Leading al-Qaida militant Abu Musab al-Zarqawi was wanted: dead or alive.
He wasn’t the type to be taken alive, nor did U.S. manhunters seem to prefer it that way.
OK. He’s dead.
Now hang Saddam and give the Iraqis a fighting chance to get their nation on its feet.
There’s a particular stairwell connecting the upper and lower levels of the fitness center at Centre College that has a smell which takes me back to the old McKinley School, where I attended fourth, fifth, and sixth grades. You know what I mean; it’s one of those odor-triggered responses that has deep emotional characteristics. For me, it evokes the final years of pre-adolescence in my first hometown of West Milton, before our family moved to Tipp City, and the resulting psychological disorientation that came with being “the new kid,” just as puberty struck with a vengeance. I was twelve. It wasn’t an easy transition. Life deals many different kinds, of course. On a scale of ten it doesn’t come close to what others in my Clan have endured. I just happened to lose my best friends at the diciest time in a young man’s coming of age. In some unexplainable way I also lost my original identity. Honestly, I still have no idea how it actually affected my personality and my relationship to others. I just know it did, and that’s all that probably needs to be said about it. Fortunately, the summer of our disruption was fashioned into
an adventure of memorable proportions, with our transitional accommodations in the upstairs apartment of a downtown building perched ridiculously close to the major rail line. It must have been inexpensive, and only a boy could have loved it, although I understood how absurdly small it was for a nine-member family. We survived a hot summer without air conditioning by spending most of our time at the pool. It left me with a lifelong attachment to swimming, the most sensual of fitness activities, and further solidified a bond of five brothers, thrown more tightly together with our sudden isolation. I remember the day Mombo gave me hell because I walked three-year-old Jay to our developing home-site two miles out of town, indicating the age gap of the Brothers Dixon in those days. Side-by-side, we navigated a mutually unfamiliar universe of lifeguards, construction workers, shopkeepers, and strange neighbors. Thank God for the summer of ’64. As cohorts in adaptation, we had to make it uniquely our own world, and perhaps, to some degree, it also prepared me for the arrival of September, the end of childhood, and a school with new and different smells…
I made mention last month that we’d watched “Out of Africa,” but didn’t say that it was primarily to conduct thematic research in preparation for this coming Saturday night. I admit it. I love The Great American Brass Band Festival. We moved to Kentucky the summer it began, and June in Danville has always been about the Festival for us. Nevertheless, I’m not a big fan of trying to orchestrate a picnic table concept, as much as I thrill to the atmosphere on Saturday night. There’s nothing like being close to the stage during what’s clearly the high point of the weekend, but all the preparations and distractions of making the table into a spectacle has never seemed to be worth the bother. Having said that, I can report that Dana has me completely caught up in getting ready for our African repast, including designing graphics for the table sign, and I’m starting to get excited about how it’s coming together. We’re sharing our table with David and Lee and their guests from Durban, South Africa. The competitive juices are pumping. Look out. I’m gonna kick down every other table like Jesus on a bad day!
An Austrian farmer severed his own hand with a log splitter, but kept his cool. This is not how you want to get your fifteen minutes of fame.
My brother Jerome and his wife Janet stopped by today after attending a local picnic for parents with adopted children from other countries. They’re moving ahead with plans to acquire one or two babies from Central America. I think most of my family knew they were considering this, but I just recently found out. I’m very happy for both of them. Dana and I thought seriously about the same course of action when we first came to Danville, but we lost the drive to follow through with it after Marty was born and we became grandparents. Things tend to work out the way they’re supposed to…
I went to Lexington this morning with my buddy Jim M and took part in a public forum by regional planners on the subject of walking and cycling. We learned a lot that will help us as we continue to organize at the local level. The best part was getting to meet a knowledgeable guy from the National Center for Bicycling & Walking. When I got home I spent the afternoon finishing a wedding present for our friend Donna and her groom named Joe. We got to meet him this evening at their post-honeymoon reception, held in the Great Hall of the Community Arts Center. The name I gave my gift artwork was “Cosmorama with Nautilus Shell,” the fifth in a collage series I started in 2003.
The weather has fouled up my cycling opportunities the past few days, so I put in half an hour on the stationery bike this morning. I haven’t figured out a way to take the boredom out of doing that.
The Band Festival poster that was printed yesterday was unveiled at the Rotary Club meeting today. I didn’t make any remarks, but received plenty of recognition from the podium. The spotlight was on the featured artist, as it should have been, and Paul’s address to the club was down-to-earth, humorous, and sincere. As I may have previously mentioned, I’ve put in a request to be considered for providing next year’s featured art.
— Month of May workout totals: Swim-2; Bike-5; Run-5; Lift-5; Yoga-9
— The Graybeard Prospector and his Medicine Woman ventured back into the administrative sanctum of the local health care system earlier this morning, making their forceful case for a revivified working relationship.
— I traveled to Louisville today with my colleague Paul to approve the press settings for the Great American Brass Band Festival poster. He came along as the featured artist, and I wanted to make sure he was satisfied with the reproduction of his painting, “Brassy Razzmatazz.” We’ve known and admired each other for a number of years, but it’s another level of personal rapport when you get to spend three to four hours talking together during a car trip. The wildest part took place on the way back, when we were caught in a severe electrical hail storm. Visibility dropped to virtually zero when maximum wiper speed failed to help, and it was all I could do to creep down the next exit ramp, praying to escape any danger. It was the worst weather I’ve ever negotiated behind the wheel, enough for two men to confess to a state of utter terror, after we’d struggled successfully to find a safe place to wait it out.
— Over the holiday, while Dana was visiting Bruce, I decided to dig out my copy of a movie I haven’t watched in a long time—“Nothing in Common.” I can report that I found it just as enjoyable as ever. Now that it’s been twenty years since it was made, the music and styles firmly peg it as an 80s period piece, but that only adds to its enduring charm. You don’t have to be a huge fan of Hanks (which I’m not) to be thoroughly entertained by this flick, which offers a full spectrum of moods and creative attributes. It’s hilarious, sexy, witty, insightful, thought-provoking, sad, and comforting. Flaws are there, if you want to pick at it, but it’s remarkably well-paced and so loaded with talent that you wonder why Hanks hasn’t done more ensemble pictures like this. The setting seems tailor-made for my individual pleasure. If you’ve never seen it, you’ve missed a real treat. Tom plays a 30-ish hot-shot creative director at a Chicago ad agency run by Hector Elizondo, but his up-and-coming career collides with a family crisis when his parents (Eva Marie Saint and Jackie Gleason) abruptly split. Saint’s characterization is delivered with absolute freshness and total believability. Reardless of what you might think of Gleason, “The Great One” will surely captivate anyone with this final performance, a masterful blend of comedy and tragedy, and a fitting swan song for the awesomely talented and complex personality. Now add to that a group of superb supporting players—Sela Ward, Barry Corbin, Bess Armstrong, John Kapelos, and Dan Castellaneta (who would go on to create the familiar voice of Homer Simpson). But make no mistake, the motion picture is anchored by the versatile Hanks at his most physically attractive juncture and by how he takes the viewer on an emotional journey under the able direction of Garry Marshall. When you combine this movie with “Big” and “Turner & Hooch,” it forms the pinnacle of the opening chapter in the astonishing tenure of a true Hollywood Star.
