A Reflection of Change
“I still don't know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets
Every time I thought I'd got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I've never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I'm much too fast to take that test
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Don't want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can't trace time.”
David Bowie—Changes, 1972.
It is amazing to me how much things stay the same, the older I become.
Last week I celebrated 43 years of life and whereas there are many to thank (I thank you all--but its been no bed of roses); there are some things I think upon reflection I need to pass on.
Music, is a universal love to all. When I was a younger person in my teens, I had a fondness for Meatloaf, Jethro Tull, and the Moody Blues. I still love those bands, but now older, I have been drawn to “melodic” or “speed” metal—which has some characteristically fabulous “classic music” overtones. I just snagged the second Angra Rebirth CD from eBay. Awesome stuff to be sure. I cannot wait for the latest Kamelot CD (that's the band in the picture above) to arrive.
When I was younger, I think around fifth grade, the babysitter I went to had a black cat (named Sambo—forgive me political incorrectness—well actually the babysitter’s) who I was fascinated with. This cat really took to me and would sit on my lap and kneed his paws into my leg. It started a lifelong affection towards cats as the superior pet. Cats are so mysterious and so creative. Now at the age of 43, the cats in my life have become a very useful and life affirming part of my existence. I refuse to debate the cats vs. dogs argument—just note that a Maine Coon is a cat that thinks he is a dog.
Classical literature, classical history, and classical art are so much greater than the “modern” stuff. I knew this at a young age—however growing up in the mod sixties (which I vaguely remember) and the “gaudy” 1970s have given way to an understanding that far more inspired people existed much longer ago. I remember being a senior in high school reading Dante’s Inferno, Plato’s Republic, Don Quixote, and Antigone while knowing full well that the modern world offered nothing of value—comparatively speaking. Like Stephen King and Anne Rice could equal those folks—and perhaps it is unfair to believe they could. The foundations are the sturdiest part of any construction. Now that I have spent two years teaching Ancient History, I am amazed at how thoughtful and reflective the people of the past were. As far as art, well, if I would compare DeVinci with Warhol, I would be insane.
Old world ales and lagers are much better than the current “modern method” of brewing that have destroyed the taste buds of millions thanks to the likes of Budweiser, Coors, and Miller—among other faceless corporate bastards. I say if the ignorant masses prefer them to the classic old world beverages, well…to each his or her own. Who am I to judge—then again on my own blog, I can judge them all.
Like the gladiators of old, we still invite the violence and blood of physical encounters and call it a sport. My favorites of archaic bloodbaths are football and hockey. I find Football a great outlet, but Hockey is a true reach back to the past. My mother’s father (Grandpa Lou Kuglich) was a true fan and he has passed that down to his son (Dan) and his grandson (Eric) as a method of watching carnage. Thanks Grandpa.
Family and friends still mean quite a bit to me—so thanks Mom and Dad, Karen, Mark, and friends who are too numerous to mention (but regular blog readers of Pete, Keith, Joe, John, Dan, Jim, Sue Mac, Lou Ann, and Gene, among so many other good folks) thanks for forty-three wonderful years.
After 43 years, one would hope I am wiser and better than I was—but the older I become, the more I realize I will stay the same. Change is not my best friend, but I cannot help but thing I evolve. Whereas evolving utilizes some forms of change, evolution is just reaching the highest potential.
I probably have to wait another 43 years until I do it properly.
And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets
Every time I thought I'd got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I've never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I'm much too fast to take that test
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Don't want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can't trace time.”
David Bowie—Changes, 1972.
It is amazing to me how much things stay the same, the older I become.
Last week I celebrated 43 years of life and whereas there are many to thank (I thank you all--but its been no bed of roses); there are some things I think upon reflection I need to pass on.
Music, is a universal love to all. When I was a younger person in my teens, I had a fondness for Meatloaf, Jethro Tull, and the Moody Blues. I still love those bands, but now older, I have been drawn to “melodic” or “speed” metal—which has some characteristically fabulous “classic music” overtones. I just snagged the second Angra Rebirth CD from eBay. Awesome stuff to be sure. I cannot wait for the latest Kamelot CD (that's the band in the picture above) to arrive.
When I was younger, I think around fifth grade, the babysitter I went to had a black cat (named Sambo—forgive me political incorrectness—well actually the babysitter’s) who I was fascinated with. This cat really took to me and would sit on my lap and kneed his paws into my leg. It started a lifelong affection towards cats as the superior pet. Cats are so mysterious and so creative. Now at the age of 43, the cats in my life have become a very useful and life affirming part of my existence. I refuse to debate the cats vs. dogs argument—just note that a Maine Coon is a cat that thinks he is a dog.
Classical literature, classical history, and classical art are so much greater than the “modern” stuff. I knew this at a young age—however growing up in the mod sixties (which I vaguely remember) and the “gaudy” 1970s have given way to an understanding that far more inspired people existed much longer ago. I remember being a senior in high school reading Dante’s Inferno, Plato’s Republic, Don Quixote, and Antigone while knowing full well that the modern world offered nothing of value—comparatively speaking. Like Stephen King and Anne Rice could equal those folks—and perhaps it is unfair to believe they could. The foundations are the sturdiest part of any construction. Now that I have spent two years teaching Ancient History, I am amazed at how thoughtful and reflective the people of the past were. As far as art, well, if I would compare DeVinci with Warhol, I would be insane.
Old world ales and lagers are much better than the current “modern method” of brewing that have destroyed the taste buds of millions thanks to the likes of Budweiser, Coors, and Miller—among other faceless corporate bastards. I say if the ignorant masses prefer them to the classic old world beverages, well…to each his or her own. Who am I to judge—then again on my own blog, I can judge them all.
Like the gladiators of old, we still invite the violence and blood of physical encounters and call it a sport. My favorites of archaic bloodbaths are football and hockey. I find Football a great outlet, but Hockey is a true reach back to the past. My mother’s father (Grandpa Lou Kuglich) was a true fan and he has passed that down to his son (Dan) and his grandson (Eric) as a method of watching carnage. Thanks Grandpa.
Family and friends still mean quite a bit to me—so thanks Mom and Dad, Karen, Mark, and friends who are too numerous to mention (but regular blog readers of Pete, Keith, Joe, John, Dan, Jim, Sue Mac, Lou Ann, and Gene, among so many other good folks) thanks for forty-three wonderful years.
After 43 years, one would hope I am wiser and better than I was—but the older I become, the more I realize I will stay the same. Change is not my best friend, but I cannot help but thing I evolve. Whereas evolving utilizes some forms of change, evolution is just reaching the highest potential.
I probably have to wait another 43 years until I do it properly.
posted by Eric Sweetwood at 4:19 PM
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