Late, overcast morning after a late night. Get the day started then go for a run later, or go for a run now?

Go for a run now. Eat later. First, swap out the tunes on the old MP3 player.

Driving along up Old 63 on the way to Hinkson, slightly zoning out and singing along to Tales From Topographic Oceans by Yes. Suddenly time seems to grind to a halt as I see a small, dark gray shape struggling across the road ahead of me, in the other lane.

In a flash I realize what's happening: a cat (presumably a mother cat) is hauling a tiny black kitten across this busy road by the scruff of its little neck. She's got it over to the side of the narrow road and is trying to lift it up and over the curb, but she can't manage it. Meanwhile, cars are coming from both directions. I'm the lead car coming up from Broadway, while there's another stream of them coming downhill from the south. As the cars rapidly approach, the mother cat panics and bolts away, leaving the little black kitten sprawled helplessly in the road, directly where the oncoming cars are headed.

This whole thing is happening in seconds. Literally--in about 2 seconds I realize what's going on, and then everything that follows happens in only a few seconds more.

In the middle of Old 63, traffic behind me and oncoming in the other lane, I stop the car, throw on the parking brake, hit the hazard lights, jump out the door, and run across into the other lane, scooping up the kitten and carrying it a safe distance past the road, setting it down in some brush near where the mother has bolted. She's staring at me from a few yards away, alarmed and hissing; I crouch down and try to coax her over but she's too tense.

All kinds of thoughts run through my head at that moment--what to do about them? I glance around; there's no immediate sign of where they might have come from or are going to. Do I try to corral the mother and take them somewhere? She's fast and the surrounding brush is thick, and she's still pretty panicky--I worry that if I try, it'll just chase her off and leave the kitten alone again. So quickly I decide to leave them for the moment, where they're at least together and safely off the road.

Then I stand up and it dawns on me that my car is still sitting in the road. I turn around and see that a long line of cars has formed behind it, and as it's a narrow road with no-passing stripes, there's nowhere for people to go. So with an unspoken, "ah, crap" I dash back out into the road, hop in the car, and then pull over into a parking lot near where I left the cats.

They've moved on, down the hill into the dense brush and tree cover. I can spy them several yards in, and I puzzle over what to do. But it seems that my chance at spiriting them away has passed. The mother cat is still on alert, watching me as I try and step lightly through the dense foliage, but there's no good inlet. Before I would take a few steps, she could be long gone, and I don't want to have the kitten deserted or left behind in a panic again.

So, feeling beaten and insufficient, I leave them and head back to the car. To what fate, I wonder--run over somewhere else, later, or scavenging for survival? Or maybe headed toward their home? Picked up by someone if they approach a home for food or shelter? I don't know. But I'm stymied.

Within a half-minute of driving on, I get a call on my cell, pick it up, and hear a girl say, "happy birthday!" Flustered as I am, I actually have to take a second to check my brain for any facts I might be missing here. (My birthday's in October. Check.) I gently assure her that she has the wrong number, and drive on.

This is starting out to be a weird day.

On the trail, aside from some expected stiffness, running starts well. First song is the utterly fantastic "Chemistry" by Semisonic (surely one of the best pop songs of the decade). As its Hall & Oates-like staccato piano driving-eighths give me an emotional boost that surprises even me, the clouds open up and suddenly it's sunny. And for a moment I'm brushed by a sensation hinting at many fine days of running over the last few years, pleasant imagery and feelings of other sunny days, other trails. The same thing happens again later in the run, when the returned clouds part again during the fast/driving second half of "Ballavanich" by Celtic/rock band Wolfstone.

After the run I continue what's become a post-run ritual: picking up whatever trash I can see offhand around the trail head. It amazes me every time that people will carelessly dump so much random junk when there's a trash can just a few yards away. Pathetic. Today's haul includes a pile of corroding AA batteries (did the idiot who dumped them think they'd just evaporate harmlessly?), lots of random pieces of plastic & cigarette packaging, cups & straws, and a few aluminum cans which I take with me to recycle. Sickening. I think to myself that I need to return here late some night (when I imagine this stuff is getting dumped) and scandalize whoever's doing it. As I'm driving back home (no sign of the cats), I'm reminded how I fill my 100% biodegradable kitchen trash bag with non-biodegrading empty cereal bags, soy-food wrappers, etc., and I have to wonder what good I'm doing, really.

Though as I'm rinsing out the cans back at home and reading their labels, I do get the chance to learn something that I'd suspected but probably wouldn't know otherwise--that Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper contains neither cherry nor vanilla. Just sugar and chemicals.

And I'm reminded of Steve Kilbey's old song, "Weird Old World" :

We talk about this city and all of its lies
That's a joke, we're a cog in its wheel
And we're rolling on down to the end of the hill
And never stopping to feel.

Labels: Life, Running

I just read a current story on the fragmenting ties between the U.S. and Uzbekistan. It's not a country that many people here know about (I'd probably never heard of it before 2001), but I've been pointing to it for years as a prime example of how our present administration is corrupting itself and our country with its hypocritical dealings with brutal dictators.

The story above traces the current diplomatic decline back to an Uzbeki massacre of protesters instigated by the government. What's tragic is that the massacre took place a year ago, and it's taken this long to get even this little amount of traction. What's even more tragic is that it looks like our own government indirectly shares the blame for the terrible loss of life.

We first started making deals with the violently repressive Uzbek president, Islam Karimov, back in 2001, due to his country's convenient location as a staging ground for the invasion of Afghanistan. Despite a well-documented history of brutal dictatorship, Karimov was welcomed to the White House by President Bush in 2002 to sign a series of deals.

But even by the corrupt standards of our administration, all was soon not well with our Uzbeki alliance. Karimov began to worry over seemingly U.S.-backed rebellions in other former Soviet republics, and in a state of heightened tension and paranoia over potential U.S. double-dealing, responded to an attempt to free political prisoners by slaying, it is suggested, hundreds in the uprising.

Our government just doesn't seem to learn. We helped Saddam Hussein into a position of power in Iraq, and look what happened. We armed and trained Osama bin Laden and his compatriots in their struggle with the Soviets in Afghanistan (and in Bosnia in the 1990s), and look what happened. And now it seems like we're doing the very same thing with radical Islamic militants in Iraq.

What's happened in Uzbekistan and all these other places is the inevitable result of our government's dangerously hypocritical pursuit of power. How else to explain the continuing allegiance with and support of tyrants and murderers in the name of freedom and democracy? What poisonous fruit will these seeds from today bring forth in the years ahead?

Maybe if we vote out enough of the enablers in the next couple elections, we can avoid finding out.

Labels: Politics

"It's funny how someone you've never met manages to stay with you." - Grant McLennan, from the song "Trapeze Boy"

Grant McLennan, one of the most admired singer-songwriters in Australian rock history, died this weekend of an apparent heart attack at the age of 48. His musical history spans more than 25 years, first with the influential Aussie indie group the Go-Betweens, then into a partnership with the Church's Steve Kilbey under the name Jack Frost, and into a string of marvelous solo albums. While he never achieved the chart success his richly melodic and heartfelt pop deserved, appreciation for his work runs far and wide. The Australian Performing Rights Association recently named his autobiographical song "Cattle And Cane" as one of the 10 greatest Australian songs of all time.

Of all time.

I never met this man, or even got the chance to see him perform live, but he meant a great deal to me, as I'm newly realizing with the sting of his passing. The news hit me surprisingly hard, as though it was someone I knew, and it's still weighing on my heart. It frustrates me and saddens me and makes reality seem wrong somehow.

But I think I did know him, in a sense, as did everyone who's enjoyed and been touched by his music over the years. McLennan had an uncanny knack for combining melodies that were pure gold and instantly likeable to lyrics that were often deceptively sharp and painfully honest. The result was often heartbreakingly beautiful.

I've spent many, many hours listening to his four solo albums, his two albums with Kilbey, and various parts of his Go-Betweens work. I've spent hours more learning and playing his songs on acoustic guitar. Singing heartfelt laments like "Stones For You" or "Hot Water", I felt that McLennan's heartache was my own, and mine his. Feeling the adrenaline thrill of listening to songs like "In Your Bright Ray" or "Surround Me" while driving with the windows down on a warm spring day, I felt a sense of unbridled potential that made me want to kiss someone at that moment, just to share that hopeful energy that almost made me want to cry. Listening to the stark, spare lines of "Cattle And Cane" is dark October skies, a lonely wind, and those moments where I feel that I'm alone in the world.

Yet somehow, with Grant, you never really feel that you're alone. He's alongside you for the pain and exultation, grin on his face and wink in his eye. It's there in his music, and I'll always have that.

Thanks, Grant. You are already missed.


The Music of Grant McLennan
In an effort to get this richly deserving musician in more ears, here are some links to his music.

iTunes offers only a small part of McLennan's work, but here are a sampling of his classic songs that they do have available for download:

With the Go-Betweens:

• Bye Bye Pride
• Streets of Your Town
• Bachelor Kisses
• The Ghost and the Black Hat
• Cattle & Cane
• The Wrong Road

Solo work:

• Easy Come, Easy Go
• Stones For You
• Haven't I Been a Fool?
• Surround Me
• Fingers
• Black Mule

And here are links to purchase or learn more about his work:

Solo albums:

• Watershed
• Fireboy
• Horsebreaker Star
• In Your Bright Ray

With Jack Frost:

• Jack Frost
• Snow Job

And of course, the Go-Betweens.

Labels: Music

I was intrigued and delighted by a long, in-depth article in today's Columbia Missourian about...the night sky. Specifically, how our city is considering a light ordinance, and the myriad issues connected to such a thing--free markets vs. regulation, light pollution vs. safety, etc.

What impressed me the most about the story was that it addressed the conventional "vs." positions mentioned above, but moved the discussion right through them into the underlying issues at stake. The result is a situation which could possibly turn out to be pretty simple: use light, but use it wisely.

Different types of outdoor lighting fixtures can have a great impact on the amount of light that's cast to the side and upward, which in most cases is simply wasted light that offers no benefit in terms of safety. In fact, it can have potentially serious detriments: light cast to the side and upward can create glares which actually inhibit properly seeing what's around you, and studies have shown that exposure to artificial light at night can increase the chances of breast cancer in women (it was to do with production of melatonin being inhibited by light).

Hopefully, the result of this proposed ordinance will be something that will help keep our night skies from turning into even more of the pink fuzz that they already are while not putting an excessive burden on businesses (who often claim to want more light for safety, but really just want more visibility for the sake of marketing).

For more background on this concept (including night-sky-friendly lighting fixtures), see the International Dark-Sky Association.

Labels: Environment

My first impression of the Hinkson trail, after my first run on it a few weeks back, was that it wasn't as scenic/attractive as my old haunts on the MKT trail, but how much closer it was to me--making runs quicker and easier to schedule, and saving me on gas--made it worthwhile. In the time since, I've changed my tune and have found many small and not-so-small things in which to delight.

After another nice run on Saturday, I felt a compulsion to linger a little longer and wander around a bit. So, after stretching, I walked across the gently rolling hillocks surrounding the trailhead, taking the rocky path down to the creek. With no one else in sight, I felt a pleasing sense of reverence in the aloneness with this untroubled nature. Walking down to the creek's edge, I crouched down and just watched, and listened. What little noise there was from the nearest road was quickly forgotten in the quiet of the moment.

Looking over the gently rushing water (the area I'd walked down to is fairly rocky, providing much surface for whooshing and babbling of the brook), I spotted what looked like a piece of paper wrapped around a rock, plastered against it by the force of the water. Thinking that it probably wasn't doing much harm but was still an interference to anything green growing on the rock's surface, I grabbed the nearest fallen branch-piece, reached out over the water, and set about trying to loose it from its lamination. After several tries, I was finally able to peel it off and lift it out of the water.

That it was so tidily intact should have tipped me off, but I found that it was not paper but instead plastic. Specifically, a plastic bag from a child's birthday party. There are a hundred ways it could have gotten in the stream, but I was just glad that I'd gotten it out. It's simple presence as a foreign pollutant is clear to anyone, but lately I've been reminded of how dangerous plastics can be to the ecosystem through reading articles like the recent ocean study in Mother Jones magazine.

After pulling it ashore and setting it down next to me, I returned to my meditation over the gently rippling water-sounds. Then I noticed, just a couple yards upstream, a small bird alight on a low branch overhanging the stream. (I think it was an Eastern Phoebe, but it may have been an Eastern Kingbird; my bird IDing skills are woefully poor.)

Keeping quiet and still, I was treated to a delightful show by the little one; a series of looping dips down into the water, then swooping back up to the branch to wash itself and shake itself dry. Mixed into this cleaning ritual were a few cursory above-water swoops, presumably to snag the occasional insect. I waited long enough for the bird to finish and move a little further downstream before getting up and walking back up to the car.

Another reminder that most of my fondest memories, those that stay with me and emerge in the most thoughtful and meaningful times, don't involve concrete.

(This journal entry typed to the accompaniment of Bert Jansch's lovely and pastoral 1980 album, Avocet.)

Labels: Environment, Life, Running

Just for the fun of it, a random snapshot of some of the current tunes on my old MP3 player that I'm listening to while running. (iTunes, download, or informational links provided where available.)

Sufjan Stevens, Dear Mr. Supercomputer
I tend to like starting runs with a bright, thoughtful tune with enough solid propulsion to get things off to a good start. Stevens weaves a clicking, beeping, thumping mover with a web of staccato acoustic sounds--drums, horns, layered vocals, vibraphone.

Wolfmother, White Unicorn and Dimension
This raging new young band from Australia wears their classic-rock influences on their sleeves, but boy do they rock. They mix in just enough oddness, pulp-fantasy lyrical whimsy, and prog-rock flourishes to take their straightahead sound up a notch. 'White Unicorn' is all wide-screen drama (you can almost see the smoke machines during its hazy breakdown), good for distractions during the toughest early part of my run, and 'Dimension' is just a pounding, driving rocker that helps me keep pushing.

Michael Moorcock's Deep Fix, Time Centre
This instrumental oddity from a musical project between legendary fantasy author Moorcock and members of Hawkwind is a semi-hypnotic, cyclical build up from early-80s synth and drums to big bass guitar that for some reason, has been a standby of my running tunes. One of those that just works--never the center of my workout, but always a good go-to tune.

Genesis, Watcher of the Skies (live)
Wrapping up this segment of prog-rock is this early classic from Genesis, back when Peter Gabriel was the lead singer, wearing dresses and fox-head costumes on stage. Starting off with airy mellotron full of daybreak yearning and portent, it slips into great, rolling rhythms and terrific bass hooks from Mike Rutherford. A musical short story, with peaks, valleys, and a rousing finale. The version I'm listening to is a rare uncut version left off of their classic Genesis Live album from 1973. And it's long enough that I can run a whole mile to it!

Kasabian, Club Foot
Coming back to the present day with this seething, driving, edgy tune from these British alterna-rockers. Big dancy beat, buzzing guitar, and urgent vocals create a great running vibe.

King's X, Fly
This song has what I love most about this hugely underrated band--massive, propulsive riffs, alternately soulful and soaring vocals filled with harmony, and oodles of energy. A great spark of energy that just seems to make the clouds open up.

Broken Social Scene, 7/4 (Shoreline)
The odd time signature creates movement under a churning bed of restrained tension that breaks out all over the place as the song builds. Great load vocal and harmony by Leslie Feist, terrifically woven instrumentation. Maybe the best indie-pop since The Replacements.

The Rolling Stones, Don't Stop
Just a great, catchy, yearning-with-a-wink, love/lust-sick tune from the Stones. Obviously the chorus is a good message when trying to finish a run!

Nawang Khechog, Leading the Path of Non-Violence
Stark, beautiful Tibetan flute is a great complement to the lush greenery, big skies and rolling hills surrounding the trail, and a soothing balm at the end of a satisfying run.

Labels: Music, Running