Groban Concert Reflections

                I am not, technically, a “fan” of Josh Groban, or a “Grobanite,” as his most ardent followers are called.  That is, I am not a “fanatic” concerning him.  I do not know if my daughter is free of that label, however.  Her three-year-old seems convinced that Josh will be coming to dinner at their house at some time.  I do not believe she would have gotten that idea had she been living in my house.  Nevertheless, I do appreciate his talents and enjoy listening to him.  Therefore, when my wife asked for tickets to attend his concert in Sacramento as a birthday present, I was quite agreeable.  This post is not intended to be a review of his performance, but rather a few observations of mine concerning the evening.

                I would like to begin by noting that Groban’s performance was very good, though it did not elicit any superlative reactions from me; no awe, wonderment, surprise or astonishment.  I do not believe his inability to move me to ecstatic demonstration has anything to do with his superb talent.  It is just that I expected him, considering the price of the tickets, to be nearly perfect, and he was.  The sun rising each morning is a spectacular event, yet, because I expect it, I do not revel in its every occurrence.  His performance was very good, and I enjoyed it.  I was a little disappointed in my inability to understand all the songs, but that was not his fault.  I guess my hearing is not what it used to be, because I could not understand the words.  It was like he was singing a foreign language. 

                An aspect of the show that did mesmerize me was the special effects.  The stage was a simple rectangle with musicians spread out across the length of it.  The backdrop was that of a wall of large stones with an incomplete arch extending out a short distance over the stage at a mild angle.  It was not the sort of décor that immediately inspired wonder.  Yet, it was the base for some very impressive projections during man songs.  These projections, along with lights directed on the wall and general lighting on the stage were very remarkable.  That wall became part of a bridge, a building with an opening door, a crumbling structure, a bullet-ridden barrier and a host of other visual effects.  Even the lighting fixtures themselves became part of the presentation at one point.  The theatrical director and lighting director deserved much more praise than they were given publicly.  [Though it does not do it justice, you can get a little taste of what I am trying to describe by watching this Youtube video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J_-bv--zLKc]

                One interesting opportunity afforded all attendees with cell phones was the Q & A event.  Prior to the beginning of the show, anyone could text a question to a staff member.  Not far into the performance, Josh took the time to rest his voice, read a few of the questions and joke with the audience.  I wanted to send a message, pretending to be my wife, asking if he would consider marrying a friend of mine who was attending.  This would have been a hilarious stunt, but I could not figure out how to send the message on my Blackberry Curve.  I have sent many text messages to people in my address book, but I could not figure out how to send a message to 66739.  Another fantastic opportunity lost due to my technological limitations.

                The musicians supporting Josh, along with the mixer who kept them in perfect balance, were of superior quality.  The guitarist, who is also the musical director, was exceptional.  And while the percussionist did a wonderful job, I must question the choice of one instrument.  What is the sense in moving a shaker around in that situation?  This is one of those tubes with a bunch of beads inside that a percussionist holds with one hand and shakes in rhythm to the tune.  I am sure his shaker was a very nice one and produced a pleasurable sound.  However, when others are playing the drums, a piano, a bass guitar, an electric guitar, two violins, a viola, a cello, a trumpet, a trombone, two French horns and with Josh singing, who can possible hear a shaker?  Yet, there he stood, being paid whatever worthy salary his union has arranged, “playing” his shaker.  It was like using a mime as a backup singer.

                Overall, it was a very nice evening out.  I have been motivated to explore the possibility of purchasing additional Groban music for my ancient Ipod.  What’s that?  I can get rid of the Ipod and load my songs onto my Blackberry?  Next, you’ll be telling me I can use it to call somebody.

Family Feud Fun

     Very few television shows appeal to me these days.  I watch some just so I can have some white noise when I am napping.  Occasionally I find a couple I enjoy, but not enough to put them on the DVR if I plan to miss them.  Many of you know I am an old movie buff, so I enjoy watching black-and-white films and television shows.  I get a kick out of seeing young actors who were unknown at the time, but became famous many years later. 

     Lately, I have become interested in a new television show I have seen advertised.  It is called Whitney.  It is difficult to describe what the appeal is, but I think I have narrowed it down to her facial expressions.  There is one advertisement in which the Whitney character (played by her creator, Whitney Cummings) gives advice to other women about the “silent treatment.”  She explains that women who use this technique to punish their husbands are getting it all wrong.  A wife’s silence is not a punishment to a man.  She suggests the alternative; incessant talking.  If one can set aside the obvious sadness resulting from the deficiencies of the individuals in a relationship that is peppered with such inadequate, misguided and harmful solutions to inter-relational problems, it is actually rather funny.

     Today, the noontime food cravings visited me in the usual manner.  In response, I removed the square, clear plastic container with the blue lid, filled with last night’s leftovers, from the refrigerator shelf and placed in on the glass microwave turntable.  I pressed the “add a minute” square, filled my 32-ounce, plastic Chevron glass with ice and water, and took a spoon from the silverware drawer.  The microwave beeped at me, so I removed the warmed up chicken and rice, shook some soy sauce over it, and headed for the couch.

     I have recently rediscovered Family Feud.  This show has been around for 35 years, off and on.  The format is so simple and the prizes so small, it simply cannot retain the audience it needs to stay on the air.  Therefore, it has been cancelled and revived several times.  Currently, the host is Steve Harvey.  He is a funny guy; clean, not offensive, and likeable. 

     So, there I am, munching my soy sauce-soaked chicken and rice when two players are called up to the podium to compete.  For those of you who are not familiar with the show, two players must listen to a question that has been asked of 100 people and try to give the same answer the largest number of that sampling gave.  This particular question was, “We asked 100 married men, ‘Your wife hasn’t spoken to you for the past 3 hours.  What is the most likely reason?’”  One player pushed the button and gave the answer that had been given by 82 of the 100 men surveyed, “She’s mad.”

     At this point, that player rejoins the other members of her family.  Steve Harvey asks each member of the family to correctly identify the other answers given by the group of married men.  In this case, they have to come up with the three other "top" answers given by that group.  One after the other, the players gave answers that sounded quite plausible, but were not what that group of 100 married men had answered.  After three misses, the other family got a try.  They could not come up with any of those other three answers either.

     Here are the top four answers given by the 100 married men asked this question: “Your wife hasn’t spoken to you for the past 3 hours.  What is the most likely reason?” 

                1.  She’s mad.

                2. She’s asleep.

                3. She’s dead.

                4. She’s not home.

     Out of respect for the "crown of God’s creation," and not out of fear of unimaginable retribution, I am going to refrain from further comment.

     However, I would like to give you ladies the opportunity to respond to this question:  Your husband has not spoken to you for 3 hours.  What is the most likely explanation?

Eating A Scone: It's a Guy Thing

    Gentlemen, I ask for your kind attention and, if you can see your way clear, your support of me in my hour of need.  I am convinced we are a misunderstood gender, recipients of unwarranted criticism for just being ourselves.  A case in point is the following tale of the disappearing scone.

    We were in Canada for a short vacation (that’s a “holiday,” to my European friends).  We had hiked a beautiful, but fairly difficult, trail around Lake Louise up to a “tea house” at a point called Six Glaciers.  The following day we decided to take it a little easier and ride the gondola up to the top of Sulphur Mountain.  Well, three of us decided to take it easy.  My eternally restless brother-in-law decided this would be a good opportunity to run up the 5.5 km (3.4 mi) trail, designated as “strenuous,” which gains 742 m (2,434 feet) in elevation.  I am not sure if his primary motivation was the challenge of the trail or the fact that nobody was selling tickets at the top, so he could ride down for free.  But I digress.

    He was off and running, leaving me with my wife and her sister-in-law.  We didn’t want to ride the gondola to the top immediately and then have to wait around for Mr. Energy-To-Burn, so we decided to relax in the Starbuck’s lounge.  Imagine, a Starbuck’s in the gondola building in Banff, Alberta, Canada!  They are truly every place!  Again, I am off the subject.  The three of us headed for some coffee time.  Ah, but there was a gift shop on the way.  I walked up to the Starbuck’s counter ready to order for the three of us, but when I turned to ask what my companions wanted, I was alone.  I ordered my coffee and a delicious looking cranberry scone I thought all three of us would enjoy, found a comfortable seat with a nice view of the mountain, and settled in to partake of my mid-morning snack.

    I broke off a chunk of the frosting-covered scone, dunked it into my coffee and set it upon my tongue.  How does one describe a taste?  The buttery cake mingled with the sweet, white icing fairly melted upon my tongue.  I cleansed my palate with a slow sip of my coffee, and broke off another bite-size chunk and repeated the process.  I took my time, allowing each bite and sip to sit upon my taste buds like foot-sore hikers dissolving into a trailside bench, before slowly disappearing off the back edge of my tongue.  I found pleasure in the third of this delectable pastry I had intended for my consumption.  I scanned the large area containing the coffee bar, the gift shop and all the public space in between, but could not see the two ladies anywhere.

    There was no battle, no silent argument between the good angel and the bad devil on my shoulders, and no hesitation.  They obviously were not being drawn to the delectable treats purposefully displayed in the case at the counter to entice coffee drinkers to spend a little more.  I acted in the most natural manner.  I broke off another delicious piece of the scone, baptized it in the caffeine pool, and continued in my relaxed reverie.  Another third disappeared, and still no sign of the two shoppers.  I scanned the area once more, to no avail, and then finished every crumb.  I was just about to tilt my Styrofoam cup all the way up to coax the last teaspoon of that dark elixir and some coffee-soaked scone crumbs out of the bottom, when who should I see standing next to me?

    Looks of contentment; that is what I saw on their faces.  They did not display any signs of disappointed people who had missed out on anything important.  This is the moment I made the biggest mistake of the day.  When will I learn that the wisest words are often those left unspoken?  With the simple intent of relating information, and with no intent of gloating, I offered, “Wow, that’s pretty good timing.  I just finished off a cup of coffee and a scone.”  As one voice they asked incredulously, “What?  You didn’t save any for us?  Was it one of those with the white icing?  We were just looking at those and wishing we had one.”  Then I heard that universal accusation, “That is such a man thing to do!”

    This, my male friends, is where you come in.  Did I do something wrong?  Were my actions an indictment of all men or completely natural, normal, reasonable behavior?  I urge all of you to rise up in defense of maleness.  Now is the time to come to the aid of one of your own. 

Scone picture from http://www.eatingoutloud.com/2010/12/starbucks-maple-oat-scone-recipe.html

What Ever Happened to Shame?

    I used to have a 70-year-old (or older) neighbor who liked to mow his lawn wearing nothing but a pair of Speedos.  He knew others would see him, but that did not seem to make any difference.  I never was tempted to take a picture of this seasonal weekly event; I had a difficult enough time removing the mental picture from my frontal lobe.  I recall watching in unbelieving horror as a woman sauntered up to the school to pick up her first grade son wearing a large tee shirt with nothing but a four-letter expletive emblazoned across her chest.  She not only knew others would see it, she must have expected it.  Lately, I have noticed a disturbing trend toward unfettered vulgarity and crudeness in advertisements for television shows, many in prime time.

    Whatever happened to shame?  If you are old enough, you remember your parent or grandparent saying something like, “You should be ashamed of yourself!” or “Shame on you!”  The idea of shame seems to have disappeared from our culture, save for a few religious groups that often take drastic measures to punish offenders for bringing shame on their families. 

    It has been suggested that television reflects our culture.  I am sure it does its share to influence our culture, as well, but let’s accept the first assumption for now.  If this is true, then in our culture there is no shame in pre-marital sex, sex with people a person barely knows while racing through the wilds of South America, finding “true love” by being the last man or woman standing after a couple of months of “dates” and rose ceremonies, young and middle-age housewives backstabbing and conniving against one another, and people standing nearly naked before millions of people with their hundreds of pounds of excess fat hanging in great folds for all to see.  This is just a sample of the weekly programming I have seen advertised.  I could expand this example to include the movies and daily news stories available as well, but I would rather not take the space.

    It is not even the actions themselves that are the focus of my attention, but the fact that these actions are taken without the slightest hint of shame, and in fact, often with great pride.  We all have been guilty of actions that should not have taken place.  However, the normal standard used to be a genuine feeling of shame and remorse accompanying the disclosure of those actions.  Today, likely as not, the subjects exhibit pride and are heralded as heroes of a social movement characterized by unrestrained freedom and immorality. 

    With the media joining the masses in the effort to normalize aberrant behavior, ignorant bystanders are subtly lulled into believing the moral standards of our society have indeed been lowered to animal instinct level.  The truth, they think, is what they are hearing and seeing.  An inspired writer once wrote of “men who suppress the truth by their wickedness.”  There is a standard of right and wrong, and this is known as the truth.  Truth can be denied or ignored.  People can attempt to change its definition, but by definition, it is still the truth and therefore, cannot be changed.  So, the modern exhibitionists of immorality may claim to be wise, but they are fools.  They think they are making some sort of progressive, new, daring statement, when they are actually moving backwards into a primitive lifestyle ruled not by their intellect, but by the base desires of their hearts.  They degrade their own worth and that of those they include in their activities.

    What has happened to shame?  It is being replaced by arrogance, greed and depravity, born from a continual denial of the truth.  We need to take some action to combat this trend.

    In practice, this means we need to understand that certain parts of our bodies are not intended for public viewing.  Not everyone ought to wear Spandex.  Some activities ought to be confined to a secret place and not videoed or photographed.  Some words and phrases should not be spoken in front of others, especially children.  Drunkenness is not as funny to the neighbors as it is to the drunk.  Poorly behaved children are not cute.  Poorly behaved dogs are even less cute.  Hanging replicas of a male organ from the back of enormous pick-up trucks is not going to make most of us think the drivers are manlier than they really are.  Finally, cell phone pictures of the senders' body parts are not as impressive to the recipients, or the unintended viewers of the forwarded pictures, as the senders think they are.

   I, for one, long for a return to the days when shame was something we could be proud of.

Adam and Eve in the Garden of Paradise from http://www.imageenvision.com/free_picture/0003-0706-2513-4936.html