Ray Carter: In Memorium

My friend Ray Carter died last night.

I actually felt a little guilty typing that. We hadn't seen each other in a few years but he was somebody who I liked a LOT...we worked together on a cool project a bit over a decade ago. And I'm damn sorry to see him gone. Ray had been fighting cancer for some time and his prognosis suddenly became VERY bad last week. I had hoped to take some movies to him today and join him at his life celebration next weekend. Sadly, those opportunities are now gone and instead there are only happy memories of having known him.

I first met Ray in 1999 or 2000, when I was trying to get a political group for pro-gun Democrats off the ground. I don't remember how we met but the Pink Pistols movement (Motto: pick on someone your own caliber") was starting then. I guess someone introduced us because the bizarre politics in this country have the Democratic "leadership" hating gun owners and taking gay folks for granted....while Republicans often do the exact opposite.

Still, the success of the Pink Pistols and their intention of taking responsibility for their own safety was refreshing. They are still around and doing well today. Our local Seattle area group named itself CeaseFear with the intention of twitting the state's anti-gun group, CeaseFire. I remember being at a hearing in Olympia and one of CeaseFire's minions giving a startled doubletake at the sound of our name. That alone was worth the price of admission.

I think it was Ray himself who coined the name CeaseFear. Most of our creative ideas and a great deal of the energy behind the organization came from him. Ray had been an early organizer for Seattle Pride events and saw no conflict between that and his self defense and gun rights activism. Would that more voters out there had the insight to see that!

During the time that CeaseFear was most active, our activities were concentrated on having shooting events that were LGBT-friendly, a few safety classes, political outreach at Pride events and offering testimony in Olympia. The orientation for safety minions like myself was to join a tour of gay bars in Seattle's Capitol Hill area, the intention being to make sure we were comfortable and friendly with LGBT folks. Actually, it was a blast and the camaraderie in our organization was excellent...again, thanks to Ray.


After a few years, a lot of us found ourselves focusing on staying employed in one economic downturn after another. I was connected to Ray on Facebook and we stayed in touch that way. I occasionally saw him at the Second Amendment Foundation table at gun shows...SAF and local NRA leaders gave our organization tremendous support and Ray ended up working there.  And now, unfortunately, he's gone. Ray was a wonderful person and we don't get to see people of his quality and intelligence nearly often enough. We WILL miss Ray Carter!

The Art of April 23

For lovers of literature and culture, April will always have a special significance. By tradition, that is the day on which William Shakespeare was born in 1564 (we know he was baptized 3 days later) and also the day on which he died in 1616.

The 400th anniversary of these milestones were bound to be celebrated with vigor and enthusiasm and such, indeed, was the case. Special events in England reached a crescendo, with special shows and broadcasts highlighting the notable performances of eminent actors. In the US, the Folger Library has sent several of the posthumously published 1623 First Folio to all 50 states, the District of Columbia and Puerto Rico. Bard fever is in the air and millions have joined a worldwide cultural celebration.

But there have been many quiet personal celebrations as well. Here are notes about a couple such celebrations.

On April 23, 1964, this envelope was used to send a letter home to Denmark (thought not to Elsinore Castle) from a visitor to Stratford-upon-Avon. The envelope and stamps were designed by the British Post, highlighting some iconic scenes and characters from Shakespeare's stories. But I find it intriguing to wonder who the visitor was that paused in his trip to Shakespeare's home to send this letter home to a family member or a friend.

52  years later to the day, exactly 400 years after Shakespeare died, this happened. The tattoo was inspired by the Hamlet statue at the Gower Memorial in Stratford-upon-Avon. This is not my Shakespeare tattoo. This is the BEGINNING of my Shakespeare tattoo...

Shakespeare's First Folio Visits Seattle

 

Tradition has it that William Shakespeare was born in Stratford-upon-Avon, England on April 23. 1564. During the course of his life, he wrote nearly 40 plays and co-wrote some number of others. He died on April 23, 1616. Yet for a man who lived 400 years ago, his impact on the world has been astonishing. He contributed dozens of common expressions to contemporary speech (e.g., jealousy as the "green eyed monster") and created a number of the most memorable characters in the Western Canon. Some even credit him with creating a model of human consciousness by examining the rich inner lives of his characters.

Yet there were times when these rich cultural treasures could have been lost forever. At the time of his death, only about half his plays had been collected together. Two of his contemporaries, John Heminges and Henry Condell, succeeded in getting the First Folio of Shakespeare's work published in 1623, restoring some nearly lost classics such as Macbeth and As You Like It. Later, legislation enacted by the Puritans crippled theatrical performance from 1642-1660. The Great London Fire of 1666 destroyed nearly half of all editions of the Third Folio.

Our extreme good fortune in having the work of Shakespeare available to us is why the world is celebrating the 400th anniversary of his passing, this year. One of the exceptional things happening this year is that the Folger Shakespeare Library, in cooperation with the Cincinnati Museum Center and the American Library Association, is sending some of the 82 First Folios in its collection out on a nationwide tour. This tour includes all 50 states in the United States, the District of Columbia and Puerto Rico.

Seattle's turn started on March 21 and runs through April 17. Today was our day to visit the First Folio, at the Seattle Public Library..

The terrific thing about this exhibit is that, while it celebrates the First Folio, it was really about a lot more than that one (AMAZING) nearly 400 year old book. OK, I'll look at the First Folio first but there are more cool things to come.

 

 

These are the best pictures I got of the First Folio. Obviously, we didn't get to physically touch it but it was open to one of the most well known passages in world literature, Hamlet's "To be or not to be" speech. Even being that close to it physically was like communing with the world of Elizabethan England in some inexplicable way. This IS one of the most famous and important books in the world.

 

However, Seattle was exceptionally fortunate in that we also had a copy of the Third Folio from the Pigott Collection on exhibit. Moreover, while the First Folio drew a crowd that had a constant stream of people walking in a queue past it, the Third Folio was not looked at quite so much...I got to linger there a bit. The Third Folio was open to As You Like it, specifically Jacques' "All the world's a stage" speech.

Seeing the Third Folio also was quite an unexpected bonus. It is nearly as rare as the First Folio, in that nearly half its printed run was destroyed in the Great Fire of 1666.

We didn't get to physically touch the Third Folio, either, strangely. But the Seattle Library clearly anticipated this frustration by having a number of Folio copies that you could actually flip through. They were quite gorgeous...I think I'll have to add one to my Shakespeare shelves, some day.

 

There was also an exhibit which highlighted the rich tradition of Shakespeare play performances in Seattle. I've been a fan of the current Seattle Shakespeare company for years, now. It was fascinating to find out how far the area's tradition of performance goes back.

The library has also been hosting a series of performances and lectures to accompany this exhibit.

And there were mementos and kid activities accompanying the exhibit, too.

I really have to congratulate the Seattle Library and its people for doing such a phenomenal job with this exhibit. The exhibit itself was BRILLIANT and the people tracking tickets at its entrance were very friendly, helpful and enthusiastic.

The First Folio's visit to Seattle ends two weeks from today and online tickets were going fast. If you have the time, I seriously recommend try to go...some drop-in admission openings ARE available. Information here.

Othello

This past weekend, I saw a performance of Othello, staged by the Seattle Shakespeare company, a local troupe which performs in Seattle Center (by the Space Needle). I think this is my favorite Seattle Shakespeare play to date!

As with most Shakespeare, this is a play which doesn't fit into any tidy genre pigeonholes. Peter Saccio, in his course covering Shakepeare's Comedies, Histories and Tragedies, describes Othello as a Comedy that develops into a Tragedy. Certainly the beginning of the play could be taken as a bit of a crude comedy, redeemed by Othello's calm articulation of facts and Desdemona's stalwart statement of love for her husband. Sean Phillips and Hillary Clemens were nigh on perfect in these roles. The rest of the cast was right on the mark but I felt that this couple ably stole the show.

Later, when Iago's poison begins to take hold, Desdemona remains the mature one, with everybody else devolving into foolish juveniles. Knowing the horrible conclusion. knowing the tragic end that is to come, I found that every time Othello used the expression "honest Iago" made me cringe. It was like having a sore tooth and having every bite of food making me wince before any pain was even felt.

I hope you also had the opportunity to see this play. Even if you didn't, I highly recommend planning to attend other performances in the future!

Repent Harlan, Said the Drip Drop Man

(With apologies to Neil Gaiman. And Harlan Ellison.)

I’ve never been afraid of coffee or espresso machines before. I’ve had cups of coffee that might have melted spoons in diners that would make Edward Hopper’s blood run cold. But since visiting one particular coffee shop in Seattle, I’m now a lot more cautious about where I get my Java...

It started around 9 am one morning in Seattle. I had finished a late night book signing at around 1:30 am the previous night and on top of being jet-lagged was thus so seriously tired that I was having a difficult time staying awake.  Being in Seattle meant that I had a lot of cafes to choose from but there was something about small, dark café called the Drip Drop Café that caught my eye.

The coffee shop was old…very old. It predated Starbucks and possibly the arrival of Columbus in the new world. It had cups that appeared to have been carved from polished mammoth bones; drifting piles of coffee grounds in the room’s corners seemed to predate the pyramids. The very air in the cafe seemed liquid, warm, humid, probably highly caffeinated. The cashier and baristas were friendly on the face of it but in the way of Marines who are pretty sure they won’t HAVE to kill you. There appeared to be coffee grinding machines and steamers but from the stuttering howl they made when operated by the baristas, the grinding could have been done by damned souls or even self-flagellating gnomes under the counter.

When I ordered my coffee, the barista seized my hand and locked eyes with me. She asked “Do you want your coffee with room?”

“For cream?”

“For truth.”

“Uh, sure.”

A few minutes later, I sat down with my coffee. While it cooled, I watched people order and walk away with their drinks. This being Seattle, a lot of the drink requests sounded more like incantations to dark Vegan gods than coffee orders but the baristas handled the requests with aplomb and an intense efficiency that was actually quite impressive. Just then, a prominent local lawyer started walking away with his cup, took a sip, scowled and went back to the barista.

“Hey, my coffee is cold and bitter!”

“Like your soul,” she replied. “You said you wanted room for truth.”

“Well how about making it over again and doing it right!!”

Silence gripped the room: a dozen conversations abruptly ceased and people busily looked down at their coffee with scared expressions. I happened to be looking out of the corner of my eye and it looked like there was something else in the barista’s place, like a gargoyle from a desolate cathedral or a Faustian demon. Her hands planted on the counter and the chilling, ancient visage leaned across the counter, inches from the terrified man’s face.

“Leave. Now.” 

The man uttered a strangled squeal and scampered out, walking crabwise as if he was afraid he would lose control of his bodily functions. Conversations paused in shock resumed and it was as if the incident had never happened. But I knew and now I wondered what MY coffee would taste like, since so many of my stories involve pain and fear and haunted souls.

I took a sip. It was the best coffee I had ever drunk in my entire life! It was like being 20 again on a Spring day and you’re in the British museum and a pretty girl smiles at you! It was like being at the pier and seeing dolphins frolic there, jump through the air and then spell out your name. I sat there and savored the coffee as long as I could, each sip like a mouthful of recovered youth. Finally, there was no more left of it to drink and I reluctantly took my cup back to the counter. As I started to walk away, the barista said “I know you’re not local so I won’t ask you to sign our plastic bag ban petition.”

“You know who I am?”

“Of course. And thank you for staying so late last night to make sure everyone got their book signed. It was classy. I was near the end of the line.”

“Thank you.” I stopped to look at the petition. “If you tell me a bit about this, I’ll Tweet about it later. You’re trying to avoid landfills?”

“No, it’s more the metaphysical implications that we’re worried about. “ (pause) “Sorry, I just kind of dropped that on you there. Look, most of your writing has to do with mythology of one kind or another. The old gods versus the new ones in American Gods. All the gods needed sacrifices to stay alive, the larger the sacrifice the better?”

“Yes?”

“How many sacrifices could be more significant than a dinosaur. One that lived 150 million years ago? That’s what the petrochemicals in plastic bags are made of, after all.”

What she was saying began making sense. She continued speaking.

“When you render down a plastic bag, it’s a kind of sacrifice. That’s why the human population is exploding.  That’s why the world’s climate is changing. Unconscious sacrifices are being made and they are being answered. If it doesn’t stop, the world is going to change in ways you could never imagine. Yes, even you. The old ones are waking up and they WILL wake up…hungry.”

“So what can we do to prevent it?”

The barista paused. Her face was like a stony mask with a hint of sadness behind the eyes, like she was trying to be loving and gentle while a beloved pet was given her last injection. Then that look was hidden behind a brave and blandly hopeful smile and she said, “Just do your best to get the word out and it will all be fine. Oh, and do me a favor and thank Harlan Ellison for his introduction to Strange Wine. He didn’t exactly convey the message we asked him to but he tried to do something and the effort was appreciated.”

I never went back into that particular café again. I didn’t have the nerve. I did start to talk to Harlan once about that café but I stopped when his face started to turn green.

I wonder how much time we have left.

Treatise on the Seattlewolf (Not for everyone. For hipsters only!)

(With apologies to Herman Hesse)

There was once a man named Harry, called the Seattlewolf. He went on two legs, wore clothes, recycled, drove a Prius and was a human being. Nevertheless, he was in reality a wolf of Seattle. He had learned a lot of what clever people learn. What he had not learned was to find contentment in himself. The cause of this apparently was that at the bottom of his heart he knew (or thought he knew) that he was not a man but a Seattlewolf. Clever men might argue the point of whether he was really a wolf or whether he had just learned to drive in Boston and liked to question authority rather than simply leaping to obey it. 

And so the Seattlewolf had two natures, a human and a wolfish one. This was his fate and it may well be that it was not an exceptional one. There must be many people who have a bit of the dog or the eel or the sea urchin in them without experiencing any extraordinary difficulties on that account. In some cases, having the nature of a sea urchin can help deal with things like life in a cube farm. In Harry’s case, however, the wolf and the Seattleite did not go the same way together but were inconstant and deadly enmity. When there are two who are in one blood and one soul then life fares ill.

Now with our Seattlewolf it was so, that in his conscious life he lived sometimes as a wolf and sometimes as a Seattleite. For example if Harry paused to worry about the oppression experienced by the dwarves in Latvia or waited a couple extra turns for other drivers to go ahead at a 4 way stop, his “No, you go first” wave was followed by the wolf baring its teeth and laughing at him. At the same time, at times when Harry was overcome by frustration and passed a fast lane camper hard enough to make their ears bleed, the Seattleite in him chided him and considered switching to decaf mochas or chai.

It still remains to elucidate the Seattlewolf in relation to Seattle’s infamous fast lane campers. To take his own view of the matter, the Seattlewolf stood outside of convention and when in his car, was primarily dedicated to getting from Point A to Point B as quickly as possible. Besides this, he was secretly attracted to the world of mellow, calm drivers, to their lack of stress and healthy blood pressure. Now what we call the Seattle driver is a type of person who is always striving for balance and complete safety from risk. What the Seattle driver strives for in the main is to have all lanes of every road moving at exactly the same speed so that everybody crosses the finish line at the same time: the fast, the slow, the brave, the timid, the skilled driver and the hapless spazz.

Seattleites seem to thrive on being scolded and the Seattle driver seems to rejoice at being scolded by ads sponsored by the Washington Traffic Safety Commission, an agency which seems to specialize in producing inane safety ads with juvenile tag lines such as “Click it or ticket” and “Drive hammered, get nailed”. Perhaps it is staffed by the children of the geniuses of the 1950s “Duck and cover” atomic bomb safeguards. In any case, Seattleites seem to think funding it much more important than ephemera such as bridge repair.

Harry, on the other hand, always snarls and turns off the radio when Washington Traffic Safety ads are aired. He knows that speed limits around Seattle are determined by taking freshly lobotomized 10 year olds around in cars and setting speed limits 10 mph lower than speeds at which they can safely operate a car in that location. What he finds astounding is that so many drivers still insist on driving 5-10 mph under those speed limits.

How can the Seattle driver survive in a world in which getting from point A to point B may even be a job requirement and yet most drivers seem to have the goal of doing everything but that? The answer goes: because of the Seattlewolves. Because it’s hard to say “Well, I just couldn’t help it, everyone was going slow” when you see someone going faster and actually getting someplace ahead of you. One fallback of the determined Seattle driver is to point at the person ahead of them and say “He was going 20 mph faster and we’re both here now!” To which the Seattlewolf driver would reply, “Yes, but I had more fun.”

The Seattle Freeze Explained With The Aid Of Traffic And James Joyce

(With apologies to James Joyce)

My theory…the theory which is mine…is that the Seattle Freeze is irrevocably interconnected with Seattle's bad driving habits. To wit: the seeming constant need of drivers to drive the speed limit in the passing lane and find wingmen or wingpersons in the adjoining lane, to travel through the drizzle with. Not noticing  that the passing lane camper has formed what could essentially be called a moving roadblock, he and/or she drives through the rain with a happy smile. Meanwhile, the person not in the passing lane but in that adjacent lane is sitting there fuming, thinking "Why won't you just go away and let me drive alone in peace?" He and/or she then has all sociability forcefully drained from him and/or her and  forces a smile in situations where sociability is required, for example, the  workplace, roller derby or a nearby grocery store. But there is no energy for social activity left and thus no follow through.

For example, imagine a person named Leopold Bloom careening slowly down the road at 60 mph in the passing lane. Imagine for the sake of argument and/or literary reference that this is happening in Dublin, Ireland. Immediately to Bloom's right, Stephen Dedalus is driving reluctantly to work.

3 gulls and a young crow fly overhead. Shamrocks abound by the side of the road. A dog barks.

Bloom, perceiving a person whose acquaintance he would like to make, begins driving alongside Dedalus, waving in an overly friendly and obtuse manner at him.

Dedalus, not wishing to drive in formation but being even less willing to appear unfriendly, maintains a constant velocity with respect to Bloom. This goes on for 10 miles, causing a tremendous traffic backup which results in 7 explosions of road rage and a spilled coffee.

Fortunately, there are no fireworks in the sky.

When Dedalus arrives at work, he begins conversing by the water cooler with Buck Mulligan. He HAD been planning to invite Mulligan out for beer after work but his social abilities have been utterly drained and after some superficial conversation about a lovely woman he met in a bar the night before who did NOT slap him, the two separate. Now imagine them back in Seattle. Thus begins the Seattle Freeze, which is probably foretold by Shakespeare in his will.

(Sorry, I'm listening to Ulysses on audio book on the way to work now and it's seeping into my brain. Carry on! I still like the general theory...)