John Estes: Works & Days

A guy named Derek Sivers draws lessons on leaders, followers, and the growth of movements from this video of a lone dancer who slowly and then more and more rapidly draws a group of fellow dancers. Unamuno would say this is a man who is following his Dulcinea, the “sublime madness…the magnanimous purity of intention with which he purified the world, his world…forgetting himself, he found his own great depth…”

This comes via Kottke, who connects such theorizing to Kurt Vonnegut’s three types of specialist present at any revolution, from the novel [Bluebeard](http://www.amazon.com/dp/B005IHW8GY/ref=as_li_ss_til?tag=j.estes-20&camp=0&creative=0&linkCode=as4&creativeASIN=B005IHW8GY&adid=0799TGWTJ9J0P9EN15D8).

The rarest of these specialists, he says, is an authentic genius — a person capable of having seemingly good ideas not in general circulation. “A genius working alone,” he says, “is invariably ignored as a lunatic.”

The second sort of specialist is a lot easier to find: a highly intelligent citizen in good standing in his or her community, who understands and admires the fresh ideas of the genius, and who testifies that the genius is far from mad.

The third sort of specialist is a person who can explain everything, no matter how complicated, to the satisfaction of most people, no matter how stupid or pigheaded they may be

That the hatemongers of a group that doesn’t deserve the dignity of me typing their name are blaming the Oklahoma tornado on Kevin Durant’s support of Jason Collins is, in its unnatural stupidity, the most unsurprising thing to come out of this natural disaster. These people are the definition of foolish consistency, and they are certainly small-minded hobgoblins, too, who don’t know shit about supercells. Kevin Durant donated a million dollars to the Red Cross, which is sure to please the heavens.

• Here’s the real rainbow that appeared after the storm.
• Speaking of rainbows, here’s the lady whose missing dog is found mid-interview. The dog makes its miraculous appearance at 1:33, but as far as elderly-tornado-survival interviews go, this one is classic. My favorite line comes in response to a question about whether she comprehends what has occurred here, as they survey the rubble. She says: “I know exactly what happened here. Exactly.”

And in honor of the passing of Ray Manzarek, The Doors’ Hammond organ player, here’s Jimmy Fallon, as Jim Morrison, covering “Reading Rainbow.” Not sure who the Manzarek impersonator is.

I was glad to see at last this epidemic make the newspaper of record, after years of enduring eye pokes, hair pulls, and countless kicks in the crotch (a particular hazard of the family bed). I’ve always known, though, that I wasn’t alone.

Although much attention is paid to the safety of infants and toddlers, their sudden jabs, bites, head-butts and kicks can inflict injuries on caregivers, usually parents. After her 2-year-old daughter “clocked” her under the eye, leaving a significant shiner, Alaina Webster, 31, coined a term on her blog to describe this common problem: “unintentional parent abuse.”

Alas, there’s little to be done to remedy this accursed problem (except avoid children, not always a bad thing). I’m currently nursing a sliced-open finger that occurred while I was trying to protect a child who was, in his defense, only trying to get some love from me while I was using an exceptionally sharp knife to open letters. All things considered, I guess I’d rather have the love than my finger tip, but it sure hurt like hell. Some offer a fair rationalization:

“Being a good parent,” Dr. Hoffman said, “is taking one for the team.”

Kevin Ashton over at Medium delivering the ugly truth about the creative person’s relation to the world, which should, if you’re serious, involve a lot of saying No. No is the guardian of creative work, the theory goes.

Time is the raw material of creation. Wipe away the magic and myth of creating and all that remains is work: the work of becoming expert through study and practice, the work of finding solutions to problems and problems with those solutions, the work of trial and error, the work of thinking and perfecting, the work of creating. Creating consumes. It is all day, every day. It knows neither weekends nor vacations. It is not when we feel like it. It is habit, compulsion, obsession, vocation.

Saying “no” has more creative power than ideas, insights and talent combined. No guards time, the thread from which we weave our creations. The math of time is simple: you have less than you think and need more than you know. We are not taught to say “no.” We are taught not to say “no.” “No” is rude. “No” is for drugs and strangers with candy.

Somewhere he’s dug up this letter from Charles Dickens:

‘It is only half an hour’ — ‘It is only an afternoon’ — ‘It is only an evening,’ people say to me over and over again; but they don’t know that it is impossible to command one’s self sometimes to any stipulated and set disposal of five minutes — or that the mere consciousness of an engagement will sometime worry a whole day … Who ever is devoted to an art must be content to deliver himself wholly up to it, and to find his recompense in it. I am grieved if you suspect me of not wanting to see you, but I can’t help it; I must go in my way whether or no.”

That reminds me, and probably you—how could it not?—of Charles Dikkens, the esteemed Dutch author mentioned in this Python sketch, featuring Graham Chapman:

Speaking of comedy and literature, the poet Andrew Hudgins has made a series of videos to promote his forthcoming memoir, The Joker. Here’s a good one:

These two, this one and this one, meet at the intersection of marriage, hospitals, and sex.

• Rich Smith, “Like Father”
• Kathleen Ossip, “I’m Afraid of Death”
• Frank Bidart, “Mourn”
• Mary Ann Samyn, “Little Muchness”
• Amit Majmudar, “The Enduring Appeal of the Western Canon”
• John Gallaher, “Love is Everywhere”
• Erin Lyndal Martin, 2 poems concerning monks and bees

I can be had for the price of anything with bees in it, and this morning finished reading this terrific story by Kij Johnson, “At the Mouth of the River of Bees,” which is of course the title story of her book At the Mouth of the River of Bees.

If you are lucky, you live in one of those territories where the official state bird has some unique, distinctive place in the landscape and thus the life of the people who live there. Will Oremus at Slate does us all a big favor and goes through the list, state by state, and where necessary re-assigns birds to states that lack imagination.

This has been the most depressing post I have ever put together. Three robins but no blue jay? Seven cardinals but no owls or hawks? Five filthy mockingbirds? This is what we pay taxes for, folks.

For all his grousing, he doesn’t allocate enough raptors, but one thing I learned: there is at least one thing Oklahoma gets right.

And not to be outdone with its generous displays of excess, here are three minutes of beer cans being opened by (almost) every way imaginable, and then a few more beyond that.

If you have ever wondered who would win in a race between the Millenium Falcon and other famous space ships—Enterprise, Tardis, Galactica, etc.—Slate has built a graphical simulator that attempts to get to the bottom of this burning question. The reading on how they made their calculations is pretty interesting, if you’re into such things.

It’s a little odd that a genre about science, the field of precision, can be so imprecise. The truth is that spaceships almost always fly at the speed of the plot. But, for those who refuse to accept that, this is a definitive guide to ship speeds, based on highly scientific computer simulations and highly unscientific speculation.

Thanks, Keith Montesano, for facilitating and publishing this interview about the publication of my first book, Kingdom Come (C&R Press, 2011), on the First Book Interviews Blog.

Twelve opening images from 12 Great/Very Good films, at The Criterion Collection.

I’m partial to this one, from Jean-Pierre Melville’s, Le Samourai

Between Facebook, which keeps us over-updated on the adult deeds of childhood friends, and nostalgia-insistent lists like this “43 Things That Will Make You Feel Old”, it’s little wonder being, or feeling like, a grown-up is difficult anymore. Maybe we’ve outgrown the whole concept of grown-up. Rather than making us feel old, these silly lists prevent us from being properly old. Nothing is allowed to take and keep its proper place. These lists serve no purpose but to draw in suckers to link to them. Insidious. (10 Presidents with Umbrellas on the other hand…)

Least Surprising

Sadly, Even Less Surprising