The Girl in the Eagle’s Talons:Rambling Review

bauerj1138Leave a comment

    The Millennium Series has reached book seven with The Girl in the Eagle’s Talons. A new author has taken the reigns, and Karin Smirnoff has gone beyond my expectations with her first contribution.

            Stieg Larsson’s initial vision for the series ran the course of ten novels, for which he had outlined. He turned in the initial trilogy to the publisher and died shortly thereafter. David Lagercrantz took up the series and ran a trilogy of his own, contributing more quality work that veered away from Larsson’s outlines. Karin Smirnoff offers a fresh take that maintains the quality storytelling while exploring critical analysis of characters that has resulted in growth. Lisbeth Salander has been seemed so human on the page, as Larsson and Lagercrantz sought to make her more of an enigma. Smirnoff’s interpretation of Salander has graced her with a personality (especially in her dialog, both internal and with other people) that had been lacking in previous novels for the sake of maintaining a persona shrouded in mystery.

            There are bits of humor where I hadn’t noticed any in previous novels. Smirnoff uses her narrative voice to amplify the internal dialog of whoever is on the page in a given moment/scene. When an unruly man presents violent intent, Lisbeth intervenes to protect a friend and makes an observation…SIDE NOTE-I’m sitting in my living room…end of the night…knee deep in reading this book. I’m wearing the singular pair of sweatpants I own…the only pair I’ve ever owned-a gift I’ve had for less than a month…when I come across this line, “thank you God for making sweatpants the uniform of men with defective genes” (178). These thoughts are peppered throughout the novel and add to the narrative quality that brings these characters to life.

            This more expressive Salander may be the result of a familial relationship where her bloodline isn’t out to kill her. Svala is a thirteen year old on the edge of being submitted to the foster care system in Sweden. Lisbeth is contacted and tasked with caring for the girl temporarily while the situation gets sorted out. It become clear Svala is in danger, and they’ve more in common than Lisbeth initially wants to admit. Lisbeth acknowledges that the relationship has upended her situation. “Before, she only had herself. Having another person in your life pushes other things to one side” (172).

            Another relationship that gets a closer examination than before is that of Mikael Blomkvist and his daughter, Pernilla. Blomkvist has always been a distant lackluster father. His excuse is the same as it was for all the women in his life-that his work as a journalist was blatantly more important. He’s a grandfather now, and his publication is no longer in print…this identity crisis allows him to make room in his life for other people, but it seems a little late to mend these bridges, as Pernilla struggles to accommodate an absent father who suddenly cares…if only a little bit more than before. Old hurt is made new once the action of the story puts stress on these characters, and I’m here for it.

    The quality of the narrative voice is what makes this novel. While analyzing the motives of a would-be volunteered killer the narrative voice reflects a self-awareness that still chooses to do wrong, as Peder Sandberg considers that, “An individual always has choices. The destructive ones present themselves most readily because they do not require mutual understanding…whereas unconditional love, altruism and general compassion are acquired, and also take more energy” (324). Another favorite observation focuses on a vulnerable moment with Svala. It’s shown to a voyeuristic audience the way she cries, “In silence so nobody can hear. A valve that opens, lets the excess pressure hiss out and then closes again” (124). These excursions through the thoughts other people can’t quite express is a highlight of this book. A cleaner tasked with killing for hire, has a crisis of conscience as he, “pours himself another drop of whisky and gathers his words. He has never said them out loud. But they have always been playing, like a record that never ends” (279). Whether it’s a matter of choice, sorrow, or selective words, there’s a performative aspect to the things people can’t do in front of others that is shown in a way that reveals the humanity of everyone who is subject of this narrative voice.

            I fell in love with the characters and story world. It’s kept me coming back, and I tend to prefer standalone novels. I’ll occasionally check out a sequel or series, but this is the only series of this length I’ve read, and will continue to read…especially if Smirnoff continues to be at the helm. This is a fun read, full of quality.

Grief is the Thing with Feathers: a Rambling Review

bauerj1138Leave a comment

Tragedy is the genre element that attracts me with the strongest gravitational pull. I live for stories that impact me with such force that I’m left doubled over in sorrow…makes me feel alive, and all that. But what of the aftermath? What of grief?

Most novels from modernity onward, have a tendency to include past events that haunt the present, making any future an impossible prospect. ‘Grief is the Thing with Feathers’ begins after the sudden and unexpected passing of an unnamed woman and does a great deal of perspective jumping between her widower, their two children, and a crow that visits and refuses to leave until our widower is no longer ‘helpless.’

The crow could’ve been any supernatural specter of sorts, but Max Porter’s decision to make this entity a crow reminds me of Poe’s ‘The Raven.’ Instead of encouraging madness in the face of loss, the crow seeks to comfort our widower by forcing him to deal with the discomfort in whatever dose he feels appropriate to administer in any given moment. The crow also seeks to protect the family from various demons (real or imagined) that would cause them to wallow in despair.

It reads more like a thematic collection of poetry than a traditional novel, but the narrative arch is solid, concise, and I feel like old friends with characters whose names are never given.

‘Grief is the Thing with Feathers’ is a fundamental exercise in loss, and is one of the most authentic expressions of grief I’ve read in fiction in some time. When the crow grants himself permission to leave, he refers to the boys as, “Connoisseurs…of how to miss a mother/My absolute pleasure” (110). In deriving pleasure in guiding them through grief, the crow makes clear his purpose: coaching on how to functionally live, without.

The novel concludes with the father and sons spreading ashes at a body of water. I was left broken by the line, “I said her name/The ashes stirred and seemed eager so I tilted the tin and I yelled into the wind/I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU” (114). With this, I’ve learned that grief hits just as hard as tragedy, itself. It lingers long after the explosive event that changes lives, and shapes you into something different than what you were, before.

‘Grief is the Thing with Feathers’ is the second book to make me cry, this year.

Lonely Legend:Film Review

bauerj1138Leave a comment

You’re never obligated to be a fan when a friend makes a piece of art. I hold that uncomfortable truth close to my heart as a means of protecting myself. In spite of this, I find myself giving a chance to anything a friend produces…just the kind of consumer I am.

            Noah Nichols is a friend of mine, so up front is an admission of bias. We met in 2007 when his band came to record at a studio where I was interning. We lost touch after that, but somewhere around 2016 he stumbled upon one of my books and remembered who I was. We became friends over our shared pursuits and he has edited two pieces of my written work.

            Aside from writing and music, Noah has decided to embark on the medium of film. He spent a great deal of time making this movie in the midst of personal turmoil; a second upheaval of his life in as many years had landed him in depression. He threw himself into this project as a means of staying distracted, and it worked to a degree. This film project outright consumed him. When he announced the premier, I made plans to be there.

            Lonely Legend is a movie that follows a would-be serial killer simply named Impervious. This masked character is tasked with carrying on the family tradition of surfacing in a fifteen-year cycle to hack and slash his way through a small town. His father before him had been this killer, but the torch isn’t so easily passed.

            Our contemporary Impervious wants to live up to familial expectations. He wants to be this killer, but every little interaction with a would-be victim brings out empathy that prevents him from being violent. When simply asked what he’s doing with a crowbar, or waved at from the side of the road, Impervious drops the façade and recoils.

            Impervious has pressure put on him by his family. At one point he tells his father over the phone, “I’d rather take care of animals than kill people.” This admission is dismissed as being irritably hungry, but as the film continues it’s all too clear that this incarnation of Impervious isn’t up to the task.

            The only notable violence in the film is our main character letting off steam on a teddy bear or inflatable toy he carries around with him for companionship. These instances reveal our would-be killer can separate his projection of friendship onto an object from the real people he cannot bring himself to harm, in spite of the genuine care he has for these inanimate companions.

            Impervious holds a lot of anger over expectations placed on him to continue on with family tradition, when all he seeks out is a more peaceful experience. He goes on walks with nature, lets out his aggression in ways that don’t hurt others, plays music/indulges in art, and gives himself permission to, “go to a field and be sad.”

            There’s a longing for something more than the predetermined horrors that are expected of him. He breaks into a number of houses when no one is home, presumably to follow through on his “mission,” yet he can’t seem to follow through.

            There’s comedy as well. Situational mishaps arise as Impervious tries to find himself while out and about. It bridges the gap and showcases a most human experience from a character built to be a monster.

            The soundtrack was fantastic. Music helped to convey the mood perfectly, and while Noah could’ve filled out the film with his own music, he pulled resources from every direction as a means of conveying the mood as it fit his vision.

Pictured: Myself with Impervious (Noah Nichols) at the premier of Lonely Legend in Columbus, Ohio.

The Last Tycoon:Fitzgerald, Nostalgia, and Writing

bauerj1138Leave a comment

The prose of F. Scott Fitzgerald is intoxicating. It’s been a decade since I studied The Great Gatsby at Ohio State, and for the time being I’ve decided to put off rereading that novel until the 100-year anniversary of its initial publication. The Last Tycoon appeals due to the lure of a final novel, one last attempt to satisfy an itch with something new. The unfortunate truth is that the unfinished novel reads like a draft. It jumps on a dime between first and third person, and seems so rough in the early pages that I contemplated whether or not to finish it.

            Monroe Stahr is an elite Hollywood producer who meets Kathleen Moore about halfway through the novel. The trademarked romance of Fitzgerald’s style captivates from that point onward, in spite of the questionable motives that attracts Stahr to Moore in the first place (her looks remind him of his deceased wife). Though the romance fizzles out as Kathleen is to marry another, Monroe carries on and the novel ends rather suddenly due to the death of the author and editorial overreach to reel in the narrative while maintaining a sense of conclusion while there is still quality material.

            Stahr carries the weight of terminal illness, and pushes himself to keep working at the pace he maintained while healthy. It reminds me of a hyper-masculine work culture that romanticizes burnout and exhaustion over questioning why one lives in such a way. “Fatigue was a drug as well as a poison and Stahr apparently derived some rare almost physical pleasure from working lightheaded with weariness…a perversion of the life force he had seen before but he had almost stopped trying to interfere with it…a hollow triumph of killing and preserving the shell,” (110) seems all too commonplace in modern workplace culture. It isn’t ‘rare’ at all in the sense that keeping oneself preoccupied prevents them from critically looking inward. And yet, it’s romantic escapism that reminds one that they are alive…as, “the little trip they made was one of the best times he had ever had in life. It was certainly one of the times when, if he knew he was going to die, it was not tonight.” (112)

            The theme of nostalgia runs through the work of Fitzgerald in such a way as to indulge in the waters in which one will inevitably sink, and reveal it for the comforting lies it tends to offer. The notion that one could have, “passionate loyalty to an imaginary past.” (119) defines Fitzgerald’s work and life. Reconstructing the past seems to be the only future a great many of us can imagine. How good was it really…? And yet…

            One thing literature does is serve as a reminder how much or little things change over time. The tension between Hollywood producers and writers has brought on two writers’ strikes in the twenty-first century. All the conflict about living wages and being able to simply make ends meet while the profits of their labor makes others rich seems to be as old as the establishment of film making as big business. A line from The Last Tycoon shows how much the same it was then, “Writers…they’re the farmers of this business…They grow the grain but they’re not in at the feast. Their feeling toward the producer is like the farmers’ resentment of the city fellow.” (121)

            Again, The Last Tycoon felt like a draft and not a complete novel, but it still managed to contain traces of magic that made it worth the read. I would’ve preferred a world where Fitzgerald lived long enough to finish this one to his standards, but I’m grateful for this glimpse into his process, as it reminds me of Trimalchio.

Bellhead and the Good Intentions:Rambling Review

bauerj1138Leave a comment

Bellhead is a post-punk duo from Chicago that brings the dirtiest bass lines and danceable tracks in their newest EP, ‘Good Intentions.’ To me, the name of the EP comes layered in sarcasm, as the stories told through music are delivered with evil intent. Stalkers, sirens at sea, and pure nihilistic fun have brought me to understand the intent is not so comforting. Though elements of pop are embraced in the songwriting, the production maintains a minimalist approach that rejects fillers/unnecessary walls of sound.

The opening track Bad Taste introduces the EP with a four on the floor beat and low guttural vocals that describe the individual in question, “he says he’s a good man, doesn’t make it true” and “does he only want what he can’t have?” Even with the subject matter of stalking, I want to get up and dance to this. The chorus guitars contain an unexpected surprise that remind me of the atmospheric quality of various Nine Inch Nails tracks.

The second song opens with guitars that pivot to a different effect once the verse begins, and the mood is that of a classic horror movie. Into the Deep stirs a haunting narrative that conjures the imagery of water as destroyer. If the potential for surf rock is found here, we’re likely to drown. The bridge hits with spoken word and rounds out the song to something akin to hope as the siren is pursued.

Valentine is my personal favorite on the EP. The narrator seems to be pleading with a lover in what seems to be both romantic and tragic in the same breath. The music moves with a particular gothic sway that reminds me of Crying Vessel, and the lyrics are poetry.

Apathy kicks off with distorted guitars and asks ‘so what?’ in a nihilistic way that brings a smile to my face. The admission that ‘it doesn’t matter’ resonates in me a sing-along quality that makes this song an anthem. Crank this one for that righteous punk goodness.

The Love and Rockets cover No Big Deal is pure Bellhead fun. Their take on the song sounds like their own authentic work, which is what quality artists do when they seek to cover a song. The distorted bass shapes the song into something that fits in with their catalog perfectly.

‘Good Intentions’ closes with Drugstore Keri. This song tells the romantic tale where Keri is more of an enabler than love interest. The dirty bass makes for curled lips and movement on the dance floor. The concluding song feels like a cold drink of classic rock, and I love it.

This EP is worth a spin. If you enjoy post-punk songwriting grounded in the potential to dance, Bellhead is definitely something to consider. ‘Good Intentions’ will leave you craving more of the bad taste it’s gonna leave in your mouth. My only complaint is that I want more!

A Little Something for my Mental Health

bauerj1138Leave a comment

2020 was weird for everyone, right? Not just me…? Okay, cool. I was an essential worker with a young child at home, so I didn’t have the sudden burst of free time that was forced on a lot of people. What I did get was the time saved from the hustle and bustle of our collective rampant consumerism. Aside from grocery shopping, my family pretty well stayed in.

            My work/life balance was out of sorts, as a typical workweek for me was 13 days on…ah, the life of management with corporate overlords that all but dictate skeleton crews. The unpaid hours beyond my salaried 40 drove me to the lows of depression coupled with the static horrors of anxiety.

            I needed something new. So did my wife. Since we were stuck in the house I looked into various hobbies, trying to land on something we could both enjoy. At the end of the search I bought all of the materials necessary to try our hands at acrylic pour painting. Online tutorials revealed to me that one doesn’t need to cultivate aesthetic talent to get quality results. The directions were pretty straight forward, and if you can both follow them and embrace a little chaos…there’s fun to be had and wall worthy results.

            Our first attempt was a simple dirty pour. Various colors poured individually, complimented by tilting the canvas gave us two beautiful pieces of art. They were destroyed the following day, as the paint hadn’t dried before we tried to handle them again. Oh well, it was a fun learning experience. That approach was utilized a couple more times before we pivoted to my current favorite, the flip cup.

            We wait for them to dry, make sure they’re clean, and apply a water based clear coat for longevity.

            We’ve given a couple away as gifts and I’ve sold one piece. There are others available on my Etsy page, with more on the way as I get back into making this part of my routine.

            Lydia laments on the wasted paint that drips off of the canvases during the tilting phase, but I think I have a remedy for that as well that I’ll be revealing later in the year.

I’ve tried my hand (and failed miserably) with the swipe technique. I am yet to break out the hairdryer to push paint around, as the activity tends to be something done after the kids have gone to bed…maybe someday.

This activity started as a pandemic hobby, but has remained a craft we continue to develop long after mandates were lifted. While we aim to get results that appeal to other people, the act of creating provides a relief that alleviates stress. There’s something to be said about making art that makes one feel alive. It reminds me that I’m more than the oil that lubes the cogs in our corporate state. I am a living entity, as are you…sometimes that gets lost in the pressures of consumerism. I create for the relief it provides me, first and foremost. If there’s pennies to be made on the back end, great…but in the act of creation where I feel most rejuvenated.

Someone Who Will Love You In All Your Damaged Glory:Rambling Review

bauerj1138Leave a comment

I stumbled upon this book because I’m a fan of Bojack Horseman. It’s difficult to tell people, “No, seriously…it’s my favorite show.” I gave it a chance when it first came out, and checked out after two episodes. I thought it was funny, but maybe it was just another run of the mill raunchy animated adult comedy. It wasn’t until the fourth season had dropped that someone recommended it and I gave the show another spin. Had I just kept watching the first season I would’ve been hooked. The quality storytelling just kept getting better right up until Netflix does what Netflix takes joy in doing…you know…cutting a show down before it’s done. I’m eternally grateful that the writers were given a heads up and wrapped up the story as best they could with the time they had. But I digress, those six seasons of television remain among my favorite, and I don’t see anything coming close.

            So when I heard that the creator of Bojack Horseman, Raphael Bob-Waksberg, had published a collection of short stories, I jumped at the opportunity for something more. Someone Who Will Love You In All Your Damaged Glory stands on its own as something wholly independent and special, as I had expected it to be. It’s described on the back cover as an, “offbeat collection of short stories about love-the best and worst thing in the universe.” The subject of love is woven throughout each story through different angles. I initially believed I was in for a ride that explored romantic love and romantic love only, as the first 100 pages consist of narratives exploring exactly that. We break from the romantic variety with Rufus, a touching narrative from the perspective of a noble dog who loves his ‘Manmonster.’ While the manmonster engages with romantic partners and other various friendships, the story fixates on the relationship between the dog and person. You Want to Know What Plays Are Like? is a personal favorite that explores the complexities of family through the scope of frayed sibling relationships where our protagonist tells us about seeing a show written by her brother…that happens to be about a vacation they took. Their deceased sibling has her drug issues addressed in the play, a departure from the burden of their shared reality.

            Rewind a bit…I fell for this book immediately. I took my daughter to her weekly dance lesson, saw her into the studio, and went to a chair in the waiting room with the intent to break the ice. The first story is two little pages. A quick snippet of style and substance titled Salted Circus Cashews, Swear to God had me laughing in front of strangers as it broke my heart on the same page.

            These stories vary in length, ranging from a couple of pages to over 40. The collection isn’t tied to one approach, as we’re offered first, second, and third person accounts throughout. To circle back to the beginning, at a multitude of points I’m reminded of Bojack Horseman and the writing styles used to drive the narratives of the show, specifically, the internal dialog utilized in a day in Bojack’s life from an episode called Stupid Piece of Shit. It’s absurd at times, departing from cultural norms entirely to establish different imagined worlds…like how many goats should be sacrificed at a wedding? This was a lovely read that I truly enjoyed. For fans of the show, or readers who simply want to read about love with weighted nuance, Someone Who Will Love You In All Your Damaged Glory is worth the read.

Josie Pace:Rambling Album Review

bauerj1138Leave a comment

Social media hasn’t been all bad. Sure, it’s disrupting the wide world and our little communities in dangerous ways that undermine our collective goods, but on occasion it connects people with quality art, so I’ve stuck around. I was wasting a bit of my life on one of those wretched platforms when I scrolled past a recommended artist. Josie Pace stood on a stage. She sported a mohawk, dark makeup, and a facial expression that told me I’d likely get punched in the mouth if I made eye contact. Her aesthetic appealed to me, and in the post she used hashtags like #postindustrial…so I searched for her music on the streaming service of my choice and went to bed. I wasn’t on board at that point, as image doesn’t always equate to good music.

My daily commute to work is forty-five minutes one way, so I tend to save new music for these routine car rides. It’s the most alone time I get in any given day. I went to put on some music before pulling out of the driveway and saw the record I had saved the previous evening, and knew I had to give it a spin.

lv0x10v5 kicked off with I’m Begging You-an absolute heavy hitting electronic song that had me convinced this was an excellent opening song. If the rest of the album kept up in quality, I knew I’d be hooked. Pace utilizes electronics in a way that I’ve wanted to hear but have never quite found until now. The record continues with booming hooks on every track. The songwriting style is authentic and incredibly human. Her voice is powerful beyond measure and compliments the music without overshadowing it. Mechanical synthesizers don’t rely on distorted guitars to fill the void…there is no void, as space is used with fluctuating precision. I’m utterly impressed with the production.

It’s hard to pin down a few tracks that stand out, as there are no bad songs on this record. There’s no filler. After multiple listens, I’m convinced that this is going to be a long-term favorite.

Josie Pace has revealed that she’s back in the studio, working on new material in 2023, and I’m excited. She’s earned my fandom. If you’re into industrial music with rock elements, check out Josie Pace. This is exciting and dangerous music.

The Candy House:Rambling Book Review

bauerj1138Leave a comment

Hesitancy kept me from Jennifer Egan’s work for far too long. I’d been introduced to various chapters of A Visit from the Goon Squad at the Ohio State University in 2014, and didn’t glance back until a peer told me it was his favorite novel. I bought a paperback copy of the Pulitzer winner, put it in my bookcase, and let it ferment until the day came that I needed it…and when that day came I was so grateful for it. I was angry with myself, too, for having neglected it in the abyss of my hypothetical TBR pile. It helped to spark a project I’m still working on.

A follow-up/companion novel was published in 2022. The Candy House revisits some characters from A Visit from the Goon Squad, introduces others, and spans through lifetimes. This novel has similar features in that the narratives are fractured, jumping from characters and through time, all while crafting a cohesive world where the focus is no longer on the human follies that take shape in the music industry, but on a piece of science fiction where individual psychology forges a connection between the reader and every person on the page. Egan’s prose had me placing the book down at times to allow a line to linger over my thoughts. Its brokenness is a feature, not a bug, and as art, it’s a most beautifully written piece of work.

Depression had taken me away from reading in 2022. I sought to purchase The Candy House the day it was released, but my local bookstore didn’t have it on hand. I went to Twitter and made some noise about it. I wasn’t sure what this would accomplish, but Jennifer Egan personally reached out to me to ask which store didn’t have it. I felt as though I’d gotten someone in trouble, but gave the details anyway. She sent autographed copies to my local shop, and the shop reached out to me since I had inquired about it. I was so excited that I took it home, sent pictures and the story to my friends, and let it sit in my bookcase until December. Once I had found the wherewithal to read it, I felt revitalized by the first chapter/story. It’s all so rich with human honesty. Tension and drama I associate with familial ties are woven throughout, all with a drop or two of science fiction that doesn’t overcompensate…no; it drives the story forward without being over the top. It’s a modest vehicle for that which alienates us and brings us together in the same sweeping gesture/function.

I’m sorry if this seems rambling. It’s hard to pin down that feeling when literature makes you feel alive, but this book has done it for me. I can’t recommend The Candy House enough. I hope I’m not going too far in saying this, but it was better than Goon Squad…on that note…read them both.

bauerj1138Leave a comment

Sometimes you need a wake up call. My goodness, life has been so complicated this last year…good stuff, but nonstop. Alexander was born in November of ‘21 with extensive complications that had him flighted to the NICU where he resided for the better part of the following month. After much physical therapy and the attention of watchful eyes, he’s approaching his first birthday as though nothing ever bothered him.

During his stint at the NICU, we stayed at the Ronald McDonald House in Columbus. I tried to pick up a novel, but found myself unable to entertain such a distraction at that time. I all but stopped reading. 

I started to see a therapist, which was nice for a bit. It took six months on a waiting list to start seeing someone, and now every session gets canceled by the other party…so I’ve accepted the system isn’t there to help me. Healthcare is broken in this place. 

I tried to start writing again around the new year…and for a little bit, it worked. I plotted out a story that I’d been preparing to compose, and drafted about 25k words before I had a shakeup at the day job that took away the bit of writing time I was able to carve out for myself. It included a promotion and bit more of a work/life balance, so I’m in no position to complain about it, but I’m hoping to get back to this novel as it gets cold outside. 

We bought a house, too. That was exciting. With Alex entering our lives, we needed more space than our apartment afforded us. This event wouldn’t have taken place without significant help from family, as grinding our bodies against the corporate machine in this bootstrap culture is simply not enough. 

All things considered, life has been good…so of course I slipped into a moderate depression. My wife has gone through the ringer with the complicated birth and the postpartum depression. It’s all been so…difficult. But dare I say it’s getting better? I’d like to think so. 

In September I took Lydia to see our first live music experiences since the pandemic removed that occasional joy from our lives. Father John Misty was such a delightful treat and the band was so sharp, they exceeded my expectations and I felt as though I’d returned to a long abandoned well to find it still held the capacity to sustain these broken yet loving hearts. Twelve days later we saw Nine Inch Nails in Cleveland. That too, brought a peculiar and wretched sort of joy that isn’t exclusive to me. 

Father John Misty in Columbus, Ohio

I’m less than a week away from my birthday. Last year I conjured a list of goals to complete by the time I turn 40, and in the first year of the list I accomplished nothing…and yet…

The growing family with good health…the purchase of our first home…reminders of how art impacts our lives…how good do I have it? I’m waking up to find all the quality life has to offer in my possession. I’ll try to not let it slip through my fingers, but any attempt to control/retain a solid grip is in vain. Life will continue to take me up and down, and I’ll make do with any given moment, as I always have. This post is meant to be a personal update. This insight to personal matters is how I explain my absence beyond the occasional noise I make on social media. Still here…hoping to make something happen. 

Nine Inch Nails in Cleveland, Ohio