In Memoriam: Neil Armstrong

The word “hero” gets tossed around a lot these days, but it’s oftentimes not really deserved, in my opinion. That’s not to disparage anyone, or diminish whatever it is that they do. Rather, it’s the word that has been diminished in recent years, through overuse and misuse. One can do admirable things without being a hero. And there’s a lot more to being a hero than simply taking a particular job or wearing a particular uniform. In my mind, “hero” is a description that ought to be reserved for the truly exceptional, people who not only do great things but have a certain quality of character as well.

Just about every article and note of remembrance I’ve read about Neil Armstrong, who died Saturday at the age of 82, has described him as a hero. In his case, I’d say the word is entirely appropriate. Not just because he was arguably the most famous astronaut in the history of manned spaceflight… although I believe he most likely is. And also not just because he was an incredible pilot who saved two spacecraft during his astronaut career: first, the Gemini VIII capsule which tumbled out of control after a thruster malfunctioned, and then the lunar module that carried him and Buzz Aldrin to the Sea of Tranquility. (I don’t know if this is well known outside the space-nerd community, but the LM’s computer was overwhelmed with incoming data and kept shutting down, and was also trying to steer the craft toward a boulder field, so Armstrong took manual control and flew around until he spotted a safe landing site, finally bringing the LM down with only 30 seconds of fuel remaining.) His crewmates on those occasions both described him performing with an almost preternatural calm and grace under pressure. But those characteristics don’t make him a hero either; they just indicate he was very good at his job.

I don’t even think he was heroic for being the first human being in the history of our species to set foot on a planetary body other than the earth. Although that’s certainly a great deed, there wasn’t anything about Armstrong himself that led to him being that man. It could just as easily have been Aldrin who was selected to exit the LM first… or it could have been any of the other Apollo astronauts if the crew rotations and mission plans had gone differently. It very likely would have been Gus Grissom if the Apollo 1 fire hadn’t occurred.

What made Armstrong a true hero, in my book, was the way he responded to becoming that historic figure. His famous words about small steps and giants leaps — reportedly composed by Armstrong himself on the way to the moon, and not ahead of time by a professional speech writer or NASA PR flack — were not political or nationalistic or self-aggrandizing, as they easily could have been. Rather, he spoke on behalf of the entire human race, and beautifully so. And when he returned home, he displayed great humility and self-deprecation in his decision to stay out of the spotlight as much as possible. He could have used his position in the history books for personal advantage, parlaying his fame into political appointments or movie roles or high-paying endorsement deals. Or he could’ve simply become an insufferable braggart. To my knowledge, though, he never even tried to get so much as a free beer in a small-town tavern. Many people were puzzled and frustrated by his efforts to live under the radar, as he routinely turned down requests for interviews and personal appearances, and eventually even autographs. Personally, I admire him for it. I don’t read his reticence as reluctance to own the “first man on the moon” title, or as an urge to hide from the public. Rather, I think he was wise enough to understand that he was merely a human being, and that the historical Neil Armstrong, the one who will live on in legends and fuzzy black-and-white video recordings centuries after the actual man is forgotten, would be impossible to actually live up to. He receded from the public eye both for his own good and for ours, to save us from the disappointment of learning he wasn’t a superman or a demigod, but merely a guy from Ohio. A guy who couldn’t have become that legendary moonwalker without the assistance of thousands of others. I see his years of obscurity as another kind of selfless act, akin to the same selflessness he displayed at the moment he dropped off the LM’s ladder into the unknown powdery soil of our nearest cosmic neighbor. He was a hero precisely because he never tried to be a hero.

He was certainly a hero to me. I wish I’d had an opportunity to meet him. To shake his hand and maybe ask him how his crops were faring. (He spent his later years raising cattle and corn on a 300-acre ranch outside Cincinnati. Talk about coming back down to Earth.) And even though he wouldn’t have asked me to buy him a beer, I most certainly would have. The man did walk on the frackin’ moon, after all…

***
Image: a 1969 sketch by Paul Calle, courtesy of The Pictorial Arts.

Aug232012

Raiders in IMAX

If you haven’t heard the news yet, the 1981 film classic that forever set a dress code for adventurers in the minds of the general public is coming back to the big screen — actually, to the biggest screens, i.e., IMAX theaters — starting September 7th, for one week only. As with other recent “event screenings” of the landmark motion pictures Jaws and Casablanca, this is basically a promotional stunt keyed around the upcoming drop of the complete Indiana Jones series on BluRay. But that’s okay… any excuse to experience one of my all-time favorites in the theater is fine by me. Here’s the poster for the re-release:

It looks like the work of Drew Struzan, whose signature style seems to have become the default for both the Indy movies and the Star Wars saga, but my understanding is that he didn’t actually paint this one. (Struzan retired from film-poster work following Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull in 2008, but I briefly thought he might have been lured back for this one-off project. Guess not.) Of course, I do have a quibble with the inclusion of “Indiana Jones and the” in the title. It’s unwieldy and unnecessary, as I’m pretty sure everybody knows this is an Indiana Jones movie. And I resent the fact that after 30 years of knowing it under one title, we’re now expected to start thinking of this flick by a different name. Um, no. Just as the original Star Wars will never be “A New Hope” for me, this movie is called Raiders of the Lost Ark. Period. Always was, always will be. Lucasian revisionism aside, though, this is a really nice poster. I especially like the reference to the warehouse scene in the upper right, and Indy silhouetted against the Egyptian sunset on the left, both of which are iconic cinematic images that, as far as I’m aware, have never been referenced in any previous advertising art. I wouldn’t mind having one of these in my collection, if anyone out there wants to get me a present. My birthday is coming up in only a couple of weeks, you know.

Incidentally, if you’re concerned that the title or anything else may have been changed within the film itself, rest easy. Senor Spielbergo himself assures us it ain’t so… and also says he won’t be doing any more tinkering with his old films because he “learned from the fans” following the E.T. debacle. Interestingly, he says that while he’s done with digital revisionism, he intends going forward to keep both versions of that film available for those who have a preference. If only his best friend could be convinced of the wisdom of that position…

Aug172012

Friday Evening Videos: “Midnight Blue”

Tonight’s video selection isn’t particularly significant, and I have no particular memory or anecdote associated with it. I just like the song:

Lou Gramm was, of course, the lead singer for one of the biggest bands of the classic-rock era, Foreigner. But like so many leads from bands that peaked creatively in the late ’70s and early ’80s, including Steve Perry of Journey, Roger Hodgson of Supertramp, and especially Stevie Nicks of Fleetwood Mac, Gramm felt the need to go solo for a while in the late ’80s. He scored a couple of hits from two solo albums, of which this single — “Midnight Blue” — was the biggest, charting at number one on the Billboard charts for five weeks in the spring of 1987. As I said, I have no specific memory associated with it, but the melodic guitar and propulsive bassline always appealed to me on a purely sonic level, and hearing it now reminds me of a time and a general emotional background state.

For the record, I don’t recall ever seeing the video before this afternoon, so the imagery of a brooding, leather-jacketed young man in a long red convertible had nothing to do with me liking this tune. Any resemblance to my persona at the age I was when this song came out is purely coincidental…

Aug172012

Moving Day

I’ll be honest, the primary reason I accepted the offer of my present job seven years ago this month was simply to get some steady work after an extended period of what’s euphemistically called “underemployment.” (This is a polite term for a truly evil state of slow, grinding torture in which you’re not quite a down-and-out bum — you are working, at least from time to time — but you’ve got no long-term security, no disposable income to speak of, and a dwindling sense of self-worth. Another word for this is “contracting.” It’s not a good fit for me.)

However, a second major factor in my decision was the location of my new employer’s offices, a 100-year-old, six-story building called the Commercial Club, which is situated on a quiet side street of downtown Salt Lake known as Exchange Place:

Exchange Place was the vision of a 19th century mining magnate, Samuel Newhouse, who wanted to establish a non-Mormon business district as a counterbalance to the LDS Church-dominated city center four blocks to the north. Described as a “little Wall Street,” Exchange was intended to be a rectangular complex anchored on its four corners by four identical office towers, all financed out of Newhouse’s own pockets. Only two of these, the twin 11-story Boston and Newhouse buildings — Salt Lake’s very first steel-framed skyscrapers — were actually constructed. Newhouse ran out of money before the other two could even break ground. But a number of ancillary buildings were completed, including the nearby Newhouse Hotel (sadly demolished in the 1980s, to be replaced by a parking lot), the Salt Lake Stock Exchange, and my home away from home for the past seven years, the Commercial Club.

Originally built as a recreational facility for the businessmen Newhouse envisioned working on Exchange Place, the Commercial Club at one time featured an indoor swimming pool; a vast, two-story banquet room; card-playing and smoking rooms for the gentlemen; and separate facilities for the ladies, primly located away from the men on their own private floor. And because Newhouse wanted the very cutting-edge in turn-of-the-century technology, the building even featured one of Salt Lake’s first mechanical elevators, which is still there and still operating — if rather creakily — today.

Of course, I didn’t know any of that when I started working there. But the atmosphere around Exchange Place was immediately and immensely appealing to me. Salt Lake isn’t like other cities I’ve visited; there’s little sense of urban life or identity here. People live out in the ‘burbs, the streets are virtually deserted after 5 or 6 PM, and most everything around downtown is relatively new and, frankly, kind of bland in appearance. But this little pocket of Salt Lake, this one block that’s bisected by Samuel Newhouse’s rebellious gentile* development, feels like a real city environment to me. It’s not quite a New York neighborhood, obviously, but it’s a place with the patina of age and the self-confidence that comes from long establishment, from rising and falling and rising again. I love the idea of a block that’s spirited enough for both thousand-dollar-an-hour attorneys and dive bars, trendy tapas restaurants and the Heavy Metal Shop.

And the Commercial Club itself fit my TV-inspired notions of what an urban, white-collar professional workplace ought to look like, with sleek modern fixtures co-mingling alongside antique decorative flourishes, just like the office sets of, say, Ally McBeal.

Admittedly, working there has had a few downsides. Multiple retrofittings have resulted in a somewhat confusing interior layout, and there have been the plumbing, heating, and insect problems common to any old building. You encounter strange smells in certain areas. That beautiful old art-deco elevator has occasionally gotten stuck between floors, sometimes with people inside (never me, fortunately). And Exchange Place can get kind of sketchy later in the evening, if you find yourself working late. (I’ve seen hookers around there after dark; there were reports of a sexual predator in the area for a while; and there was that big drug bust a few years ago when we learned the roast-chicken restaurant on the corner was a front for heroin dealers.) But generally speaking, I’ve been very comfortable in that old pile. Ancient places with colorful histories suit me.

Alas, the powers-that-be decided a while back that it’s time for a change. So starting Monday morning, I’ll be going to work in a new location… ironically enough, right smack in the middle of that Mormon city center that Samuel Newhouse was so determined to break away from. Preparations for moving 200-some employees and all their attendant stuff have been underway for some time, but it really got real last week as big orange plastic crates were delivered to each and every cubicle so we could pack up our personal effects. Most of us only made token efforts at that for the first couple days, because we needed things at hand so we could continue working. And of course everything on our agendas got put on hold following a power outage on Monday that was caused by an underground explosion. (The blast was reportedly strong enough that it lifted a couple of manhole covers several feet into the air.) But yesterday was zero hour… the moving company arrived in the afternoon, and chaos descended as people finally started dumping their belongings into those boxes. As one of my coworkers remarked to me, he felt like we were in The Empire Strikes Back during the “frantic evacuation from Hoth” scenes. Personally, I felt more like it was graduation day, a mix of bittersweet and difficult-to-articulate emotions brought on by the sense that some kind of era was closing.

As it happens, this job I thought I’d take just long enough to get back on my feet turned out to be a pretty damn good place to be. It’s lasted longer than any other job I’ve ever had, which means I’ve been working in that building for longer than any other. That’s got to generate some level of attachment, doesn’t it? Also, the Commercial Club has so much more personality than any other place in which I’ve ever worked, with the exception of the two movie theaters that will always be my favorite workplaces. Every other job on my resume’ has been in nondescript business-park type settings, and they’ve all blurred in my memory into a generically white-walled, gray-carpeted, cube-farm porridge. But the Commercial Club… ah, I’m going to miss that building. I’m going to miss the funky plaster cow-skull decorations that framed the painted blue-sky ceiling in the lobby. I’ll miss the “lava lounge” that overlooks the old two-story banquet room, which used to be a dance club back in the Awesome ’80s. I’ll miss the marble staircases with the worn-down troughs in their centers that turn so treacherous in wet weather, and the stories about a murdered prostitute who still roams the hallways at night, whispering to those who are stuck working until the wee hours. Hell, I’m even going to miss the gallows humor about cockroach crossings. I’m man enough to admit I had a bit of a lump in my throat as I walked out of there for the last time, out into a hot, dry Utah summer evening.

Our new environs will have the perk of being up high, with lots of natural sunlight and stunning views of the city around us. But a little research reveals that they were only built in 1986, too recently to have the kind of character and identity we’re walking away from. It’s been an era, all right. At least for me.

* Loyal Readers who aren’t from Utah may be confused by my use of the word “gentile” above. FYI, that’s what Mormons have traditionally called non-Mormons. Even Jews. Yes, it’s kind of weird. That’s Utah for you.

Aug162012

35 Years Tonight

A lifetime ago. I was seven then. He was the age I am now, 42. And my mother was younger than I am now, as hard as that is to wrap my head around. The untimely, undignified, sadly unnecessary death of Elvis Presley, and Mom’s heartfelt, deeply wounded reaction to the news, remains one of the landmark moments in my developing awareness of the world around me, even after all this time.

And yet I’m not sure this anniversary has much relevance any more. Not the way it used to, even as recently as just a decade ago. Elvis still has legions of fans, and they still gather every year at his home in Memphis to hold vigil and pay tribute… but unlike, say, Marilyn Monroe, whose image remains as omnipresent as it ever was, if not moreso, it doesn’t seem to me like we see or hear much about the King of Rock and Roll anymore. I accepted some time ago that pop-cultural icons don’t endure the way we fans expect or desire them to — talking about the once universally beloved Star Wars these days seems to inevitably lead to an argument, and even the mighty Star Trek franchise has receded from the public consciousness, something I wouldn’t have thought possible during its heyday in the ’90s — but I am truly surprised that Elvis has lost his pre-eminence in the zeitgeist. It could be a failure of marketing — maybe the owners of Marilyn’s likeness push a lot harder? — but I suspect it’s something more organic. Possibly all those years of bad-taste fat-Elvis jokes and ridiculous impersonators have blotted out the cultural memories of who he really was, and why he once excited us. Maybe it’s something more ineffable. Whatever the reason, though, Marilyn’s image (if not her actual work or personality) resonates with younger folks whereas Elvis’ does not.

Or at least that’s how it seems to me. I could be completely wrong on this. I admit I’m not nearly as plugged into this stuff as I used to be, and the mass culture we all used to share has atomized to the point where it’s easy to miss out on things if you’re not following the right newsfeeds. Nevertheless, I have this nagging sense that Graceland may ultimately meet the same fate as the Roy Rogers Museum, which closed a few years ago because attendance had dwindled as Roy’s core fans aged out and passed on. I don’t entirely understand how something like that can happen, given how popular that man once was. Why does an artist like Frank Sinatra transcend the generations and continue more or less in perpetuity, but not someone else who was (arguably) more popular — or at least as popular — in his day? (Nothing against Sinatra, he’s just a good example of an artist who’s endured long after his contemporaries have been forgotten.)

Am I wrong about this? Either way, I’m thinking more and more that I should make the effort to take my mom on a pilgrimage to Memphis before too many more years pass…

Aug112012

The Future Is Here

How do I know? Duh… hover-converted DeLorean!

I want one. I’m just too lazy to build the thing myself.

Aug112012

I Know This Is Supposed to Be Reassuring…

…but it actually kinda bums me out:

Source: xkcd (of course).

Aug102012

Spreading the Word

I realize, of course, that people trying to raise money for their pet causes are as common on the Internet as funny pictures of cats. Nevertheless, I hope everyone reading this will take a moment to at least consider what I’m going to ask.

(Facebook friends who’ve already read my plea over there are excused; I don’t want to become tiresome with this, I’m just trying to spread the word as far as I can, through all the outlets at my disposal.)

For the past several months, my lovely significant other has been working very hard to lose weight and change her habits for the better. We both have. It’s something we’ve needed to do and threatened to do for a very long time, but of course it’s so easy to put these things off, to just coast along for another day, another week, another month in the comfortable old rut of processed food, oversized meals, and sedentary lifestyles. But just recently we’ve been confronted with the specter of diabetes, the plague of first-world malnutrition, and it’s jolted us out of our rut about as effectively as stepping on an atomic landmine. If you don’t know anybody with diabetes, or you think you don’t, just wait. You will. It may even turn out to be you. This grim realization is what convinced us both to get bloody-well serious about trying to undo what we’ve done to ourselves over the past 20 years.

Anne has made genuinely terrific progress, dropping a significant amount of weight and learning to eat things she never would’ve glanced at only a year ago. Now, to celebrate and hopefully make a difference in the fight against this damn disease that affects so many of our loved ones, she’s committed herself to participate in the upcoming JDRF Walk to Cure Diabetes on August 25 with our friend Kathy (who has also made some amazing changes over the past year!).

So here comes the pitch: I’m asking my Loyal Readers out there in the darkness to please consider donating to the cause. I know times are tough, and nobody likes having the bite put on them. But even a dollar or two would help Anne reach her goal, which is actually quite modest ($150). It’s a cause we both believe in, for whatever that’s worth. If you’ll just follow this link, you’ll be taken to a page where Anne explains this a bit more in her own words; there’s a button there that will let you donate in her name.

Anne thanks you in advance, and so do I. You’re good people. I know you’ll come through for us.

Aug092012

Song Titles Meme

Howzabout a meme to while away a Thursday afternoon? Here’s one I picked up from SamuraiFrog.

The set-up: Answer the questions using only song titles from ONE artist.

I’m sure my Loyal Readers are already rolling their eyes in their anticipation of which artist I’m going to pick for this exercise, so you know what? I’m going to confound your expectations and go with… Jimmy Buffett. Yes, that’s right, Mr. Margaritaville, about the most un-Rick Springfield-ish musician you could probably imagine, at least from within the pop-rock spectrum of the last 40 years. I realize I haven’t previously said much about my affection for Jimmy, but the fact is, I went through a pretty major Parrothead phase back in college. His imaginary landscape of seedy equatorial port cities populated by lovable scoundrels, misfits, and wanderers was immensely appealing to me at a certain point of my life, back when I was a restless and romantic young man who felt very out of place in his very buttoned-down surroundings. (Oh, who am I kidding? I still feel that way much of the time!) I own every album of his from 1973’s A White Sport Coat and a Pink Crustacean up through Far Side of the World from 2002, which is when I finally got tired of being disappointed by him. (In my opinion, his work has been on a downhill slide since the early ’90s, when he evidently became more interested in running restaurants and selling t-shirts than writing good, honest songs. The last of his albums that I unreservedly liked was Fruitcakes in 1994, and my favorites actually date from the very early “Key West records” to the mid-80s or so.) He’s released three studio albums since then and I haven’t bothered to listen to a single one of them. But anyhow, let’s get down to answering those questions, shall we?

Are you a man or a female?
“Son of a Son of a Sailor”
Describe yourself.
“It’s Midnight and I’m Not Famous Yet”
How are you feeling right now?
“Havana Daydreamin'”
Describe the city you’re living in.
“Stranded on a Sandbar”
If you could go anywhere, where would you go?
“Far Side of the World”
Your favorite form of transportation?
“Ragtop Day”
Your best friend?
“We Are the People Our Parents Warned Us About”
Your favorite color?
“Volcano”
What’s the weather like?
“King of Somewhere Hot”
Your favorite time of the day?
“Stars on the Water”
If your life were a TV program, what would it be called?
“Tryin’ to Reason with Hurricane Season”
What is your life like?
“Growing Older But Not Up”
Your current relationship?
“Perfect Partner”
What gives?
“The Weather Is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful”
You expect what from the future?
“Cliches”
The way you would like to go?
“On a Slow Boat to China”
You wouldn’t mind?
“Boat Drinks”
Your fear?
“What if the Hokey-Pokey Is All It Really Is About?”
Your best advice right now?
“Treat Her Like a Lady”
If you could change your name right now, it would be?
“Twelve Volt Man”
Your motto?
“Why Don’t We Get Drunk (and Screw)?”Oh, come on, surely you knew I couldn’t get through an exercise like this without mentioning that song, right?

Aug072012

Public Service Announcement

Just wanted to note that my friend Diane Olson will be signing her book, A Nature Lover’s Almanac: Kinky Bugs, Stealthy Critters, Prosperous Plants & Celestial Wonders, this Saturday from 1 to 3 PM at the fabulous new Natural History Museum of Utah. If you haven’t been to the NHMU yet, you really ought to take this opportunity to drop in. Diane’s book is a great little volume of fascinating factoids that’s well worth adding to your library — FYI, the book’s illustrator, Adele Flail, will be there as well! — and the museum itself is absolutely breathtaking, one of the best public facilities of this type I’ve seen. (I especially like the exhibit on the Great Salt Lake with the floor-to-ceiling window looking out over the valley… and the actual Great Salt Lake in the distance!)

Anyhow, details on the signing are here; the NMHU’s home page is here.

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