Goldfish And Clowns

This will eventually be the home for the Goldfish and Clowns blog.  Yes, folks, I'm finally moving to WordPress.

It's going to take some time to move over all the existing posts, as I have yet to find a way to get everything from GoDaddy's Quick Blog application where the blog currently exists over here.  (If I find one I'll use it.  Duh.)  In the meanwhile, as I'm transferring X number of posts per day from the old site to this one, starting with the oldest and working my way forward, http://blog.goldfishandclowns.com/ will be the place to go for new posts until the day I can figuratively flip the switch.  At that time I'll redirect that address to here.  Until then, see you at the old digs until the new swinging hot spot is ready to rock.  Or something like that.

‘Restrictor Plate THIS!: An Unapologetic Look At Stock Car Racing,’ the new book by the author of this blog, is now available.  Click this link for ordering information!

This is also posted on my NASCAR blog.

Maybe it’s the rain, a seemingly endless parade of storm after storm that drenched the Bay Area most every day last month and have carried through to this month.  More likely it’s the growing workload, both in the office and at home.  The former is accepted as part of the turf; the latter joyfully embraced as I get further into working on the new book, working out questions and carefully transcribing the words with which I have been entrusted by those who made the music and ministry real, next to mold without changing these beloved pioneers’ memories of then and observations of now into the compelling stories they are.  Two interviews are already done, four are scheduled for this weekend, and many more to follow.

The gist of it all has been a recent growing disinterest in sports, particularly NASCAR as I find myself staring at races more than watching them.  Take as an example yesterday’s Martinsville mash.  It was obvious from shortly after the green flag’s wave Tony Stewart was the class of the field, and barring misfortune the race was his.  So now we were expected to spend four plus hours of our lives waiting for the inevitable, occasionally noting whoever the latest wreck might be.  Not the stuff of which memories are made, y’know?

I don’t believe this is a lasting disenfranchisement with sports in general or racing in particular.  It’s true I have grown progressively less patient with the fluff constantly swirling around NASCAR.  The meaningless garbage PR puff pieces, be they directly from some promotional hack or channeled through some willingly subservient pseudo-journalist.  The other end of this perverse rainbow where self-satiated gloryhounds who believe they are the story spin fantastic yarns bearing no resemblance to truth.  Drivers gone either Hollywood or down the ego-drenched, 24/7 spotlight trail where “you” don’t understand why “I” reign above all.  Who needs any of this?

We as fans yearn for something real, some tangible reason why we should follow a given sport and the people in it.  This is why as time passes I’m growing in appreciation for Earnhardt the younger, who despite every reason not to shoots straight; ditto for Robby Gordon and Stewart whose media snapbacks are a welcome retort to the aforementioned excesses.  No, I’m not abandoning my unabashed Jeff Gordon fandom; just spreading it about a bit.

Above all, I’m just not that into NASCAR right now.  I’d rather pursue a reawakened faith and its fruit as will be presented in the next book.  No doubt somewhere along the line the fan juices will kick in, and it’s not like I’ve stopped caring or following what’s going on in the land of driving fast and turning left.  But it’s not topping the list.

Which is as it should be.

The interviews for the book have begun.  I’m still reluctant to “name names” until the process is further along; suffice it to say if you have so much as a passing familiarity with Christian music from the ’80s through early ’90s you’ll immediately recognize those involved.  I’ve also been fortunate enough to arrange some face-to-face interviews for next weekend and a following one, plus another artist has agreed to be part of the project.  Woo-hoo!

One of the many threads I’m picking up on that will be woven throughout the book is how artists often have little if any idea of the lasting impact they, and their music, have had on people throughout the years.  There’s a natural tendency to look on listening to or preserving past pop music as little more than a nostalgic exercise in the ‘remember when’ game; quaint reveling in aural bookmarks of days gone by.  Natural, but with music that matters this rule doesn’t apply.  Sure, there is a touch of nostalgia in dusting off tunes from days of youthful wonder.  However, this is anything but all there is to the matter.

The song the Lord spoke through to you when you were caught in an unguarded moment (thank you Mike Roe and the 77s), one of deep lasting impact on your everyday every day.  The tune played before the altar call when you went forward to first accept or recommit.  These songs are not the stuff of mere reminiscing about a time when we were the young lions.  They are part of our souls; something worth preserving both for ourselves and those who follow as we teach where we came from so others will better understand where they’re going.  Musical styles come and go.  The Spirit remains steady.  And what of the music itself?  As more than a few have noted, if it was good then it’s good now.

If you’re waiting for the Christian music industry to start recognizing and respecting its own heritage, you’re best advised not to hold your breath during the process as asphyxiation is a terrible way to go.  There are a few slivers of respect here and there, but for the most part it’s “oh — did we release that?” city.  While the need to have every everything in stock everywhere is way over the top, it wouldn’t cost that much for labels to open custom shops where orders could be produced on an individual basis whenever someone wanted a CD or DVD of their life’s soundtrack.  Certainly better than scouring eBay for something that might not even exist, as anyone who’s looked for a CD of Incandescent by Crumbächer can testify, and there’s the factor of artists receiving exactly nothing for their work whenever recorded music is re-sold.  However, expecting the industry to show proper respect for those without whom it would not exist, not to mention exhibiting business acumen via taking currently zero revenue-producing items in its catalog and through intelligent marketing plus low genuine expenditure create a revenue-producing product line… I’ll get back to you on that right after Twinkles the happy pixie stops by for tea and scones.

Since the number of Christian artists who were on the edge of creativity currently living in glorious material splendor with a money tree in the back yard is exactly zero, it’s not likely they’ll be able to rescue their own creation and return it to availability anytime soon.  Record labels are prone to a “we don’t want it but you can’t have it either” mentality when their back catalog is mentioned.  You also have the factor of how most artists, frankly, have no ability to discern the quality and/or importance of their own work, usually erring on the side of severely undervaluing their creation.  “Why would anyone want a new copy of that old thing?” is heard far more often than you’d think.  Um… because it matters?

While there is no ready solution for this, hopefully by bringing the artists and music back into the spotlight a few clues will be stirred up among the powers that be and we’ll start seeing active respect for this music.  In the meanwhile, we’ll keep on doing what we can.

Wow… again.  It’s been a while since I’ve updated my blog.  My bad.

Ah, let’s see what’s happening… more like what isn’t; it’d be a shorter list.  Starting with the workplace: it’s going wacko.  My best friend at the office, a beloved and beautiful sister in the Lord, quit to work closer to home (and to get away from some of the inanity and insanity).  Can’t blame her, but I sure do miss her.

My boss is going in for gallbladder surgery this week, so she’ll be out of commission for a while just as our department is in its raging glory with different critical projects abounding.  She’s one of if not the absolute best boss I’ve ever had, by the way.  So this is a deep concern.

For my part at the office, things are hot and heated.  I’m in the middle of designing the company’s annual report, which is a challenge.  Um… it’s a company annual report.  Not exactly a thrilling read, or for that matter look.  But hey, gotta do what one must in order to pay for the next vacation.  This is in addition to still putting together the company’s new public Web site, a project that might get done sometime before Internet 2.0 is a reality and available to everyone.  Might… sigh…

In brighter news, the new book is rapidly changing from concept to actual work; the first interview is scheduled for this Friday evening.  I’m blown away by the list of people who’ve agreed to tell me their stories.  Still don’t want to name names until the interviews are completed and the writing is well underway, but suffice it to say if you were so much as casually acquainted with alternative Christian music in the ’80s or early ’90s you will recognize so many of the names involved.  It’s a deeply humbling honor to be doing this.

My other “in process” book is also taking shape.  Completely different from the Christian music book, and yet also deeply connected.  No hints, though; the people that need to know are in the know.  Everyone else… why, you’ll find out in due time (okay, there was a hint in there somewhere).

That covers most everything for now.  More later — hopefully not as long of a “later” as it was from the last post to this one!

Wow, I’ve been negligent in posting updates.  My bad, especially with so much positive, exciting good stuff happening in regard to the book.

So far, no one who’s replied to my asking them to participate has said no.  In fact, the response has been extremely positive from everyone.  Starting next week I’ll begin scheduling the interviews, including hopefully a few in person next month when I’m in southern California a couple of times.

I’m still hesitant to list who’s on board, as I’d rather wait until the interviews are done and that artist’s portion of the story is approved by the artist.  Suffice it to say, in a hopefully not too teasing kind of way, known names have agreed to tell their stories.  My prayer is I don’t mess it up with the lineup that’s going to be part of this!

More soon.

So far I have four people lined up to interview for the book, with more to come!  Names later on as things get lined up.

Before I trot off to the office, a quick update on what’s happening:

I was humbled and honored to meet Beth and Dawn this past Monday evening on a very rainy night in Colton.  Now more than ever I am determined to get the book done.

Now comes the hard part: setting up and doing the interviews, then the transcribing, then the follow-up interviews, then more transcribing, then putting it all together in written form.  But that’s okay.  This workload is one I joyfully embrace.

Now if I could just shake this cold!  Oh well.  It’ll be gone in a few days and I’ll stop sounding like Flippy The Frog after gargling with drain cleaner (cough, sniff, honk, ah-choo).

This post is originally from the NASCAR blog.

Last night, Mrs. Dude and I had the privilege of having dinner with two remarkable people: Beth Jahnsen and Dawn Wisner-Johnson (you can read more about them here).  We talked about our experiences in the contemporary Christian music world, then and now with emphasis on the now: the upcoming DVD of the concert put on by Take Two last year, my dusting off my journalist days via beginning to develop a book talking to the artists involved so they can tell their remarkable stories to the world.

The book will be my main focus in the upcoming months.  I hope you’ll indulge me if I occasionally reference it here.

Anyway, one of the most enjoyable aspects of the evening was the ability to talk about something once a burning passion in my life, and now again the same, with people of the same mindset.  The ability to share with kindred spirits is a wonderful thing, relishing the camaraderie of those who were not only there, but were actively involved in creating the ‘there’ far more than I did.

Let’s take this to NASCAR.  Isn’t this what it should be about?  Fans getting together to cheer and boo and argue and celebrate and commiserate?  If you don’t have that, frankly you don’t have anything worth having.

And that’s no way to live.

I’ve been spending more than a few nights lately in seemingly endless sleeplessness, trying to sort out different events and thoughts.  I imagine most everyone has such nights, when the brain kicks into overdrive while the body is failing to convince it that taking five and catching some Z’s would be the best course of action.  When you start making a habit of it, though, it can be a cause of concern… not to mention functionality loss the next morning.

Two thoughts are occupying the majority of my staring behind closed eyelids.  One is trying to work out how to deal with the hurt directly caused by those who once said they were the closest of friends, but whose recent actions have shown them to be anything but.  I’d like to forgive and forget and move on, but as I’ve mentioned before forgiveness is always a struggle with me, be it of others or myself.  Definitely a weakness; something to attack full force.

The other thought is on a more positive note.  Next week, I’ll be meeting with a couple of people who I’ve never met in person, yet with whom I have exchanged e-mails.  There is a common bond between us, one of faith, and from that another common bond: a desire to call home those who once embraced the faith, but now although not having abandoned it have grown indifferent.  There is also a desire to bring forth evidence of how work done in days gone by, back during heady days of youthful exuberance, bore fruit then and bears fruit now even if those who did the work aren’t always, or often if ever, aware of how their efforts touched the lives of others.

I’m not into melodramatic statements, but it is no exaggeration to say if what I’m envisioning — a book detailing the lives and faith of these workers, the Christian pop and rock musicians of the ’80s — comes into being, it will be the most important writing I’ve ever done.  The potential to help them tell their stories and sound their call of how despite the personal and professional, and even spiritual, garbage hurled at them during their time in the spotlight they kept or at least returned to the faith is a humbling honor.  These people were my heroes then; even more so now.  Their story deserves to be told… no, that’s not strong enough.  It demands to be told.

I’ll be using this space to keep everyone posted as to the project’s progress, fill in the details, and such.  Any and all prayers will be more than appreciated.  This is an opportunity to do something that truly matters, and it is only through our Lord’s grace that I will be able to do my part in this.

For this, I don’t mind losing sleep.

It was nighttime at the zoo, a medium strength wind rustling through the bare tree branches, tossing about an occasional snowflake.  Gord the polar bear was curled up in his small cave at the back of his home, mostly asleep but still glancing outside now and then in-between closing his eyes.

The day had been quiet, with very few visitors willing to brave the cold and wind in order to see the animals.  Gord of course loved the weather, being a polar bear and all.  Still, he did regret how it kept the visitors away, and how it made most of if not all the other animals burrow as far away from the elements as possible.  Not having anyone to talk to or listen to was something Gord didn’t much care for.  Some days, though, that was how it went.

He was almost all the way asleep when suddenly he stood straight up, almost hitting his head on the top of his cave in the process.  Gord stood very still for a moment, then dashed outside where he sat down in the middle of his home, looking up at the sky and the snowfall which was now growing heavier.  He sat there, not moving, as a smile grew across his face.

After a while, a sleepy voice broke the silence.  “Gord?  What are you doing, silly bear?”

Gord recognized the voice as belonging to his friend Cherie the thrasher, who lived nearby.  Without moving to look at her he replied, “Why, I’m listening.”

“Listening to what?” said Cherie in return.  “The only sound is that cold wind.”

“You mean you don’t hear it?”

Cherie shook her head.  She was used to Gord’s occasionally being a little strange, but even by his standards this was quite weird.  She sighed as she said, “No, silly bear.  I don’t hear anything.  So tell me what it is you hear.”

“Why, it’s the yesterday whispers.”

“The… yesterday whispers.”

Gord said in a quizzical voice, “You mean you’ve never heard of them?”

“I must have missed that lecture in bird college,” Cherie said in a tone indicating more than a little concern over her friend’s mental health.

“Why, I thought everyone knew about the yesterday whispers,” Gord replied in a way indicating he completely missed the way Cherie was talking.  “Back where I come from, everyone knows about them.  At night, when the pretty light curtains appear in the sky, if you listen carefully sometimes you can hear the voices from yesterday talking to you as if they were standing right next to you.”

“You mean the ones who aren’t here any more?”

“Yes.  The faded ones.  Only when the yesterday whispers come, they’re not faded any more.  Oh, you can’t see them, and they come and go as they please.  But you can hear them talking to you.  Sometimes they’ll even answer you when you ask them something.”

Cherie thought about it for a moment, and then decided it would be best to go along with Gord on this one.  “Must be a polar bear thing.  And what pretty light curtains are you talking about?  I don’t see anything.”

“We have them where I’m from.  How I miss them, and until now I thought you had to have them in order to hear the whispers.  But now, tonight, I heard them again.”

“Anyone you know?”

“Some, yes.  Some I was told about, who were before me.”

Cherie softly said, “And what did they have to say?”

“Why, they were telling me I can come home anytime.”

“As in leaving the zoo and going back up north?  I don’t know how you’re going to do that.”

Gord sighed.  “No, not home like that.  Although I’d like to.  They were saying I could go home in my heart.”

“By remembering where you came from?”

“Yes and no.  They said remembering was part of it.  But they also said if you come home in your heart, it’s not just remembering.  It’s alive right here and now.”

Cherie asked, “I don’t suppose they told you how to do this.”

“Not really,” Gord replied.  “They said I’d find the way.”

“Is that all they said?”

“Why, no.  They said one more thing.”

“What was that?” the thrasher said.

The polar bear stood up and turned to where Cherie lived.  In a quiet voice he replied, “That they would be there when I get there.”

The two looked at each other for a moment, a look of friendship.  Then Gord excused himself and went back into his cave.