Jhciacb

Casualties Of Hate…

Like everyone else who’s witnessed what’s happening in Afghanistan, I’m saddened and feel lifeless. In the hours after seeing this unfold on both the big and small screens last week, I began to feel like I got sucked into a narrow vacuum hose and stuck with no way out.

The horrors in Afghanistan notwithstanding (that sentence in-itself is wretched), what’s crushing me just as much is how people are claiming exclusive rights to their strong opinions, and name-calling those they disagree with in the aftermath of it all. 

Once the war of opinions began, the war in Afghanistan became monumentally insignificant to them, though they’ll never admit this. It didn’t take long for the hate grenades to be lobbed back-and-forth across media platforms, including social media. And as usual, the insults and hate speech were lobbed without much thought. 

Boom — explosion!  

The insult landed. A direct hit. The damage was done. But how much damage, do you even know…?  Hope you feel better now. 

Insults are the weapons of discussion that people choose when their intelligence weakens. I frame it that way because most everyone has the intelligence not to use insults and hate speech. Of all the reasons I can think of not to insult somebody or belittle their opinion, chief among them is this…

That when people use the media and social media to project insults and hate speech, people who aren’t being targeted also get hit. You see, there’s collateral damage in being a dick. We’ve all heard the following cliché or something like it:

You never know what somebody else is battling, so be kind. 

The damage that can be done to somebody who lives with hidden turmoil and who hides it behind a strong face, may be far greater than the person throwing the insults know. I can speak to this first-hand. An insult or abusive speech might truly be the difference in a person’s bad day, bad week, or God willing, hopefully not in their life.

Everyone has their right to expression — to throw insults, use hate speech, and to express unsolicited strong opinions. And everyone else has their tipping point. And those who throw insults blindly, regularly, and the name of feeling more intelligent or superior to another, probably have no idea whether the person they are aiming at is approaching their tipping point — or what innocent bystanders might also receive that hate grenade. 

Ready. Aim. Insult…

Don’t worry about the casualties, so long as it makes you feel good. 

With that in mind, I have two (rhetorical) questions for anyone who has insulted anyone else in relation to what’s happened in Afghanistan…

What, specifically, did you get out of being mean to another person…?

How does the world become a better place for your verbal malice…?

And I’m not just singling out social media warriors and water cooler prophets here. Media personalities, pundits, senators, representatives, and retired military leaders have used language on national television, radio, and the internet recent days that is inconsistent with the esteem those positions (should) warrant. And the men who hold high places…

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 6

Miles: 157

Climbing: 6,900’

Mph Avg: 15.0

Calories: 8,900

Seat Time: 10 hours 25 minutes

Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along with me today. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there’s this from Mari Boine. Enjoy…

Jhciacb

The Wolves…

Last week, the greatest rock ‘n’ roll band on earth, Los Lobos, released their most recent album. Of course when I call them the greatest rock ‘n’ roll band, that’s just my way of saying that I have a great deal of appreciation for them.

Native Sons, their 18th album, is a collection of songs covering California artists who influenced their musical sensibilities early in their career. Over the last several months, Los Lobos released bits of the new album on YouTube. I liked what I heard, but was looking forward to putting the CD in my car stereo and taking it for a drive. Last Saturday I got to do that.

I can’t say that this is their best album, but it’s certainly well-made and it didn’t disappoint. Perhaps time will prove it to be a top three or four album of theirs for me. In recent years, artists I’ve appreciated for decades such as James McMurtry, Cornershop, and The Waterboys have delivered albums I’ve enjoyed, but consider subpar. Native Sons is far better than that. 

The intentions behind this album can be felt immediately. The care that went into recording it is evident right away. Singer, David Hildalgo, who has a history of clunker vocals both live and on their recordings, is smooth on each of his vocal tracks. The recording fidelity is excellent — better than any of their previous albums. There’s ample space between the sounds, and the instrumentation and vocals are crisp and distinct. 

Something the band attempted to do on this album was be true to the original song, but also put their own signature on each. That’s no easy task. Very often with covers, a band will try to duplicate the original song or take it in another direction altogether. Los Lobos walked a fine line and definitely achieved what they set out to do. Each track is true to the original, but there’s no doubt who’s performing it.

The song selection took me by surprise, but in a good way. Several of the songs are rock standards that I knew word-for-word, while others are songs I’m scarcely familiar with. 

Bluebird (Buffalo Springfield) and Sail On Sailor (Beach Boys) are standouts for me. Again, true to the originals, but no doubt the guys from East LA are at the helm. Where Lovers Go (The Jaguars) takes me back to a simpler era of music — one that took place while I was still a toddler, and is probably my favorite song on the album — for now.  

The musicianship, as always, is stellar. Hidalgo is one of the great guitar players nobody talks about. He demonstrates his usual outstanding playing throughout the album, but it’s kept a bit further back in the mix on most songs. However, on The World Is A Ghetto (WAR), Hidalgo’s guitar playing is prominent, precise, and clean. Cesar Rosas’ vocals and guitar work throughout the album are as good as ever. Louie Pérez sings, plays guitars, and adds some percussion. 

Pérez, the original drummer for the band, gives up the kit on this album for David Hidalgo Jr. (Social Distortion) and Jason Lozano, who play superbly on their respective tracks. Steve Berlin (Saxophone) and Conrad Lozano (Bass) are like piecrust holding the band together. Their supporting roles are at the heart of the thing, and each gives the album a character that can’t come from anyone else.

After I listened to the album the second time, one line kept going through my head, over and over, from the movie Tender Mercies, starring Robert Duvall… 

“Sing It The Way You Feel It…”

It’s evident on every track that the guys from East LA sang and played every song the way they felt it. 

Footnote: I first wrote this for my Facebook page 2-weeks ago. I’ve since listened to the CD nearly a dozen times and compared each track to the original. For my money, I’ll take the Los Lobos cover over each of the originals, including the two Buffalo Springfield songs. Yes, I said it. 

This has quickly become a top-3 album of theirs for me, just behind Kiko and The Town And The City. My standout tracks, as of this morning are, Farmer John (The Premiers) and For What It’s Worth (Buffalo Springfield). At some point, I’m guessing every song on the CD will be my favorite, at least for a while.

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 7

Miles: 179

Climbing: 7,800’

Mph Avg: 15.1

Calories: 10,100

Seat Time: 11 hours 52 minutes

Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along with me today. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there’s this from the greatest rock ‘n’ roll band on earth, Los Lobos. Enjoy…

Jhciacb

Here In My Mold…

I truly wonder who I am sometimes. Just as often, I wonder who I should be. I was thinking about that when I went out the other day — about whether I’m the me I’m supposed to be or if I’m actually the me I’ve created. And no, this isn’t an exercise in freshman philosophy. It’s something I think about quite a bit. I worry that I’ve invested too much of myself and given up too much of my soul in creating the character I play when people are looking — because I’m afraid to just be myself.

I wonder who I’d be if I wasn’t influenced by the expectations I think others have of me. 

I wonder who I’d be if I wasn’t influenced by entertainment — stories, music, television, and movies. 

I wonder who I might be if I wasn’t influenced by the expectations I have of myself — and I wonder further where those expectations come from.

I wonder who I’d be if I was brave enough to say what’s on my mind 100% of the time — or even 50% of the time. 

I wonder who I’d be if I put others ahead of myself more often than I do.

I wonder who I’d be if I didn’t choose play over work as often as I do. 

I wonder who I’d be if I listened to the ‘do-right’ voice in my head more than I do. 

And I don’t just wonder who I’d be on the surface, but I wonder all kinds of wonders…

I wonder if I’d sleep better.

I wonder if my financial status would be more stable.

I wonder if my social and personal relationships would be stronger.

I wonder if I’d worry less about an afterlife.

And the thing is, this goes through my head all the time. On my bike, off my bike, when I’m awake, and even when I sleep I have dreams about the influence everyone and everything outside of me has on me.

Of course, I guess that’s our mission as human beings — to absorb the good from the outside, filter out the bad, and charge-on being the best we can possibly be. Some days though, I question whether I’ve absorbed too much of the wrong things, and whether I’ve filtered out too much of what I really need. 

I just think about it all the time. All the time. 

This is what I think about when I ride…. Jhciacb 

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 7

Miles: 180

Climbing: 5,800’

Mph Avg: 15.2

Calories: 10,200 

Seat Time: 11 hours 55 minutes

Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along with me today. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there’s this from Richard Ashcroft. Enjoy…

Jhciacb

That Six Minutes…

I grew up in the 1960s and 1970s. Between Vietnam, Kent state, and Watergate, my television didn’t have much good to offer each evening. Sure, there were the Apollo missions every-so-often, and Fractured Fairytales on Saturday mornings, but during the dinner hour, television was our household conduit to the fearful and foreboding atmosphere of the day.

Every four years though, dad would relinquish the large round knob on the upper right-hand corner of the Admiral television set in our living room, and let my brother and I watch as much Olympic coverage as we wanted. That was the golden age of the Summer Olympics. 

To this day, when people speak of Mexico City, Munich, or Montreal, before I think of anything else, I think of the summer games. I think of John Carlos, Tommie Smith, Mark Spitz, Dave Wottle, Steve Prefontaine, Olga Korbut, Bruce Jenner, and Ray Leonard, among many others. Those were just a handful of people who made the summer games of that era iconic.

When I watched the Olympics, there was no Vietnam, there were no race riots, and Nixon was an afterthought. Those were the first times I remember escaping reality through sports. Even during the tragedy in Munich, the world seemed to unite, if only for a moment, and the games went on.

Between 1968 and 1976 I was certain I was going to be an Olympian. I tried my hand at everything — boxing, diving, swimming, and I even set up a decathlon course in my backyard, minus the polevault. And of course, I tried my hand at Olympic style weightlifting. I sucked at every sport and have continued to suck at every athletic endeavor I’ve ever attempted. The only thing I came close to being good at was 3-meter springboard diving, but I gave that up to pursue the weight room — which I also sucked at and still do.  

It was the Olympics though, that got me interested in athleticism. It was also the Olympics that introduced me to people to cheer for — my first heroes, if you will. I had their pictures on my wall, I tried to emulate them, I cheered for them when they won, and I cried when they lost. Watching the Summer Olympics was transformative. 

And then politics set in, 1980 and 1984 — the two summer Olympiads that will be forever remembered as being incomplete. That was the first of what would be many disconnects between me and the Summer Olympics, and I’ll suggest, for millions of others also. 

The games would recover and continue on in exotic places like Seoul, Barcelona, Sydney, and Athens. They had an allure to them, but the magic of the Summer Olympics I knew in my youth had faded. In-part, that was probably due to having to make a living, marriage, fatherhood, and all the adult responsibilities that go with all of those.

Today, the Olympics bring about thoughts of television marketshare, product endorsements, performance-enhancing drugs, gender roles, and the multitude of electronic platforms available to watch them on. It all seems too complicated for me — like too much work is involved in both watching and enjoying them. 

Before I began writing this, I sat in my dark living room, pre-dawn, sipping coffee and watching the highlight of a 17-year-old girl from Alaska touch the wall before any other swimmer in the pool. Lydia Jacoby had won the gold medal in the 100-meter breaststroke. Tears fell from my cheek to my tongue and I sucked snot like a toddler — and it was only a replay. I’m glad I was alone. 

My connection to the Olympics may not be what it was when I was 6 or 10 or 14 years old. But I was reminded this morning of the value of distraction and the need for inspiration. The world can still be a fearful and foreboding place, and I’m grateful to have been drawn in, if only for a while.

“It’s not the 6-minutes. It’s what happens in that 6-minutes…”

This is what I think about when I ride… Jhciacb

This week by the numbers…

Bikes Ridden: 6

Miles: 193

Climbing: 7,800’

Mph Avg: 15.1

Calories: 11,000

Seat Time: 12 hours 41 minutes

Whether you ride a bike or not, thank you for taking the time to ride along with me today. If you haven’t already, please scroll up and subscribe. If you like what you read, give it a like and a share. If not, just keep scrollin’. Oh, and there’s this from Roky Erickson. Enjoy…