Montana and Roses

I didn't watch the Rose Parade today. It's not the same for me since Monty Montana died. I have no idea who the Grand Marshall was, or which float won the Governor's award or any other award. I'll survive. I don't even care if most people don't know the difference between the Rose Bowl and the Tournament of Roses Parade. I used to care about things like that. Yet I never fail to think about Monty Montana on New Year's day. I'll always remember when Monty and his horse came to my elementary school, rode around on the blacktop and did a little show. Monty was a good horseman and really knew how to handle a lasso. I'd see him in the Rose Parade every year and recall how cool he seemed and how excited all the kids at Camellia Avenue School. Every year, until 1998, Monty Montana would show up in the parade. Through the Civil Rights Movement and the Vietnam War, Monty was in the parade. Presidents and heroes lived and died, and Monty was in the parade. Wars ended and new wars seduced the unsuspecting. Technology encroached, computers invaded, TV morphed, the planet fought back, HIV, melting ice caps, Ebola, Spotted Owls, old growth, new pornographers, and still Monty was in the parade.
Happy New Year Monty Montana.

Comments

To a Tee

I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt. They are the foundational garment of my life. My day starts with selecting a t-shirt and it ends with sleeping in one. Once thought of as under garments, t-shirts are now original art and no doubt, a billion dollar business. You can get a t-shirt with anybody's picture displayed. You can commemorate an event, a birthday, a death, even a specular play in any sport. Family reunions usually have a commemorative t-shirt. Also, any organization that solicits your support in the form of a donation is likely to offer you a t-shirt. Where once I only had the basic white t-shirt, my drawers are filled with all manner of colorful choices. Some recognize major events in my life, some, spectacular performances or plays I have witnessed, and some unforgettable places I have been. I say I'm a sucker for a good t-shirt because I have taken the bait on what I perceived as a must-have only to be disappointed. ...

Illusory

What does it take to enrage you? That moment when your words fly on pure emotion because enough is enough. Is it a driver that cuts you off at high speed? What about being an eyewitness to blatant racism or on the receiving end of some obvious injustice? I know some people who never express rage. I admire them but know full well I am not capable of such distance from that which would bring about such a strong response. Another senseless shooting and 7 people die at the hands of a mentally ill gun owner. The father of the 20 year old college student lets it fly and somehow millions feel a new sense of relief. He calls the politicians bastards who do nothing, he wears his pain in public. The news media responds but we all know that nothing is going to change. We are the gun country. We are the place where anybody, anytime, can be cut down just for being there when somebody else snaps. Usually the perpetrators are delusional. ...

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...

Daily Blues & Views

Search This Blog