Recent Posts
March 27th, 2012 in Uncategorized by MysticHooligan
As for me, I’ve lost count. I’m sure there are several I’ve completely forgotten about. Even the ones I remember are ignored for weeks or months before I get around to posting.
It’s the idea of the blog that excites us. We want to whip up some creative energy and “put it out there” for the world to see.
The world? Hah! More realistically, maybe one or two people who happen to check in, probably by accident, probably out of sheer boredom.
And yet—we can’t bring ourselves to delete The Unknown Blog. It’s like a darling little pet with a silent bark. We’re barely keeping it alive, but we can’t manage to do the mercy killing.
How about you, dear imaginary reader. How many blogs do YOU have out there in the blogosphere?
Blog Love, MH
September 20th, 2011 in Uncategorized by MysticHooligan
My brain hurts. It’s all this pesky thinking. Just can’t seem to stop it.
On one level, I know that the world is a truly amazing place. If one of the essential truths about being alive is that we are sensory beings (and I am reasonably sure that it is), then there are a lot of amazing things to stimulate our senses. Sex is not the most important thing or the highest or most noble thing–but it may be (probably is, I would dare to postulate) the BEST sensory experience available to human beings here on planet Earth (please, feel free to challenge that idea). Then there are things like food, music, nature, adventure, travel, literature, art, film…and on and on. Life can be awesome when our senses are being immersed in such things. We can transcend the crap that haunts us–the bad stuff.
Like how terrible we are to one another. Just a brief glance at human history proves to be a depressing education in “man’s inhumanity to man.” Even without evil perpetrated by people, there is still disease, deformity, natural catastrophe, poverty, illness, suffering of all kinds, not to mention the inevitable fact of our mortality. The endless questions of purpose, happiness, time, and eternity. Do we have souls? Is there a God? An afterlife?
I don’t know. I can’t help asking the questions. Even if they make my brain hurt.
I can only spend so much energy in the contemplation of these things. Then I revert to the sensory. Have a beer. A burrito. Sex.
And there we are.
Welcome to life on Earth, human.
MH
January 16th, 2011 in Uncategorized by MysticHooligan
Anybody still left from the old days around here? When there used to be a Top Ten? When Smotlock ruled the world? Remember that?
That was awesome.
Some sarcasm intended.
Journalspace Love,
MH
January 15th, 2011 in Uncategorized by MysticHooligan
The Tuscon massacre reminds us how frighteningly fragile the human mind is. The same mind that (we might reasonably assume) was contemplating ordinary things like coffee, money, and sex one day—appears to have been contemplating a mass killing the next.
In retrospect—after events like Columbine or Virginia Tech or this latest multiple-murder tragedy—we can usually trace some gradual trajectory of mental deterioration that morphs a “normal” person into a killer. But most of the time we don’t suspect even the oddest individuals to be capable of these kinds of truly heinous, violent crimes. We hear people who knew the perpetrator say things like, “Sure, he was quiet (or strange or weird or peculiar), but I never really thought he was dangerous.”
What lurks in the human mind that enables someone to commit murder, let alone mass murder? Is it in all of us?
As a culture, we use the language of violence all the time. “I could kill him for that.” “That really makes me see red.” “I’d like to tear her arm off and beat her with it.” Generally, it’s understood that such talk is hyperbole, not meant to be taken literally. In 1775 Patrick Henry boldly said, “Give me liberty or give me death,” but I don’t imagine he expected anyone to open fire on him after making the statement.
You and I might get angry and flip off the guy that cuts us off in traffic but it’s unlikely we would ever actually invite him to rumble. We may say we “hate” Nancy Pelosi or Dick Cheney but few of us have given any real thought to preparing an assassination plot against a politician we think of as radically wrong-headed.
So what moved Jared Loughner to go on his murderous rampage last Saturday? What took him beyond ordinary anger or discontent and “gave him permission” to do what he did?
I kind of doubt it was Sarah Palin’s careless political rhetoric. NY Times article
Do you remember when Charles Manson said the Beatles’ song “Helter Skelter” moved him to send his people out to commit the Tate-LaBianca murders?
This, my friends, is mental illness speaking. This is a mind willing to seize onto any influence to justify the unjustifiable.
I think it’s safe to go ahead and apply this same logic to the actions of Jared Loughner.
The truth is, at this point, we have no idea if Loughner had a cogent politcal view of the world. It doesn’t matter. He would have found a reason to do what he did because he was mentally ill. Whether he gets his motivation from a Nixon speech or a Kennedy speech or a line from a Popeye cartoon is irrelevant.
Does that mean that what we say doesn’t matter? Of course not. What we say does matter. And what politician’s say matters too. Same goes for parents, teachers, bosses, cops, and clergymen.
I remember an unprecedented sense of national unity, even bipartisan political unity, after September 11th. I have trouble remembering how long it lasted. I’m thinking—probably not that long.
More than likely, the same will be true with this new tragedy. For a brief moment the horror of what happened has focused our collective attention on the things that matter. Soon that moment will be gone and it will be back to business. Sad, but true.
Is it a bad idea to suggest politicians ought to speak and act more civilly? No, it’s a good idea. Let’s give it a go. We’re looking like a lot of witless primates out there, a little “nicing it up” would be a welcome change. We don’t challenge one another to duels anymore (at least not in my county), so why not act like we really do value our neighbor’s right to decent, humane treatment as much as we value our own.
However, using the Tuscon massacre as a device to unjustly roast political opponents that were speaking metaphorically is at least as bad as anything Palin has ever said. It’s a malicious, unforgivable kind of political theatre.
So, fine. Let’s tone down stupid political talk. Let’s try to (as Rodney King suggested) “all get along.”
Get back to me in a few decades: check the statistics and let me know if the “kinder, gentler” political dialogue made any difference in the number of crazy people committing violent crimes.
I hope it does. But I kind of doubt it will. Have you seriously contemplated human history lately?
It’s mental illness that needs to be addressed here. Not political ideology.
We need to do a better job of spotting serious, emotional imbalances in young people. Before they implode.
April 15th, 2009 in Uncategorized by MysticHooligan
“Men are idolaters and want something to look at and kiss and hug, or throw themselves down before; they always did, they always will; and if you don’t make it out of wood, you must make it out of words.”
–Oliver Wendell Holmes
Words are the things of which thoughts are comprised; thoughts become ideologies and beliefs, which in turn become the things from which we sculpt the truths we live in. Whether sacred, secular, or obscene.
Words are also the things of which stories are comprised.
I find that I want to—need to—grab words, grapple with them, coax them to life, and make of them stories.
Some day not very far off I believe I will find myself the co-creator of a few very good ones. I feel it. Regardless, it is a thing I must do.
Literary Love,
MH
March 5th, 2009 in Uncategorized by MysticHooligan
My article signed by Johnny and the band.
A Winter Tale
So there I am at Clearwater Theater in West Dundee with a copy of my recently- published feature article abut Johnny Winter in my coat pocket. I’m hoping to get Johnny’s signature on it before evening’s end. The opening band hasn’t come on stage yet, but they’re getting ready.
In this sold-out crowd, I’ve managed to get to the bar and I’m in line to buy a beer. There are two guys standing off to the side. One of them looks familiar.
I dig the article out, unfold it, and look at the picture of Johnny’s band. I do a back-and-forth several times: picture–man, picture–man. He’s one of Johnny’s band mates. I’m almost certain.
I say, knowingly, to this tall, skinny guy, something like, “You bear a striking resemblance to the man in this picture.” To which he says, “I am the man in that picture.”
I stumble through how I wrote this article and it would be ever-so-cool if you would sign it as I break out the slim permanent marker. Turns out, he’s the guy I corresponded with via email. He got the interview questions to Johnny for the article. The man is Paul Nelson. Paul is the second six-string player in Johnny’s band–a damn fine one, as I am about to discover: a little Stevie Ray Vaughan meets Joe Satriani. As he’s signing my article (the bass player, who is standing there as well, also signs), I say it would be really cool to get Johnny’s signature. Maybe Paul could take the article to him then get it back to me later.
Next thing I know, Paul is walking me through the crowd toward backstage, up to security, saying, “He’s with me. I’ll bring him back through.”
We go down some stairs, through a basement, up another set of stairs, and out a back door. I’m asking him questions because I can’t be silent in this unexpected circumstance. “How far did you drive? Where was your last show?”
He’s answering the questions as we’re walking toward the trailer parked behind Clearwater.
But all I can think is, “Holy crap! I’m about to meet Johnny Winter. A man who has been recording and playing music for more than 30 years. A man who has jammed with B.B. King and Muddy Waters, shared the stage with Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin. He’s right behind that door…”
Then I’m stepping into the trailer behind Paul who is saying, “This is the journalist that wrote the article about you, Johnny.” I’m inside, and there’s the pale bluesman–a bona fide guitar legend–sitting at a table, smoking a cigarette, his long, naturally bleach-white hair resting on a black t-shirt, his arm-tattoos in full view. The Illustrated Man himself: Johnny Guitar.
He doesn’t so much look at me as toward me (he was born cross-eyed, but it’s not that noticeable in this moment).
Johnny’s face looks as mellow as a face can look. He speaks softly as he greets me and by now I’m a little overwhelmed but managing to conceal it, I think. I’m saying how my older brother got his album, “White, Hot & Blue,” for me when I was a young lad and how I have a great respect for his talent and I’m putting the article down on the table with the marker by it.
I’m saying stuff about what he said in the article and he’s saying things back that I am wishing I could remember but know I mostly won’t, what with the anxiety and all. Paul and another guy (I think the manager) start telling stories about unbelievably ignorant things interviewers have asked and said over the years. Paul’s already said he really liked my article, so I figure I’m off the hook for abuse tonight.
There’s a story about a journalist who says he’s a big fan of Johnny and knows all about him and his music. Johnny says something about his brother, Edgar (who is plenty famous and well-established in his own right), and the guy says, “You have a brother? What does he do?” Ha! That sentence becomes an in-joke among them: “You have a brother?”
Then another story about someone who asked Johnny what it was like to jam with Robert Johnson and Johnny says, “He died in 1938.” Which is 6 years before Johnny was born.
Or the time the manager walked in a room–he’s just an ordinary white guy with black hair–and a journalist, waiting for an interview, asks, “Are you Johnny Winter?” Good grief. Winter’s an albino. Duh. Do a little research, dude.
Talk about ill-informed folks–their stories are making me look like a genius.
In this peculiar and very brief moment, I am part of something far outside my normal experience. I imagine what this life is like–traveling, performing, amidst the cigarette smoke and the smell of spilled beer, hearing the applause and shouts and whistles of the fans, hanging out in a trailer, having some guy who wrote an article about you trying to get your signature…and I’m back to me again.
Anyway, I get to shake Johnny’s hand, he signs my article, and eventually I awkwardly dismiss myself saying, “Thanks so much, I don’t want to take up any more of your time…”
I get escorted through the maze and shuffled back into the general audience. But I am feeling pretty cool, like I have a very excellent secret. I’m thinking I’m a little more “special” than most of those other audience members, the ones who haven’t sat across a table from Johnny or shaken his hand.
Yep–I’m feeling a little high, a little star struck.
And that’s my Winter Tale.
Thanks, Johnny, for your gracious hospitality and for giving me that cool moment. Most of all, thanks for all the great music. May you be playing for many, many more years to come.
Johnny Winter played at West Dundee’s Clearwater Theater on Saturday, December 29, 2007.
January 14th, 2009 in Uncategorized by MysticHooligan
If you enjoy being amused, take a look at this Onion tidbit: http://www.theonion.com/content/node/27836
If you don’t enjoy being amused, consider a nice warm mug o’ hemlock ’cause, lemme tell ya, it’s a long, boring, sad show if you’ve got no sense of humor.
I really have no idea why I’m even thinking about resurrecting this blog. I had a great affection for it once, many years ago. Spent hours goofing around on Journalspace. Had some e-encounters with some interesting folks: TuesdayPillow, CJArabia, Simon, Matthew, Likewise, SparvusKrebs, Kentonist, Smotlock and others. Had a few laughs. I managed to make the top 10 a time or two. But I lost interest a long time ago.
Then, one day, all my posts go ka-blooey. 4 years worth. Kind of a bummer.
I don’t see this lasting long. There are too many other things to do.
But it might be fun to see who is left of the “old timers.” You know who you are.
Journalspace Love,
MH
