Kevin Dayhoff - Soundtrack Division of Old Silent Movies - www.kevindayhoff.net - Runner, writer, artist, fire and police chaplain. The mindless ramblings of a runner, journalist, and artist: National and International politics. For community see www.kevindayhoff.org. For art, writing and travel see www.kevindayhoff.com
Journalist @baltimoresun writer artist runner #amwriting Chaplain PIO #partylikeajournalist
Journalist @baltimoresun writer artist runner #amwriting Md Troopers Assoc #20 & Westminster Md Fire Dept Chaplain PIO #partylikeajournalist
Showing posts with label Dayhoff Five Easy Pieces. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dayhoff Five Easy Pieces. Show all posts
Book of Isaiah, Chapter 21, verses 5-9, "Prepare the table, watch in the watchtower, eat, drink: arise ye princes, and prepare the shield./For thus hath the Lord said unto me, Go set a watchman, let him declare what he seeth./And he saw a chariot with a couple of horsemen, a chariot of asses, and a chariot of camels; and he hearkened diligently with such heed./...And, behold, here cometh a chariot of men, with a couple of horsemen. And he answered and said, Babylon is fallen, is fallen, and all the graven images of her gods he hath broken unto the ground."
Winston-Salem, North Carolina - - This is the story of Mrs. Owl and I having hummus with pita bread, a tofu sandwich and a calzone; at the “Mellow Mushroom,” 4th and Marshall St., Winston-Salem, North Carolina.The story is told in six – or so parts…
"The Happy Colors"The Dream of the Pink Zebras04.22.1996 Binder # 15 v. #4.0095 07.1995 –
04/22/1996
"Life has a value only when it has something valuable as its object".HEGEL, Introduction to Philosophy of History (1852)
"We love life, not because we are used to living but because we are used to loving".NIETZSCHE, "On Reading and Writing" _ Thus spoke Zarathustra(1883-1892)
"Always develop solutions to challenges that can withstand testing conditions that closely approximate reality".GRANDPA DAYHOFF, "The Frozen Chicken Test" (11.1994)
...of which reminds me of a story that has been in my head for years... a love story called:
A sultry August ocean breeze drooled over them as they stood poised at the railing on the balcony of the large art-deco condominium overlooking a vast ocean beyond.Far below little people and cars scurried about putting away the remains of another day at the beach.The cries of tired children, squeals of laughter and the banter of parental instructions all jumbled together with the calls of the sea gulls and an ocean's heartbeat pumped waves that crashed upon the shore.It was music written by the Great Composer in the sky.A piece called "The Happy Colors".
The colors were to be remembered so well.The breeze ruffling her long hair ever so delicately.The sparkle of her eyes as she gazed at the deep azure expanse of the ocean below.The deep maroon of the setting sun as it echoed off her glass of red wine held so deftly in her seasoned, thoughtful fingers.A warm smile sprung from her inviting crimson lips, brightening her face which reflected the flickering yellow candle light.A lone white candle stood sentry, melting on to a black tablecloth that maintained the remains of abandoned china and dessert for two.The cream of her graceful gown mimicked the creamy black russian captured in the solid glass grasped in his deeply creased and weathered hands.His graying hair contrasted with the dark black of his finely tailored black tuxedo.
Their conversation drifted from the previous discussion of how they had met, and parted, in their childhood years.Perhaps they had even been lovers in a previous life.The years had marched by.And although they had lived separately for all these years, they had never left each other.They hadn't regretted their lives apart, but, then again, they did.Neither had known the other was to be at this function.This meeting again, for the first time, all over again; it was of serendipitous happenstance.As wave upon wave crashed and pounded upon the shore below, their eyes remained transfixed upon one another, oblivious to the party's banter, as their hearts crashed and pounded in unison in their warm chests.A grandfather clock dutifully stood sentry and watched the crowd beyond, and kept them away, as it quietly announced the time, seemingly, only to them...Midnight.
A stimulating intellectual discourse ensued.Alice B. Toklas was instrumental to whatever it was, that Gertrude Stein became. F. Scott Fitzgerald needed the catharsis of Zelda's being in order to create.Nietzsche fleshed out the paragraphs of their life but Hegel defined their meaning and Sartre gave them the punctuation.They had built their lives, their own way, and though they had had their shortcomings here and there, they were happy with the lives they had lived, albeit apart.They had made the best choices that they could make, not that they always had the criteria necessary in order to make the choices.They had made their choices in life because they had to make the choices.They had soared in hostile air.In a life of no inherent meaning, they had created a meaning.Their meaning.Now, older and wiser, the works that they had created, the thoughts they had promoted, the decisions they had made; were all the foundation of the work that laid ahead, that needed to be done.
They continued on to a poem that had marked their decisions in life, by a sage author they had long since forgotten....Does one build a fence at the top of the chasm of life or provide for an ambulance below?
At that, the handsome young waiter tentatively inquired about their needs.... They had none.Then again.Maybe one more drink before they left the party and parted company once again.To again do what they had to do.Because it is what it is, this life of their's.
"Yes, I'll have another black russian for me and a glass of red wine for the lady.Thank you".
The jazz quartet played a soft number in the background as the party in her honor grew quiet, reflecting about their chance meeting.Many smiled, some mused philosophically, others miffed jealously.Meanwhile, on the balcony, the lovers discussed their latest endeavors as they entwined in dance to the soft caresses of the music, oblivious to the quiet banter beyond.
They danced so softly together.Her hand ran longingly through his graying hair.Her long hair blowing across his eyes.The sun dipping below a wanting horizon.The sea gulls sang their good night praises of yet another great day in a great life.
The wise grandfather clock called to them that it was, indeed, time to go.They wanted this moment to never end.As the waiter appeared at the door of the balcony, as they held each others hand so tightly and gazed into each others eyes, as they whispered how much they were in lover and how glad they were that they had found each other again.
They a paused at the railing of the 17th floor and gazed into the sun's remains of the day and promised that they'd never part again...At that;
they climbed upon the railing, and jumped.
Grandpa Dayhoff04.22.1996
"The more absurd life is, the more insupportable death is".JEAN-PAUL SARTRE, The Words(1964)
"Man's 'progress' is but a gradual discovery that his questions have no meaning". SAINT-EXUPERY, The Wisdom of the Sands(1948)
"Life has to be given a meaning because of the obvious fact that it has no meaning".HENRY MILLER, "Creative Death", The Wisdom of the Heart(1941)
"Man is the only animal for whom his own existence is a problem which he has to solve".ERICH FROMM, Man for Himself(1947)
To be an artist is to jump...to jump from the comforts and confines...from behind the railing...then experience the free-for-all-fall of the intellectual, artistic unknown and document the meaning, your own meaning that which you and you alone, give this existence.
This piece has been in my head for years.I have not a clue as to what "the jump" is all about.Perhaps I should have left "the jump" in my head, but I had grown tired of the space it was taking up.Perhaps, "the jump" is an existential artistic exercise and can be interpreted as affirming.Anyway, I've always gotten a kick out of the incongruous, Hemingway-twist ending.I guess I'm a bit worried that many will find this piece disturbing.Well, it is what it is.I think perhaps the piece is allegorical.It's art.It's done.Now I have room for another piece.....Mr. Eaton would have liked this I'll bet....
Grandpa Dayhoff04.22.1996
"The Happy Colors"The Dream of the Pink Zebras04.22.1996 Binder # 15v. #4.009507.1995 –
Kevin Dayhoff, a slave to the masters of the page - the little soldiers in my life – words
20080422 The Happy Colors, Massive Attack, and Carly Simon
“Perfect Day” by Lou Reed – with Luciano Pavarotti
“You made me forget myself; I thought I was someone else, someone good.”Lou Reed – “Perfect Day” off the 1972 classic, “Transformer album.
(A Lou Reed lollapalooza…)
April 3, 2008
The ever-so existential “Perfect Day” by Lou Reed is one of my all time favorite songs.I was e-mailing with Saboteur (pictured below-right with Andrew Bird) earlier today and she mentioned Lou Reed – which reminded me…
And I’m a huge Luciano Pavarotti fan.So it blew me away when I came across this video of Lou Reed and Luciano Pavarotti singing “It’s a perfect day” together.
“Perfect Day” by Lou Reed – with Luciano Pavarotti
“You made me forget myself; I thought I was someone else, someone good.”Lou Reed – “Perfect Day” off the 1972 classic, “Transformer album.
(A Lou Reed lollapalooza…)
April 3, 2008
The ever-so existential “Perfect Day” by Lou Reed is one of my all time favorite songs.I was e-mailing with Saboteur (pictured below-right with Andrew Bird) earlier today and she mentioned Lou Reed – which reminded me…
And I’m a huge Luciano Pavarotti fan.So it blew me away when I came across this video of Lou Reed and Luciano Pavarotti singing “It’s a perfect day” together.
Michael Swartz'slistof local blogs to watch in 2008 is pretty good. It is missing a few good blogs of note, however…
As much as I agreed with most, but not all, of Mr. Swartz’s list, your list is right on the money.I also miss Stephanie Dray’s Jousting for Justice.And I am very happy that Crablaw's Maryland Weekly is back…
Your post could not have been timed better as it came shortly after a conversation with a dear colleague who said they like my blog – although I’m too liberal.
Ay caramba - whatever.
Along that thread, another colleague said “Dayhoff … your problem is that you like everybody.”
To that I plead guilty – life is way to short.Then again, maybe not – I don’t like mean people; and that personality defect occurs in folks from all political persuasions.
I simply do not allow politics to dictate my friends - - and I don’t like folks who do pick their friends based on politics.(I’ll be having lunch later in the week with a dear friend with whom I disagree about everything when it comes to politics.)I can disagree with folks about issues, but more often than not – I like the person…
As far as your observation: “… his actual blog hard to read -- its look is extremely busy and most of the posts are just link aggregations…”Hey, you oughta be in my head…
At least with the blog, there is an attempt at organization…I also find my blog “hard to read” and try as I might, after blogging for a number of years, it is still way too busy.
Perhaps my blog is a manifestation of being a hypergraphic attention deficit disorder hyperactive dyslexic.Maybe – just maybe, one day I’ll figure out what I’m doing.Being a technology geek – one would’ve thought blogging would be easy for me.It is not.
At this point, on the blog evolutionary scale, my blog is a monkey on roller skates. The monkey may or may not be wearing a pink tutu - this is for you to decide.
Years ago, I thought blogging would be easy for a columnist and short story writer.It has not been the case.And within the last number of months, I picked up a third (newspaper) column every week; which just proves the “Peter Principle” is real.I’m now way beyond my intellectual and cognitive abilities.
Heckfire – some days, I’m proud to have even found the time, much less the cognitive abilities - to post “link aggregations.”
Meanwhile, I am painstakingly determined to promote constant attention on current procedures of transacting business focusing emphasis on innovative ways to better, if not supercede, the expectations of quality.What I really need in order to navigate the treacherous waters that lie ahead is a list of specific unknown problems I will encounter.
Always remember, the purpose of my blog is to discuss fragmentary patchworks of autochthonous and foreign elements as juxtaposed by the undeniable command mortality of insignificant self-inflicted syntactic semiotic economics which sometimes may cause irreproducible results unless there is a pre-emptive digital fallibility matrix which would require an integrated third-generational triangulated refinement of indefinite managerial potential.
As I wax philosophic with metaphysical postulations, incomplete aphorisms and inconsistent sophism that allows me to conclude, more and more sure, that the only true thing about anything is nothing.
Now I know you believe you understand what you think I just said but I am sure that you realize that what you heard is not what I meant.
As always, your thoughtful consideration is appreciated regardless of the outcome on any particular issue. Whether we agree or disagree, always find my door open for friendly civil and constructive dialogue.
Today Billy Joe MacAllister jumped off the TallahatchieBridge
November 1, 2007
My October 31, 2007 – Wednesday Westminster Eagle column is up on the Westminster Eagle web site and it pertains to one of my favorite forms of literature, Southern Gothic storytelling and one of my favorite songs from my teenage years, “Ode to Billie Joe” by Bobbie Gentry.
I lost most the following paragraphs to my word limit…
Ms. Gentry was born Roberta Streeter in nearby Chickasaw County, Mississippi, on July 27, 1944, where she grew up in severe poverty on her grandparents’ farm.Her grandmother facilitated her exploration of writing and music when she traded a family cow for a piano.At the age of seven, Ms. Streeter – Gentry wrote her first song, “My Dog Sergeant Is a Good Dog.”
When Ms. Gentry first released the song, it was the “B” side of a debut “forty-five” which featured a song, “Mississippi Delta.”Disk jockeys became more intrigued with “Ode to Billy Joe” and started giving it considerable airtime – and it crossed over from country music stations to “Top 40.”It topped the charts for four weeks in August 1967, sold three million copies, and won her three Grammy awards.
The narrator of the story is not identified in Ms. Gentry’s haunting and mysterious tale of a young man who commits suicide.The song comes to mind as Halloween is upon us and thoughts wonder to trick or treating or the community Halloween Parade - and ghost stories.CarrollCounty is awash in ghost stories for your enjoyment.That is of course, if you believe in ghosts.Do you believe in ghosts?
The column started out as an “evergreen,” an obligatory column for a particular seasonal event in the year.
Many of my colleagues who write for newspapers abhor “evergreens,” however I have always seen them as a challenge to come up with a different angle on a perennial topic, in this case, a piece on Halloween.
The piece started out very differently as when I neared deadline I jettisoned the customary tome on ghost stories in CarrollCounty with the standard fare on the origins of Halloween.
I got off on a tangent with a variation on the old “CrybabyBridge” standard and quickly left quite a bit of work on the cutting room floor.To wit, most of the following, along with an additional 400 words were killed off:
As with many of our customs, observances and holidays, Halloween evolved over many centuries as a combination of several non-Christian ancient harvest celebrations and rituals combined with religious celebrations.The roots of Halloween go back as far as the 5th century BC in Celtic Ireland, when October 31 was celebrated as “Samhain,” the Celtic New Year.
For the economic historian, it is widely accepted that Halloween came to America along with the significant Irish wave of immigrants as a result of the economic hardships brought on by the Irish potato famine from 1845 to 1851.
Halloween is upon and thoughts wonder to trick or treating or the community Halloween Parade.
And ghost stories.CarrollCounty is awash in ghost stories for your enjoyment.That is of course, if you believe in ghosts.
Do you believe in ghosts?
Among some of the old favorites in Carroll County are the Ghost of Furnace Hills; the Civil War soldier that roams around in Cockey’s Tavern; the ghost of the old Rebecca at the old jail, which now houses Junction, a drug abuse treatment center; and the headless apparition of Marshall Buell at the old Odd Fellows Hall in Westminster.
It was forty years ago in the late summer of 1967 that we first learned from “Mama” that the nice young preacher, Brother Taylor “said he saw a girl that looked a lot like you up on Choctaw Ridge.And she and Billy Joe was throwing somethin' off the TallahatchieBridge.”
I first heard the song, “Ode to Billy Joe,” by Bobbie Gentry that summer on WCAO on the AM dial of the car radio.It was also in this time period that I became firmly hooked on the existential - “Southern Gothic” genre of storytelling.
Other examples of authors of the Southern gothic genre of writing include William Faulkner, Carson McCullers, Eudora Welty, Truman Capote, and Harper Lee.Tennessee Williams once described the genre as stories that reflect “an intuition of an underlying dreadfulness in modern experience.”
Who can forget: It was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty Delta day…And mama hollered at the back door "y'all remember to wipe your feet."And then she said she got some news this mornin' from Choctaw Ridge.Today Billy Joe MacAllister jumped off the TallahatchieBridge.”
Of course another intriguing feature of the story is that it takes place in CarrollCounty: “And brother said he recollected when he and Tom and Billy Joe put a frog down my back at the CarrollCounty picture show.”
Ms. Gentry has to this day remained circumspect about the haunting and mysterious tale of Mr. MacAllister, but one thing we do know is that the “CarrollCounty” she is referring to in the song is “Carroll County Mississippi.”Come to find out, there are approximately 13 places in the United States called “CarrollCounty.”
The song comes to mind as Halloween is upon us and thoughts wonder to ghost stories.CarrollCounty is awash in ghost stories for your enjoyment.
Halloween ghost stories are fascinating as often they involve aspects of unexplained historical events, enigmatic dialogue, and inexplicable characters.However, over the years, I have become much more enamored with Southern gothic storytelling, which is frequently more creative – and often more disturbing in the manner it which it peels away the layers of a community or society; yet does not tell a reader ‘what to think,’ but nevertheless causes the reader ‘to think.’
Just like Halloween stories, the song’s plot makes known several themes.The first of which is obvious in that just like many popular Carroll County Halloween stories, it reveals a snapshot of life in a particular period in history.
But it is the other prominent theme that is particularly disturbing as it peels away the layers of indifference that contemporary society shows towards our fellow human beings – or in the case of “Ode to Billy Joe,” the loss of life.
In present day CarrollCounty, every other public hearing is “Halloween” as this theme often manifests itself in the cavalier manner in which folks will often engage in character assassination in the pursuit of a particular agenda.
In the song the family of the narrator nonchalantly mentions the gentleman’s death: “Billy Joe never had a lick of sense/ pass the biscuits, please.”Of course the narrator of the story cares: “Mama said to me "Child, what's happened to your appetite?I've been cookin' all morning and you haven't touched a single bite.”Other than that, they may as well been having a dinner conversation about the weather.
Happy Halloween.By all means, please enjoy some of the old favorites in Carroll County like the Ghost of Furnace Hills; the Civil War soldier that roams around in Cockey’s Tavern; the ghost of the old Rebecca at the old jail, and the headless apparition of Marshall Buell at the old Odd Fellows Hall in Westminster.
Better yet, the next chance you get, go to the Carroll County Public Library and re-read Harper Lee’s “To Kill a Mockingbird” or Truman Capote’s “In Cold Blood.”
Or, of course, you can attend a good ole’ CarrollCounty public hearing and really see a modern day horror story unfold in real time - “and watch she and Billy Bob throwing public officials off the Rt. 140 Bridge.”
Mary Katherine Ham to Alicia Silverstone: Go Hunting
October 3rd, 2007
Although I have spent a large portion of my life as a vegetarian; as I grew older and life got particularly hectic, I gave it up – for now anyway.Who knows, tomorrow, I may go back.Whatever.
A number of years ago, as I was attempting to reason with an unreasonable person and losing miserably, a colleague said to me:
“You know what your problem is?”
“Ugh.”I really did not need advice at that particular moment; however, I prized his friendship and sheepishly asked: “What?”
“It's a dog eat dog world out there, and you're a vegetarian!"
We solved that by going out to a sub shop where I gave up the anorexic bliss of salads and voraciously scarfed down a cheese-steak sandwich.
It was a road to Damascus experience
I still lose miserably with folks who accept narcissistic fiction as fact, however, I am bigger now and I figure that if I am to be eaten alive, I might as well give folks a flavorful super-sized meal.
Then again, to be candid, I was never good at being a vegetarian.I never stopped eating animal crackers and every once and awhile at Moms, I’d dive into a steak – and I can rarely remember missing turkey at Thanksgiving.
I have a number of colleagues and some family members who are, at the moment, practicing vegetarians - and I respect that choice. Besides, I really like vegetables.Then there are folks who don’t like vegetables or are otherwise broccoli intolerant.To them I say, ya really ought to “give peas a chance.”
A member of my family, who is an avid vegetarian, recently gave some seafood a try.
Bold.
Writing for the Washington Post, Joel Achenbach says:
“Certain kinds of seafood, such as lobster, clams and crabs, are honorary forms of meat, but a small filet of a low-fat white fish should be viewed as essentially a vegetable. Raw oysters are manfood, as is any fish served with the head on and the mouth gaping in horror.
Me, I could live off of Dr. Pepper, coffee and grits.Hey, don’t knock the cooking with Dr. Pepper book.There are some great recipes in there.
I never tried the “vegan” approach.I often wondered how the term came about.When I was quite young I had a great deal of confusion over the term “vegetarian.”If vegetarians eat vegetables, what do humanitarians eat?
Mr. Achenbach calls to our attention a savior for vegans, who every once in awhile, go Jonesing for a milkshake – “soy cows.”
In the column he was initially singing the praises of his new “Fabulator 5000.”
What is a “Fabulator 5000?”I am so glad you asked.I was fascinated about this development since I am still using the Fabulator model No. 1953.
I’ll let Mr. Achenbach ‘splain:
“I love my new food printer, the Fabulator 5000, which makes the previous food printers look not just clunky but positively medieval. There's no more click-and-point nonsense on the screen, no more waiting five or six interminable minutes for the food to print. You just tell the Fab 5 what you want. The food comes out in about three or four seconds, complete with garnish and a complementary wine.”
Oh, the “soy cows?”Apparently Mr. Achenbach recently “took the kids … to Homewood Farm to see a good old-fashioned agricultural enterprise…”
“I got a look at the new soy cows, grazing in the large field just north of the orchard. The USDA apparently felt that soy milk could be produced much more efficiently if it came from cows made of soy. These cows are so green they nearly blend into the landscape. They say the soy milk is a lot better tasting (not as beany, somehow) than the stuff derived from plants, and the soy burgers are more tender. But you've probably read about how the soy cows dry up badly in drought conditions -- they literally wilt -- and even catch fire. Bored teenagers have been blamed for setting some of the cow fires.”
There is much to be appreciated by the vegetarian lifestyle; nevertheless my goal was to not be evangelical about it all.
But – and ya know there was going to be a “but” in here soon – I’ve never been fond of PETA’s Strindbergian gloom and bleakness approach to advocacy.
When I was a practicing vegetarian, invariably, some folks would suggest some linkage to me, a vegetarian, with PETA’s in-your-face humorless lactose intolerant militancy. An approach which often seems more oriented to being obnoxious and annoying instead of being compelling and persuasive to what is otherwise, a perfectly fine lifestyle, vegetarianism, for which PETA routinely does an injustice....
At a local government - social event, a local elected official’s wife was horrified that I was a vegetarian.“How can a big strapping former Marine be a vegetarian,” she gasped.
I solved that in quick order.She was a dog lover and the owner of a huge dog.I mean huge – about the size of a water buffalo.
I asked her if she had ever eaten dog.When I was in the Marines, a South Vietnamese ranger once cooked-up a mess of dog.
It tasted like chicken.
I suggested to my scowling friend that her St. Bernard could feed an entire village…And one wonders why I lost my last election?
Recently Alicia Silverstone did an ad for PETA that has garnered a great deal of attention.I can’t believe that it is winning over any converts to vegetarianism, but it has attracted attention to PETA.
Whether it is really the sort of attention that an advocacy organization wants is a bigger issue for which there is not right or wrong, it just isn’t my cup of tea.
Nevertheless, in age of so much strife and discord, I yearn for a time when peas will rule the planets, and love won’t be such a fuss.I long for the dawn of the age of asparagus.
Enter stage right, Mary Katherine Ham.Ms. Ham has done a spoof on the Ms. Silverstone ad that is a real crack-up.