No “doubt” this deserved an Oscar nod

(Candace #35) — I’ve seen three of the five nominees for best picture in 2008 (“The Curious Case of Benjamin Button,” “The Reader” and “Slumdog Millionaire” — didn’t see “Milk” or”Frost/Nixon”).

None of them impacted me the way I think a best picture should, where dynamic acting and a riveting storyline suspend a viewer’s disbelief all the way through to the very final moment. (“Slumdog” came close; but alas, its sappy, you-are-my-destiny Hollywood ending squeezed rolls, not tears, from my cynical eyes.)

I did, however, recently see “Doubt” at Movies 10; and now I’m standing on my plush theater seat asking, “Why wasn’t this movie one of the year’s top picks?”

Let’s see. Dynamic acting? Main cast members Meryl Streep, Philip Seymour Hoffman and Amy Adams share three Academy Awards and 19 Academy nominations between them. That’s enough starpower to ignite a giant cineplex.

No offense to the bravely naked Kate Winslet, but I thought Streep’s performance as a hardened Bronx Catholic school principal blew hers right off the pages of those books she loved to read (er, have read to her). And Hoffman, who is rapidly becoming one of my favorite actors, can tug at your trust-strings and turn you cold with suspicion all in the space of his eyebrows and forehead. Throw in his blue emo-orbs, and soon you’re grappling with the truth of your own soul. He’s that good.

Adams, who brings some of her “Enchanted” naivete to her role as a young teacher at the school, offers the least remarkable of the three performances, which is like saying chocolate ice cream isn’t quite as good as fudge brownie ripple or decadent chocolate thunder. Heck, they’re all chocolate.

The scenes where Streep and Adams, and later just Streep, confront Hoffman with their suspicions that his priestly dealings with a young schoolboy are less than divinely appropriate are some of the most compelling, uncomfortable, tension-filled moments I’ve seen on screen.

The final stand-down between the principal and the priest is beautifully played, due in large part to a fantastic script by director John Patrick Shanley, who adapted the screenplay from his Pulitzer prize-winning play of the same name.

And therein lies the other essential ingredient to a consistenly great movie. A riveting storyline. Honest dialogue. A plot so adeptly developed that when the main character suddenly pitches a fit/hops a train/purposely drives a car into a tree/runs with a pack of wolves, it both surprises you and immediately feels completely right.

“Doubt” offers quite the plot challenge. Perhaps the biggest strike against it is that its subject matter has been splayed widely in disheartening news reports in recent years. No one is going to hand over money for “Doubt” expecting to munch popcorn with a heart as light as the cholesterol-free buttery spread.

But, as with all good movies, this one journeys far deeper than its external premise. Just when you think you’ve identified a “bad guy,” you’re forced to rethink your stance. Is Streep’s tight-lipped Sister Aloysius a heartless dictator or a woman willing to sacrifice her own integrity to save a child? Is Hoffman’s Father Flynn a gentle, progressive, loving man or a struggling pedophile?

True to its title, the plot gifts its viewers with ambiguity. And with that, the opportunity for reflection and self-examination. No gift-wrapped happy endings here. Just real questions.

Has it been a year already?

(Candace #34) — A year. Measuring any 12-month block of time is always an eye-opener. Look how quickly those 365 days went by — despite all the ones that flowed slow and thick as sludgy oil. Hindsight always seems to be speed-sighted: periods of time look smaller than they actually felt in the moment.

That’s what we feel today, as we look back on a year ago, when Jim left full-time employment at the newspaper. Our health coverage evaporated, our 401K contributions ceased, but we felt a deep-seated excitement in trying something new.

It’s been an interesting year. Safe to say neither of us expected we’d make it this long without one of us needing full-time employment again. Yet here we are, not homeless yet.

During these 12 months, we’ve watched the economy crumble, marveled at a historic presidential race, and witnessed the brave fight of the newspaper industry to stay viable. Living close to the ground without much certainty in our own plans has made us better able, I think, to weather the recession’s daily how-bad-will-it-get doses.

We’ve faced some tough losses this year and been forced to blow off the dust and dig for the truth. We’ve been challenged to readjust, to learn a new step, to be more daily intentional and more deliberately thoughtful.

I’ll let Jim speak for himself about what the year has meant to him, as a man and as an artist. For me, as partner, primary wage-earner and ever-questing soul, it’s been an unexpected — and in many ways remarkable — path thus far. I’m humbled, grateful, stretched and hopeful.

It doesn’t get said enough, but our community of friends and family continues to be the most beautiful expression of what this is all about.

Study the view

(Jim #42) — Kind of feeling bad about talking about the loud typing guy. Now I’m back at the library and the loud typing guy is here again. But he’s OK.

And I just took a cellphone call upstairs. And I don’t think you’re supposed to do that. Now I’m the bad guy.

But, hey, I’m upstairs. Guys are playing baseball on Tiger Field. Beyond that is the most amazingly clear shot of Mt. Shasta looking like a big white fang. The late afternoon colors are exploding. The heavy winds of the day have died down a bit. I can also see Lassen Peak from my seat, which looks brilliant.

MAN, a huge full moon as well! What a rocking view from up here.

Viva the library! Now, what did I come in here for again?

Thankful for a laptop

(Jim #41) — I remember a few weeks back I couldn’t use my MacBook to apply for this job (didn’t get it). I had to go to the library to use a Windows-based machine.

It’s pretty cool (and obviously pretty standard) that people can get in and get online to work on the library computers. However, I remember at that time that this dude sat next to me and was enormously irritatingly.

Now God bless us all, but right now I’m at the library looking over at the computers that are open for community use. I see another guy I just couldn’t sit next to. He’s got the whole package — loud typing, chomping on Fritos, way too much body movement.

You know what? He’s probably a great guy. I’m a jerk. Some teen just came up to him and shook his hand. He’s probably saving our community right now, but why is he writing with ink on his hand?

I’m somewhat obsessed with him. It’s the way he nails that last letter on whatever sentence he’s writing. He’s doing the chicken peck thing and it’s just a smackdown on that last letter.

I think he’s an advocate for the homeless or something and I’m really not a good person, but my gosh I couldn’t sit next to that man at a bank of computers. I noticed that a lady who was sitting next to him, just gave him the long sideways glance.

Aside from my guy, who just got up and is talking very loudly to someone at another computer (several sideways glances), the library itself is quite a show today. I think there’s an interesting slice always. I’d call this somewhat action packed.

I’m going to be getting back here quite a bit.

A new post, a new day

(Jim #40) — Well, I realize we were dying on the vine here. Let’s just say the last time I blogged on this site, the WordPress template was totally different.

So what the hell happened? I’m not sure.

This blog was about our fresh approach at life. It was detailing our journey beyond full-time corporate jobs. We had dropped it. I miss it. I feel compelled to return to it.

Some of it is this: I’ve experienced some great highs and some gut-wrenching lows in the past few months. When you don’t feel entirely emotionally sound, you don’t necessarily feel like belching out your life into cyberspace in a more personal way.

I’ve continued to write for (and thoroughly enjoy) anewscafe.com. I guess I view that writing as the extension of what I was doing as an arts and entertainment reporter.  So maybe I suck it up and contribute to that site no matter what I’m feeling. Maybe the fact that I’m writing these words here means there’s been a shift of some kind.

I’m just glad if one person were to read this and feel any kind of connection. Maybe that’s why 70 zillion of us blog and desperately hope it means something, anything at all. It’s our Walt Whitman primal yelp. It’s our tossing a message in a bottle into a different type of ocean and hoping one person would find it and have a thought. My gosh, we humans need connections.

Today I attended a reunion gathering for Candace’s family. More than 40 family members from across North America were here. At one point, there was a sharing time where everyone had a minute to talk about things they were thankful for, or struggling with or whatever.

One minute (I guess no one really had a timer). I suppose you can get something out in that time, but it would in no way encompass the magnitude of what you’ve been living in the past year. Neither would a few lines here.

But we have lived. We’ve struggled. We’ve loved and shared.

I guess I’m ready to do a little more sharing.

Reflections from Oak Bottom

(Jim #39) — Yesterday I pulled out my single-speed mountain bike and rode the Oak Bottom trail in Whiskeytown. There was a time when Oak Bottom would have seemed like a complete waste of time for me. It’s flat and not very technical. It’s not very long.

I used to enter a lot of mountain bike races. I never came close to winning any of them. But they were tough races, and I got in pretty good shape for me. When I’d go out for a ride, I’d ride pretty hard.

On Tuesday, it felt very good to cruise along at a snail’s pace. I had to put my fingers up to my neck to see if my heart rate was even up.

It got me thinking: What did all that time on the bike mean to me? Were all the rides worth it? What was I doing out there? What was I trying to prove?

I told myself that good exercise in the great outdoors was (and is) a completely worthwhile endeavor. It wasn’t time wasted.

Rides are a kind of meditation, anyway. Most of the time they require that a person stays right in the moment: “Look out for that rock! Is my tire low? How long is this climb?”

On an easy stretch along Oak Bottom, I had the thought: “You’re 41. What are you going to do with the rest of your life?”

Uh-oh, now I’m thinking too much. Just focus on the wind and the bumps and the fall colors. Maybe it’s time to pick up the pace a little bit.

Six months of A New Beat

(Jim # 38) — In my mind, one of the big tragedies of American corporate working life is that there are no breaks. When I first started working at the newspaper more than a decade ago, I had to work a full year before I would be eligible for two weeks of vacation.

What is that?

After years of working at the paper, I had a lot of vacation time in the form of PTO. But there was a catch. For me, the preparation it took to get to the vacation was substantially difficult, and the workload I encountered once I got back was worse.

It would take about five days off to even feel like I was starting to relax, but then my mind would start to drift into thoughts about how it was all coming to an end soon. Because of the nature of newspapers and small staffs (getting smaller by the month), I felt this mostly self-imposed pressure to not take two weeks off in a row.

It’s that giant wheel of having to get a product out every stinking day, and it just never goes away. When you’re not there doing it, someone else is stepping in and likely having to cover two jobs at once.

That’s why after more than six months of being gone from the paper, I actually feel like I’ve moved on to a relaxed, rested, ready-to-take-on-what’s-next phase of my life. The release of a mountain of stress started to happen after a couple months, but when you haven’t had a real vacation in years, it does take time to truly unwind.

Frankly, stress never really goes away. We humans (or at least me) tend to create new stresses for ourselves. Deadlines, e-mails and meetings are replaced by questions like, how are you going to make money? What about health insurance? Who are you and what are you doing with your life? And e-mails never go away unless you’re going full “Into the Wild” mode.

Candace and I have restructured our lives a bit, spent less in certain areas, but we really haven’t made huge changes. We’ve still managed to travel to Joshua Tree, Yosemite (twice), Arcata, Colorado, central Nevada and San Francisco. We still occasionally go out to restaurants and movies.

Living on the cheap feels good because of the freedom of choice. And we both are still working. Part-time jobs, freelance work and even music gigs for my band have brought in money.

When you have felt stagnant for awhile, it’s nice to be able to shake it up. I feel alive and engaged in the moment. If someone needs me, I have a bit of margin to be there. I don’t feel so much like my one life is getting away from me and I can’t even take a breath.

Less busy. Less stuff. Fewer obligations. More swims in Whiskeytown Lake.

Here’s to the next six months.

Frida Kahlo exhibit

(Candace #33) — The older half of A New Beat is plucking strings at the Strawberry Music Festival this weekend, a last-minute decision made more memorable by a stinging facial encounter with a bee while traveling south via motorcycle.

In the meantime, I wanted to pass along word (to local readers) from Frank Treadway, the Shasta County Arts Council’s cultural coordinator, that room is still to be had on a Tuesday (as in Sept. 2) bus tour to San Francisco to visit the Museum of Modern Art. If interested, call Frank at 241-7320.

Having visited the museum a few weeks ago, I can enthusiastically recommend the current array of special exhibits, namely the paintings of Frida Kahlo, the art of Lee Miller, and a selection of contemporary Chinese art that I found utterly fascinating.

Kahlo was a Mexican artist whose vibrant works are almost as colorful as her life. The exhibit immerses you into both worlds, as well as that of her famous painter/muralist husband, Diego Rivera. I recommend paying the $3 to take advantage of the individual audio tours (it’s a little tricky figuring out how to work the keypad, but it’s delightful to hear the story behind the story as you stand in front of select paintings, such as the one pictured below).

The exhibit reminded me of the 2002 movie “Frida,” starring Salma Hayek, that truly introduced me to this remarkable woman. Worth a rental if you haven’t seen it.

The unexpected surprise at the MoMA, for me, was a collection of Chinese art (paintings and sculptures) that took my breath away. The pieces below, by Fang Lijun, give you an idea of the style of many of the massive paintings (courtesy of flickr.com).

Happy Birthday

(Candace #32) — A very special happy birthday today (Aug. 22) to this impish cherub, now all grown up (but still with that rock-star sense of style).

It’s been worse in Weaverville

(Jim # 37) — We’ve had a rough summer here in Redding with all the smoke and fires, but after getting off the phone with the woman from the Weaverville Chamber of Commerce, I realize they’ve had it even worse. Suffocating, awful smoke has been the norm for most of the summer in Weaverville.

I was ready to bail after three days of smoke here. It just seems cruel and completely wrong (and very unhealthy) to have to face it week after week.

Certainly, the smoke has probably put a damper on the summer tourism industry in Trinity County. Soon, Weaverville will begin its Autumn in the Alps events (Aug. 31 through Oct. 25). For information on events in the area, visit the Trinity County Chamber of Commerce.

It might be nice to give our neighbors to the West a little love once the smoke begins to blow out. On Oct. 25, the town plans to hold its fireworks display (which were cancelled from the Fourth of July) at Lowden Park. Maybe people will be leery of anything with “fire” in the title.

The coffee house Mamma Llama also has a very active schedule of quality live music. The excellent American roots act Houston Jones plays there on Sept. 12.

I’m not sure why I’m in such a Weaverville mode. I guess I just feel for a town that’s had it even worse than Redding in terms of this challenging smoke-filled summer.

Thoughts on joining Food for Thought

(Jim #36) — I love this New Beat. I really enjoy sharing this blog space with my wife, who is such a fabulous writer, editor and all-around deep thinker. (She’s pretty great in a lot of ways.)

And we’re going to keep it up. So if you’ve clicked over here a time or two, keep on clicking.

But today, if you happen to click over to Doni Greenberg’s Web site, Food for Thought, you’ll see that my writing is also going to be appearing over there as well. I’m joining with Doni, my former editor Kelly Brewer, my talented dear friend Phil Fountain, and a host of other community voices.

I’m going to write about artists and cultural happenings in the north state on Food for Thought. Here on A New Beat, I plan to keep exploring these various themes of forging out a new direction in life.

I was employed at the Record Searchlight newspaper for well over a decade, and it was amazing. I found myself in this wonderful cycle of interviewing artists, writing stories and attending concerts and plays and the like. But as my close friend and former d.a.t.e. editor Jon Lewis could attest, the weight of producing the weekly section could often outweigh the joys of writing. It was inescapable, and it just wore me out.

I always thought, “What if I could just write? How wonderful would that be?”

Well, now I’ve got that opportunity. I’m writing and playing music, basically living in a fantasy world. (Thankfully, my wife pays the bills in this dreamland.)

I’m always aware that economic realities could crash the party tomorrow, but for now this new beat continues to show me paths worth exploring. Step off the corporate treadmill, and you begin to see the world a little differently. I feel like I have time to care about people and projects a little more deeply. We have less money, but we’ve adapted by spending less.

It just feels a lot more like living. It doesn’t feel so much like the months and years are racing by. It feels like freedom.

We have a winner…

(Jim #35) — The esteemed Jon Lewis nailed it with the new photo being Brokeoff Mountain. Brokeoff is the one on the far left. The photo was taken along the trail to Lassen Peak with the camera pointed to the southwest, so I’m assuming (by looking at maps) that the other two peaks are Eagle Peak and Pilot Pinnacle.

If there’s a Lassen expert who can confirm or disagree with this assessment, please chime in.

But see, we posted this photo and look how clear the skies have been. Now, I think I’ll post a photo of a guy who is very healthy — one who is not suffering from a horrible hacking cough — in the hopes that that will clear me up as well.

It’s not the Great Smokies

You’ll notice a new photo at the top of our site today. We figured we’d rotate those every now and then to keep things fresh. All the photos we post were taken by us — if you’re from Northern California, you’ll no doubt recognize some of the locations.

Something about snow-covered mountains looked awfully appealing to us this morning. I’m sure it had nothing to do with being midway into the Summer of the Great Smokeout.

Anyone know where these beauties can be found?

Don’t rob yourself

(Candace #31) — Every so often, you have a day, or a week, or maybe even a month, that catapults you out of your comfort zone. It’s almost always unexpected. You might determine the setting, but you don’t control the wave that overtakes you, drenching or lifting, leaving you with a mouthful of sand and bubbles or with a stunning new perspective of your surroundings.

It happens to all of us. Maybe it’s an encounter with someone who knows the combination to your emotional lock. Maybe it’s a baseball-bat blow of bad news. Maybe it’s a vacation, an escape, that reminds you of true priorities. Maybe it’s an amazing conversation with a stranger or acquaintance or friend, where the elements brewing in the back of your brain suddenly coalesce.

Whatever the catalyst, these moments need to be processed. Consider them life-lesson gifts that arrive on the doorstep of your psyche. If you tuck them under the welcome mat, you’ll step on them day after day, squashing them beyond recognition and true use. Sometimes you’ll trip over them. True, you can avoid those lessons that are painful to contemplate, the ones that bring tears and anguish, but only at the cost of cluttering your entryway.

And we thrive best with windows wide to catch the breeze, with doors that know when to swing open and how to lock up tight without shutting out the light.

If I listen to the quiet — and often it’s a battle to hear it over the rush-hour traffic in my head — I know when my soul is antsy for contemplation. I know if I ignore it, that voice will go away, but I will have lost something valuable, short-circuiting my own growth on that particular path.

It’s almost never convenient to take this kind of time. But grabbing a journal or laptop and spending an hour in a coffee shop with just your thoughts is like putting money in savings. There is always a return.

And in this journey of life, where we only get one shot, choosing to face, absorb, even embrace the lessons we’re given is not only courageous, it’s really the only authentic way to navigate.

Backburning, ugh…

(Jim #34) — This isn’t scientific. It’s based on my one summer of firefighting. And living in the West my entire life. And talking to lots of firefighters.

Backburns often backfire. And as we suffer through the very act of breathing,  I think it’s a fair question to ask: Why so many backburns?

The summer I was out digging fire lines in Colorado, I watched a couple of backburns go way wrong. I’ll never forget watching one breakaway controlled burn rage up a ridgeline in the high country north of Fruita. The afternoon winds kicked up. Imagine that. Our crew was asked to run down and try to cut it off. All I could think of was: Keep one foot in the black (the area that has already burned). You can always run to the black.

And let’s not forget 1999 when a controlled burn got away and scorched Lewiston. Some 2,000 acres and 23 homes were lost in that one.

Considering what we’ve been through in terms of fires and smoke, I’d say limiting the amount of new smoke in the air is a fair consideration. I know that fighting fire with fire can be an effective tool. Back when I did it, I remember that mop-up mode was actually a pretty good time to be on a fire. We were sleeping through the night. Consistent schedule. Just kind of knocked out the hot spots and didn’t get too crazy about killing ourselves out there.

I’m like everyone else and completely thankful for the work the firefighters have done in our area. But firefighting is also a money-maker. There has already been $51 million spent on fires around here since June 21, according to Scott Mobley’s reporting in the Record Searchlight.

There’s a certain incentive to stay out for a while on a fire that’s pretty much under control. Maybe do a few control burns. But it can be a risky practice. And it sends so much extra smoke in the air. Extra smoke is not what we need right now.

Just put the things out.

Breathe through the mouth

(Candace #30) — For those enough unfortunate enough to be living in the soupy haze that is Redding, California, right now, here’s a pungent combo I’d recommend avoiding: acrid, dense, throat-scarring, seep-in-through-all-the-cracks wildfire smoke mixed with the nostril-searing, stomach-churning, hit-you-between-the-eyes aroma of freshly dead skunk.

Granzella’s is back

(Candace #29) — I stopped by the iconic Granzella’s restaurant in Williams on my way back from San Francisco yesterday. As Record Searchlight reporter Dave Benda mentioned last week, they were on target to reopen their doors today, after a devastating fire shut them down in October.

Fencing was still up around the perimeter, but here’s some glimpses at the brand-spanking-new outside.

Trip to the zoo

SAN FRANCISCO — A trip to the zoo deserves to be shared in pictures.

Hold still, hold still. Almost got it….

Oh, yeah. This bad boy’s got the best hair in the joint.

Whatever. She’s not impressed.

This tiger pen (striped beast in background) was the scene of last December’s escape that resulted in the death of one man and mauling of two others.

The zoo installed new fence and glazing around its big-cat enclosures.

Black rhino enjoys an afternoon snack.

Poster bear for global warming.

If your neck was this long, you’d have some awkward moments, too.

Bear with me. Giraffes are fun to photograph.

Who can resist a baby giraffe?

This beautiful lady checked us out as much as we watched her.

Caption, anyone?

A word about sisters

(Candace #27) — As I write this, my sister is boarding a plane at San Francisco International Airport, bound for her East Coast home. We’ve just spent a terrific three days together in the city by the bay, and though I know she’ll not want the blog attention, I’m feeling a bit sentimental.

(Besides, she’ll be a long way away by the time she reads this. If she wants a piece of me, she’ll have to fly back for another visit.)

If you are fortunate enough to have a sister, then you know what they bring to the table of your life. I don’t get to see my sis very often, so I was freshly reminded that she offers a full smorgasbord of wit, wisdom, warmth and compassion. On three occasions during our visit, she proposed insightful solutions and suggestions to areas I have puzzled over for weeks.

Sisters carry part of your DNA, most of your childhood memories, and many of your secrets. I find it comforting that they also share some of your weaknesses. Though mine has her Ph.D., her sense of direction can be as obtuse as mine. We spent a good bit of time standing on windy street corners, heads bent over a map, disputing which direction we were going.

But when we weren’t getting lost, or driving in circles, or grossly misjudging walking distances, we were enjoying great food, interesting shops, and the magical ambiance that San Francisco exudes. And we were reconnecting, listening and asking questions and reminiscing and appreciating the rare gift of a few days together.

Thanks, sis, for reminding me — through the brave and beautiful way that you are living your life — of the potential that’s inherent in our shared foundation.

Not my Starbucks

(Candace #26) — Two Redding venues are among the 600 stores that coffee giant Starbucks will close nationwide: the shops at Cypress Avenue/Civic Center Drive and Placer at California.

On a purely selfish note, I breathed a sigh of relief when I read that today (view the complete list of closures here). My Starbucks o’ choice are the one at Buenaventura and Placer and the long, narrow one between Barnes & Noble and Home Depot. Tied for third: the one on East Cypress Avenue, in the Safeway/Lowe’s shopping center, and the one on Lake Boulevard.

My attachment goes well beyond the grande decaf non-fat mocha I order with what my friends call boring regularity (I prefer to think of it as comforting familiarity). These places represent hours of great conversation, lively card games, solitary creativity, and kick-back connection. I can walk to two of them from friends’ homes. It amazed me how quickly I latched onto a corporate concept, but they got me where it counts, creating a landing space for quality-of-life moments.

Here’s hoping the tight economy won’t squeeze many more of these and other places dedicated not to the necessities, but the small delights, of daily life.