stem the tide but reverse its course? Really now. We are familiar with the repetitive action definition of insanity, correct? Perhaps it is time we stopped indulging ourselves in the aforementioned insanity by getting off of our happy selves and doing something other than preach to the chorale at the Echo Chamber Cathedral, in the course of this “action” firmly believing pinning notes on its bulletin board constitutes genuine and effective outreach.

It is not the high flyers within a bubble that soar. It is the people who, to repeat an earlier word picture, are shooting arrows over the horizon. They are the ones doing the work, not the mutual admiration society. Only when and only if those who honestly believe doing nothing but talking to those already on their side catch the vision and embrace those who strive to reaching others where they are will there be actual progress. Until then, they remain the self-nominated beautiful people sending excuses while those they look down on accept the invitation to the only party that truly matters. Namely, the banquet at the world’s end.

Somewhat gratuitous Dana Delany photo, but since the show's title is the same as this post why not.

Body of Proof

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It should embarrass the American traditional media industry when a liberal British newspaper does a far better job of covering domestic news than they can be bothered to muster. Yet, such is the case:

Eric Holder argued that using lethal military force against an American in his home country would be legal and justified in an “extraordinary circumstance” comparable to the September 11 terrorist attacks.

“The president could conceivably have no choice but to authorise the military to use such force if necessary to protect the homeland,” Mr Holder said.

His statement was described as “more than frightening” by Senator Rand Paul, a Republican from Kentucky, who had demanded to know the Obama administration’s position on the subject.

Couple of thoughts, one specific and one overall. First, the specific observation. Early in its first term, the Obama administration was hellbent for leather to bring Khalid Shaikh Mohammed, he of Al Qaeda, 9/11 and Daniel Pearl murder infamy, to New York for a civilian trial in lieu of the military court in Guantanamo for which he had originally been slotted. Eventually it begrudgingly changed its mind and consigned Mohammed to a military tribunal at Guantanamo while administration officials blasted Congress for imposing roadblocks to their original plan. All in the name of fairness, due process and “see we’re not like them”-ism; never mind they guaranteed conviction and execution which seems somewhat contrary to the standard notion of what constitutes a fair trial (but I digress). The administration is now taking another shot at this with Osama Bin Laden’s son-in-law. Meanwhile, it took a Rand Paul filibuster to get the administration’s written declaration that it did not have legal authority to summarily use drones to kill an American citizen not engaged in combat against America while they were on American soil. In another meanwhile, debate still rages as to whether the National Defense Reauthorization Act of 2012, signed into law by President Obama, permits the government to hold an American citizen indefinitely without trial. The 2013 edition of the bill has not lessened the argument. A side note to this is that much of the disagreement centers on the bill’s ambiguous language concerning whether it permits the aforementioned infinite detention. The bill is 681 pages long. You’d think with the trillions of dollars Washington spends each year, someone there would use some of that money to hire one or two people who can write in clear English. Apparently it’s not a priority.

Now, the more general observation which is derived from the above.

It is a dangerous thing to either deify or demonize a politician. To believe that someone in office can either do no wrong or no right is a fool’s paradise. Even as each of us has our own strengths and weaknesses, every politician will do those things with which we agree and that which we cannot abide. If we close our eyes to this, we close them very tightly.

Going silent when a favored political figure goes against our philosophy and platform should be an embarrassment. Do we select our elected leaders on deeds or personality cult status? We are immediate in lambasting those we generally oppose for any transgression perceived or real. Do we treat our side with the same level of critical analysis?

Even as it is nonsensical to classify a politician as all right or all wrong it is equally, if not more, nonsensical to cast one out of the kingdom with whom we almost always agree because they did one or two things we did not like. An example is how Rand Paul was heralded for his filibuster by many who earlier had told him to hit the highway when he voted to approve Chuck Hagel’s nomination to be the next Secretary of Defense.

For far too many, ideological purity trumps all. It is very easy to be a keyboard warrior pounding out thunderous denouncements of anyone and everyone who fails the least little litmus test. Actually being the newsmaker, the one who makes the speeches, writes the bills and casts the votes, is an entirely different matter. They know things we will never know, things that explain actions otherwise inexplicable. Plus, they have their own philosophy, practices and policies. No politician is under any obligation to follow our every whim. We can always vote them out if they are too far out of line.

We need to view politics and politicians with a wide angle lens, not a microscope. We need to consider their entire body of work, not cherrypick random instances and hold them up to be a body of proof. We need to be honest about them even as we need to be honest about ourselves and to each other. They will do things we like and things we loathe. Throwing them out for the least little transgression, or turning a blind eye when a preferred officeholder does something that makes our skin crawl, does neither them nor us any favors.

See the whole picture, and respond accordingly.

Everywhere I Go

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It’s an odd world in which we live these days, one in which actions speak volumes while volumes are being spoken that collectively, to paraphrase Shakespeare, are a tale spoken by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

Fans of Cephas Hour are rejoicing that the Call, with the late and deeply lamented Michael Been’s son Robert Levon Been taking his place, are playing a handful of shows next month. Not quite the worldwide headlines that accompany every time Jason Bonham fills in for his late father at a Led Zeppelin show, but significant nonetheless. The younger Been is a talented artist; his powerhouse rock combo Black Rebel Motorcycle Club has a strong and steady following. With BRMC’s new record coming out in a couple of weeks it is doubtful Been’s collaboration with his father’s bandmates will be extended much past the two presently scheduled dates; his band starts its tour promoting its new record the following week. Still, for those of us fortunate enough to be able to attend one of the two shows, it will be a welcome respite from today’s dreary music scene.

As mentioned before there is a family vibe among fans of classic Christian alt rock. We cherish the music, the artists and each other as together we celebrate not just what was, but what is and what will be. When you know the present moment is not all there is and you know the past is a signpost pointing toward a shared future of life and love in which all the suffering of this life will be washed away, you see things differently. The trivial fades before the triumph of the cross and the empty grave.

It’s not that nothing else matters. An awareness of Christ clarifies world vision. It adds impetus toward taking action and speaking out on issues of the day, mindful of how they impact lives far beyond the surface. Even as faith permeates all aspects of a believer’s life, Jesus is present in all aspects of life period, be it as creator, healer, savior or admonisher that we should never abuse His creation through sin. And all are His creation, despite the efforts of many to behave in a manner anything but reflective of this truth.

One of the, if not the, most offensive of all offenses against Christ is when an individual portrays himself or herself as His humble servant when his or her actions state loudly this is not the case. The person who lambastes others for their misdeeds while either deliberately downplaying (translation: lying about) their own or denying them altogether, declaring he or she to be a purveyor of good while doing harm to the very cause and/or people allegedly being supported, must be called out and called to account. Life is both short and precious. There is no time for the trivial pursuing vainglorious nonsense.

In this light, recent activities by assorted and in some cases sordid-behaving conservative new media members warrant mention. I would much rather talk about the things of Christ. However, these people claim to both know Him and uplift Him even as their actions dishonor Him. To state this is not judging others. It is a matter of declaring the truth. Which, as I recall, was what Jesus did regardless of who took it in what fashion. Jesus is an extraordinarily equal opportunity individual. He smacks everyone, every single one of us, across the face with the truth.

A couple of days ago it came to light that Joshua Trevino, who’s done assorted writing for and performed various job services for conservative publications and politicians, was part of a contingent that over a recent three year period received close to $400,000 from the Malaysian government. In return, Trevino wrote, as well as placed from others, posts plus columns and articles in several publications promoting said government’s policies, especially its campaign against one Anwar Ibrahim (proper name Anwar). Anwar is a flawed individual to say the least, feet firmly planted on both sides of the fence over issues such as Israel versus Palestine. Generally, however, he is viewed as a pro-liberty, anti-corruption politician. He also supports to a degree gay rights, thus ensuring he is most unlikely to receive a speaking invitation to CPAC anytime soon. But I digress.

Trevino and his current employer Chuck Devore, for whom Trevino served as communications manager during his failed campaign to win the California GOP nomination to face Barbara Boxer for her Senate seat in 2010, have both dismissed the matter as no big deal and common practice stuff. This assertion unravels when considering that Trevino failed to make mention of this deal until now and had in the past vehemently denied its existence. I’m no legal expert, but I believe this falls into the category commonly referred to as “lying.”

Okay, so we’ve established Trevino is dishonest money-grubbing scum. No other description for a paid shill insisting he or she isn’t one comes to mind. However, the reaction by others to Trevino’s now-disclosed activities would be laughable if they were not deeply lamentable as they go off on him for his actions while in their next breath talking up events such as CPAC and BlogBash.

Circle back to earlier and the discussion about the Christian classic alt rock family. It has been preached loud and long that conservative new media is a family, or at least ought to be; an army of Davids speaking truth to power and fighting against the liberal mainstream media. Brothers and sisters in arms, one and all. Sounds great, does it not?

As also mentioned earlier, sound and fury.

One has to but glance at the upcoming CPAC charade to see there is not only zero unity in conservative new media, it is increasingly intent on clawing itself to death. You have the nonsense of BlogBash, an event run by Ali Akbar with financial support from front organizations run by individuals who have received financial aid from Akbar’s allegedly non-profit fundraising efforts. This is more commonly known as kickbacks. Meanwhile, in a world allegedly home to the conservative new media family you have a party, thrown by an organization (National Bloggers Club) that has completely abandoned its original stated objective to create an umbrella under which individual bloggers could be better equipped for acceptance as legitimate media for news events, billing itself as the most exclusive event at CPAC. Actually, given its rejection of GOProud and Pamela Geller CPAC itself is the most exclusive event at CPAC. But again I digress.

The hypocrisy grows in light of the aforementioned exclusions, which have generated tremendous heat but precious little action in terms of people refusing to support CPAC and/or its organizer the American Conservative Union, better known as ACU. The party goes on unabated, with many paying lip service to the notion they are going to CPAC regardless of the ACU as a means of building networks and the like. Really? That is steer manure in a seeping sack. They are going to see and be seen, perhaps playing the role of heroic rebel telling people off even as they reinforce their position within a phantom kingdom’s hierarchy.

There is a belief among these people that they are individually and collectively creating a new media empire. The reality is they have constructed an echo chamber, sealed off from those who so little as wish to become participants within its walls let alone the outside world, in which they scramble for a higher place at the banquet table, alternating between boot-licking and face-punching each other in an effort to get ahead. All the while, they remain unshakable in their delusion, labeled as belief, they are changing the world despite the inconvenient truth of the world neither knowing nor caring they exist. But don’t let that stop the party or handing out awards to each other. Their patron saint is Little Jack Horner.

The question begs asking as to who is truly effective in communicating the conservative message. Answer? Those with an audience outside the echo chamber. Translation: those who catch the most flak from wannabes. For example, taking potshots at Rush Limbaugh has become fashionable among the impatient young insistent they deserve the audience he has built even as he continues to outdraw them all combined. Indeed, we see many instances of organizations and individuals known and unknown, usually the latter, demanding those who are better known (at whatever level this might be) give them full and immediate access to their audience, followed by public temper tantrums when this is not instantly granted. I know I have at times played this “victim” card. There is neither honor nor correctness in having done so, and it is hardly to my credit this has taken place. All I can do is resolve to not do it again, instead of doing things the proper way. Others can, and will, do as they wish.

Who is genuinely creating a media force to counteract what we currently endure? Breitbart was on the path of doing so, but tragically died before his vision could be implemented. The only person moving the needle toward genuine media integration right now is Glenn Beck. I chuckled when I read how FreedomWorks is working with Glenn Beck’s media organization the Blaze to run the next BlogCon, scheduled for this May in Dallas. It takes no gift of prophecy to state that between now and then you will see a host of conservative bloggers who have previously kept Beck at arms length, if not openly derided him, having a sudden epiphany about how he is in fact the great and good leader we should all follow and uplift. This after months, going on years, of having either completely ignored Beck or ripped on him over accusations of routinely using the works of others without crediting the original source and the fact he and Breitbart were at loggerheads over same. So much for the #IAmBreitbart battle cry.

It all winds back to family and faith. Does family segregate itself from one another in order to declare who actually belongs, in the process of doing so puffing itself up over non-existent accomplishments? Does faith lead one such as Trevino, who has proclaimed loud and long his Catholicism-rooted devotion to God, to surreptitiously accept payment for promoting a foreign government that is no friend of freedom? Do we continue to kid ourselves that how we conduct ourselves is unimportant as long as we’re doing what we believe is vital work when in fact we evangelize no one but each other? Are these the ways of family and faith? Are these the ways of Christ? Is this the path of peace?

No.

There is a better way.

It is summarized in one word: honesty. Honesty about who and what we are, told to ourselves as well as each other. Honesty when we mess up. Honesty when we need to humble ourselves before those we have wronged. Honesty about our beliefs, whatever they may be. As to the latter, to those whose who insist separation of faith and politics is a must in order to gain an audience, or at the very least making little if any mention of faith when discussing politics so as to not overly antagonize and exclude potential listeners might I point out that being open about what they believe never crimped U2′s record sales. Or, for that matter, made the Call pariahs.

Everywhere I go I see God’s handiwork. It is regrettable when people in word and especially deed exclude and dishonor Him from so much that truly matters, in the process minimizing their potential impact to nothing.

On This Sad Anniversary, A Few Words for Andrew Breitbart

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Andrew Breitbart passed away one year ago today. Rather than write yet another tribute on a day filled with them, I offer a reprise of a post originally written and published last September.

I never met Andrew Breitbart; never conversed with him online. Had we done so, and had I been able to introduce him to my work I’d like to think he would have enjoyed at least some of my self-transcribed musings. I know he would have loved the ’80s Christian alternative rock I champion for the music alone if nothing else. But it never happened.

Since Breitbart’s passing in March of this year, the incessant fighting over who best represents his legacy has raged loud and long. Are the people who directly worked with him the sole proper heirs? Do they warrant special prestige or privilege for their association? Is there validity for those who emboss #IAmAndrewBreitbart on their tweets? Just who does he belong to, anyway?

Today I answered that question for myself.

Up in the hills overlooking Los Angeles from the west, amid assorted corporation headquarters and housing developments sits Hillside Memorial Park and Mortuary. For seventy years it has served the Jewish community in Los Angeles, its grounds filled with entertainment and business giants now resting amid those known but to their families, if any are left. Its relative newness precludes any ostentatious crypts; instead, simple bronze or marble markers lie in neat rows across the grass noting who is where. The manner of interment, along with death itself, is the great equalizer.

Los Angeles was sweating both a heat wave and a major freeway closing today, the local news yammering away nonstop over how the only gridlock Carmegeddon II was producing consisted of talking heads talking about it 24/7. Nothing out of the ordinary for LaLa land. Its media has little taste for anything save traffic reporting, celebrity gazing or the Lakers and Dodgers. Which, come to think of it, is one and the same. But enough of that.

The cemetery was busy on this Sunday afternoon. One burial was underway, and another was about to begin, the hearse and following cars slowly making their way up the long drive toward one of the place’s upper areas. I doubt anyone involved with either of the above noticed the lone figure in black t-shirt and blue jeans underneath a somewhat weatherbeaten brown leather Aussie hat going into the administration office near the front gates adorned with the Star of David.

The polite young woman behind the counter asked me to spell the last name I had inquired about. Understandable, given that my voice was still suffering the ill effects of a chest cold that had been hanging on for over a week. She wrote the name down on a map and circled the location about which I had inquired, graciously offering me a small bottled water before I left. It was greatly appreciated. I said thanks for it and the directions, then started trudging up the hill, doing my best to not disturb anyone.

The grounds at Hillside are divided into different named areas: Valley of Remembrance, Mount Sholom and the like. Near the top on the right is the Garden of Rachel, named after Jacob’s wife and Joseph’s mother. It sits in the shadow of the Court of the Matriarchs mausoleum. The Garden of Rachel was my destination, and after a few minutes I found what I was looking for.

Andrew Breitbart’s grave has not yet received its permanent marker. Instead, there is a piece of paper with his name and location, all underneath a piece of plexiglass keeping it intact as long as it is needed. The ground and grass have long recovered from being disturbed on that day in March when he was laid to rest. Indeed, were it not for the paper and plexiglass there would be no indication whatsoever this was a burial site, not a plot awaiting its eventual occupant. On the face of things it was sad and lonely; a burial place unfit for a lion whose roar was new media’s rallying cry.

And yet, this modest final resting place was far more fitting than first impression might indicate.

It isn’t an elaborate crypt accessible to only the chosen few, one by dint of its size and ornate nature laying hold of the assertion that even in death this was someone with whom to reckon. There is no list of accomplishments, no boasts about what had been achieved in life. No arguments over who had rightful claim for honoring his legacy or how it should be honored. None of that. Instead, there was a grave and a reminder that here lies a man who now belongs to God alone.

I couldn’t stay long; the nearby burial service was ending and I wished to be gone before they passed by. I bent down on one knee, my hand touching the location marker as I said a very Catholic prayer in a Jewish cemetery, asking God to take Andrew James Breitbart into His eternal rest and favor. I didn’t cross myself so as to not offend anyone who might have happened to look my way, but inside I did. I then stood up and quietly walked away.

As I said, I’ve answered the question for myself.

Andrew Breitbart belongs to God now.

He couldn’t be in better hands.

To Choose Wisely

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If wisdom is the ability to discern between deliberate lies and uninformed non-truths, then higher wisdom possesses among other noble traits the ability to discern between what we perceive and/or believe to be true and what is genuine. The four most lethal words in the English language are not “I already know that,” fraught with peril as they may be. No, the four most lethal words in the English language are “I don’t believe it!” They declare our preference for clinging onto what we wish to be true, by this rejecting what evidence, logic and reason declare to be factual.

Rejecting truth in favor of what we believe to be, or wish to be, true follows much the same pattern as grief’s stages, or at least parts thereof. This is only fitting, given the often intense level of grief woven throughout the process. There is the initial shock of perceived/desired truth colliding with what is authentic truth, followed by denial of the authentic truth, anger against whoever has informed us of the truth and/or the truth’s originator(s), bargaining with ourselves that somehow we can transform the authentic truth into our perceived/desired truth, depression as we come to grips with the authentic truth, testing to see what we can do to better acclimate ourselves with the authentic truth, and finally acceptance of the authentic truth as we relegate our perceived/desired truth to the trash can of previously believed mythology.

Sometimes, though, people skip a stage or four.

A current case in point involves veteran investigative reporter Bob Woodward, of Woodward and Bernstein fame — look up Watergate in your 20th century US history books if the names don’t ring a bell — and a host of Washington online reporter/commentator types, all of far more recent vintage than Mr. Woodward. Now Mr. Woodward, being old school, is pure honey badger: tenacious, fearless and don’t care with a capital D. He pursues the story regardless of what it is, who is involved or its potential repercussions. It is the story that is sacrosanct. This trait alternately endears him to people and enrages the selfsame people depending on whether he’s goring the other side’s sacred cow or theirs during his current story’s unfolding.

A few days ago, Mr. Woodward wrote a story in which he reported the sequester originated with the Obama administration, not Congress. He subsequently reported being verbally harangued, with follow-up email doing much the same, by a White House staffer who, in Mr. Woodward’s words, “threatened” him. What is more, Mr. Woodward went on to say some less than complimentary things about the Obama administration’s policy decisions as related to the sequester.

At this point the diapers, in the presence of pundits and reporters who either were in diapers or the embryo stage when Mr. Woodward first started breaking world-changing stories, hit the fan. This led to conservative sites that previously held Mr. Woodward at arms length out of respectful fear suddenly embracing him, taking great delight in detailing who in the media said what against the veteran reporter:

It began with Politico itself, which downplayed the entire incident, even as it acknowledged that Woodward’s “play-by-play is basically spot on” with regard to reporting the sequestration. “White House officials are certainly within their rights to yell at any journalist, including Bob Woodward,” said official Obama buddies Mike Allen and Jim VandeHei. Allen and VandeHei merely suggested that the battle with Woodward was “a major distraction at a pivotal moment for the president.” They added, “Watching and now having interviewed Woodward, it is easy to see why White House officials get worked about him.” Poor Obama, having to deal with such issues.

Next, the White House went to its favorite outlet, Buzzfeed, and their favorite BenSmithing reporter, Ben Smith, to leak the source of the Woodward “regret” email. It’s clear why they did it – Smith spun the entire incident for the White House. After announcing that the email came from Gene Sperling, director of the White House Economic Council, he proceeded to pretend that the threat email wasn’t a threat email at all – actually, Woodward was making a rookie mistake by misinterpreting a kindly tip as a threat: “Officials often threaten reporters that they will ‘regret’ printing something that is untrue, but Woodward took the remark as a threat.” Nothing to see here. Move along. Just to clarify, Smith later added via Twitter, “Am I crazy to read ‘regret’ here as ‘regret being wrong’? This is something flacks yell at reporters a lot.”

That meme was picked up by the White House’s favorite palace guards, including Dave Weigel at Slate (he retweeted Smith, tweeted, “Theory: Woodward is trolling,” then added via retweet that the whole situation was “boring”); BuzzFeed’s Andrew Kaczynski, who mockingly tweeted, “Every reporter who deals with flacks/campaign advisors/politicos/ on a daily basis finds that less than threatening”; Justin Green, who edits David Frum’s blog at The Daily Beast, tweeted, “I rarely rarely report, and I’ve had flacks say worse. Not that rare”; Jeffrey Goldberg of The Atlantic tweeted, “As a reporter, I don’t think this was a threat”; Dylan Byers of Politico tweeted, “tweets, I’m no Woodward but broadcast/cable TV PR reps use that ‘regret’ tactic a lot”; Josh Marshall of Talking Points Memo tweeted, “Who goes birther first, Scalia or Woodward?” The messaging was universal from the leftist Obama-supporting media: Woodward hadn’t been threatened, and was an amateur or a crazy old coot to think he was being threatened. Matt Yglesias of Slate summed up the general Palace Guard Media take: “Woodward’s managed to make me suspect Nixon got a raw deal.”

Others took up the battle cry both for and against Mr. Woodward. One of the more astonishing negative pieces came from Ryu Spaeth at the Week, who as part of his complaint included this amazing bit of pretzel logic from that legendary even-keel non-partisan site Talking Points Memo:

But the entire purpose of an enforcement mechanism is to make sure that the enforcement mechanism is never triggered.

Uh, no. The entire purpose of an enforcement mechanism is to enact change that otherwise would never be enacted, be it preemptive to avoid the enforcement mechanism being triggered or by default, thus triggering the enforcement mechanism. Cognitive thinking seems to be in rather short supply at TPM (please pardon the redundancy).

These anger outbursts were not based on the journalism truism that declares if your mother says she loves you check it out. They were knee-jerk reactions at the perceived affront Mr. Woodward had perpetrated. Not only had he contradicted the meme by stating the sequester was created at Obama’s request, he had gone on to say the White House, specifically a member of the White House staff, had attempted to strong-arm him into silence on the matter and as a final blow criticized administration policy. That so many would immediately jump all over Mr. Woodward, a man whose legendary reporting brought down the Nixon administration, speaks volumes about their blind devotion to President Obama trumping any and all adherence to proper journalistic practices. First you investigate, then you corroborate and only then, should you have both of these elements in place, do you speak publicly. And always be truthful along with accurate.

This all duly noted, the lesson here is not strictly one of liberal rage against one of their own for failing to toe the party line. It also illustrates the danger of blind obedience to what one believes to be true, evidence to the contrary be cursed. Be it politics, or personalities (be they of another or ourselves), or a definition of God not in accordance with His Word it is on us to choose wisely by choosing truth no matter how it plays out. To do otherwise is destructive delusion. The truth remains the truth no matter how we choose to approach its unflappable content. The more we accept this, the more enlightened we become. No matter how painful it might be.

PS: Speaking of pretzel logic…

The Fading Fine Art of Storytelling

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I didn’t watch the Oscars Sunday night; not out of any great moral umbrage taken against a fascist liberal entertainment media but rather because I don’t go to the movies often and therefore have no particular interest in an awards show for same. That said, I was glad to see that Brave won best animated picture, as I quite liked the film. But I digress.

What I most enjoyed about Brave was that it told a story, one of parent/teenager (specifically mother/daughter) strife and taking responsibility for your own actions. The former is one to which I’m sure every parent can relate; the latter something that should be applied across all facets of life even if it does disqualify you from most political posts.

At the risk of sounding like an old fuddy-duddy — and the fact I used that term more than indicates I am indeed one — I’m finding the fine art of storytelling to be an increasingly rare commodity in this ADHD-laden energy drink-sodden world. Action a-plenty and blowing up the sky sky high with CGI we have coming out of our ears, even as it assaults eyes and ears with its frenetic breathlessness. This isn’t just movies, by the way; it permeates music, television and pretty much any other art form one cares to list. I read somewhere that to a child, or for that matter a teenager, a seeming eternity of waiting is anything taking three days or higher. Nowadays it’s more like three minutes.

This creates a challenge for anyone wishing to engage in influencing culture. The choice is to either attempt compressing the message, making it shorter and/or flashier, in hopes of keeping people’s attention or take your time telling your tale while knowing full well this risks driving away the short attention span crowd. In this society, the sheer number of voices vying for attention translates into fleeting chances for communication. You’d better be both good and ready when the opportunity presents itself.

That all said, what story are we telling?

Remember, you may get one shot and one shot only at reaching someone. This doesn’t require a response of making sure you preach your evangel 24/7, but it does strongly suggest dispensing with non-complimentary trifles. We don’t have the luxury of talking one way and walking another. We can’t preach respect for women and then try to drive up our blog traffic with girlie pics. We can’t talk unity and then tear each other to pieces. We can’t proclaim citizen journalism is the coming wave and then promote or participate in exclusionary, caste system activities. Well, actually we can do any or all of these things, but if we do so we shouldn’t be surprised when what we are attempting to broadcast falls on deaf ears.

It’s not only what story we tell that matters. It’s how we tell the story. Consistency is key. What is our backdrop? Regardless of whether it’s politics or art or relationships, staying within your life philosophy framework is vital. No one believes the continuously drunk thieving adulterer when he or she preaches the necessity of living a repentant life. Why should they? Their life proclaims their words to be hollow. Live straight. Walk straight. People may not agree with you, but they will respect you.

Don’t play to the crowd. It’s easy to throw red meat in hopes of getting a better seat at the echo chamber banquet. Offering detailed or subtle or non-overt anything, not so much. Yet it is the latter than stands the best chance of being received by pop culture burnouts looking for something — anything — that contains intellectual and/or spiritual nourishment.

Yes, storytelling is difficult. It is not going to immediately grab attention. The impatient will not linger. Yet when told well, and told with honesty and integrity, you’d be surprised how many will suddenly have ears to hear and eyes to see.

PS: Speaking of three minutes…

Mandolin Wind

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A few months ago, I bought a mandolin. Hardly one of the prized Lloyd Loar ones from the 1920s which on the rare occasion one comes up for sale fetch an easy six figures, but at least it is the same style.

I’ve played guitar and bass since the 1970s, but I’m not altogether certain when the mandolin first became of interest other than it being one of far more recent vintage. I’ve listened to them for decades (ouch) being played for on assorted 1970s eclectic rock records when it was time for an acoustic track, this being an era when shifting from style to style with each successive song was far more popular than today. There was Jethro Tull:

Led Zeppelin:

Of course Rory Gallagher:

Moving ahead to the 1980s, there were the Hooters:

And across the years doubtless there have been others that don’t readily come to mind. (Hey, it was probably forty years ago. Give me a break.)

The mandolin is primarily associated with bluegrass, although it predates said musical genre by a few centuries. Most recently, the most eclectic Nickle Creek had a mandolin prominently featured:

And REM occasionally pulled one out, but they don’t count. For much of anything. But I digress.

My mandolin had a rather inauspicious beginning: I bought it without realizing the bridge was broken. You’d have thought the salesperson would have noticed, but no. Either that or he did and declined to say anything. Anyway, after a fair amount of muttering I bought a new bridge, sanded it down to match the mandolin top’s curvature, and away I went. Right up until I decided the action was too high — last time I believe any of the websites insisting it was — and broke out my nut files to lower the action at the root source of the problem. Got one pair of strings to where the aforementioned websites said it should be, tuned up… and realized the strings were now fretting out on the first fret because they were way too low. More muttering, much of it centered around quite colorful Anglo-Saxon descriptive adjectives. Not wishing to purchase a new nut, after briefly considering turning the instrument into kindling I went with the old standby home/emergency repair technique of putting a couple drops of super glue in the string groove. Not the most favored approach among repair purists, but it worked. And yes, I did wait more than long enough for the glue to harden before putting the strings back on lest they become permanently affixed.

For a cheap… er, inexpensive mandolin mine doesn’t sound too bad. Certainly there are way better ones out there, and I have oft longed for a higher quality instrument even as my current instrument doubtless longs for a higher quality musician with whom to work. Perhaps someday. For now, my mandolin and I put up with each other on those occasions I take it out of the case and either pluck a few notes, strum a few chords, or both.

There’s a certain healing quality in most acoustic instruments when they’re played, well, acoustically. Slammed out chords on a steel-string guitar don’t exactly soothe the soul. But when an instrument such as a mandolin is played with honest intensity, be it in the gentlest of ballads or full-bore rock’n'roll, there is a connection between artist and audience that cannot be matched.

I enjoy playing my mandolin, picking out little songs and adapting others to the instrument’s possibilities and challenges. In that odd connection between artist and implement for creating art that sounds like the ultimate in self-indulgence and ego trip, yet in fact is anything but, the music speaks to me, calming me down and bringing a smile. Granted, most of my music time is spent on electric guitar playing blues and bluesy rock even though I started out as strictly a folkie. But the mandolin wind blows warm pleasantness, and for this I am quite thankful.

PS: You knew I had to include this clip: