Wednesday: 42

Every player. Every coach. Every equipment manager. Everyone today in Major League Baseball is donning the same number - 42. Why 42? Why everyone? Because today is the anniversary of a monumental step in the civil rights movement, when Jackie Robinson became the first ever African American baseball player.

There is so much going on in sports that I could have written a whole post (or more) about - the NFL schedule was released just yesterday, Angel Cabrera came out of nowhere to win the Masters over the only two people anyone was watching (Tiger and Mick), Isaiah Thomas (or Thompson if you're the President of F.I.) just became the head coach of Florida International men's basketball team, the Stanley Cup playoffs start this week, the NBA MVP race is close...and on...and on...and on.

But I would have hated myself if I wrote about any of those things because I would have not given enough air-time to the most important thing hapenning in sports, the honoring of a worthy man.

Jackie Robinson played baseball. He swung a bat and threw a ball. He practiced and studied the game and by the end of his career joined many other African American players. But Jackie Robinson is on the wall of fame next to Rosa Parks and Martin Luther Kign Jr. for his statement (while subtle) of equality in quite possibly the most American of American traditions - the game of baseball.

So remember 42, and join the millions of people tonight who celebrate racial equality which Jackie Robinson brought to American's favorite past time.

Tuesday - Falling Slowly

I have three confessions to make to you. First, I must admit that I watch American Idol and enjoy it. Secondly I didn't know what I was going to write for today's post until about an hour ago. And third...ly I don't know how to use "ly" properly most of the time.

Tonight on American Idol, Kris sang the song "Falling Slowly" from the indie movie "Once". As I watched my favorite contestant croon through the beautiful lyric I remembered how much I loved the song, and the movie. But throughout the song I started to have thoughts that it was missing something, and by the end of the song I felt myself thinking "I didn't like it, it was just alright to me." What hapenned? I like Kris Allen, I love the song, this should have been my favorite moment of the show.

but it wasn't...

After the show was over, I watched the clip from "Once" where the two strangers are sitting down in a small music shoppe in England and the world was introduced to "Falling Slowly" via a trashed Takamine and a Piano. Everything came back, the emptiness that left my ears wanting during American Idol was being filled in again as if watching the whole thing in technicolor after only have a black and white television.

Why?

Because when the strange little man and his hobo guitar sat down with the pretty lady and her drag-along vacuum cleaner in the sterile flourescent lighting of a music store, there were no pretenses. The song was unpopular, raw, new. The two were discovering the song, relishing in its beauty and we got to watch it. They hardly knew what it meant, and we hadn't the faintest. We fell in love with that guitar and the falsetto note that caught us off guard.

We loved every minute of it, and wanted more

We went along the rest of the day singing it in our heads, bought it on itunes, told our friends about it, tried to learn how to play it. Not because it was "that song from Once", but because it was our song.

So when a make-uped pop contest hopeful closed his eyes and rendered the polished "Falling Slowly" complete with symphony orchestra and perfectly lacquered guitars; those who knew and loved the song said "OH I love this song" and then thought to themselves I have to watch that movie again. I have to listen to this song in color.

Listen, there is so much more to beautiful music than notes and lyrics, even emotion isn't everything. It's all. about. context.

A Blog for Everyman

I'm not going to lie to you, I've always secretly wanted to be a professional writer. Or a professional artist, or musician or something. But the truth is, I'm not any of those things and I probably never will be. I'm a professional automotive parts driver in a more-than-striving automotive parts company in a little big city in Ohio. Not a career for me, just a j-o-b. But with an average of a hundred and fifty miles a day I have to listen to the radio. Sometimes its music all day, sometimes its talk radio all day. My life is all over the place, I have a tendency to get bent out of shape about things that are very small and unimportant and completely ignore matters of grave significance. While other times I am justified in my excitement and interest in a topic or event. But who listens to me?

no one

So you are here to listen to me. Become a regular of ...In Soliloquy and you'll read what I think about matters of importance and matters of no significance whatsoever.

This is a blog that emphasizes my inability to ever be a writer or artist because I don't spend ten hours thinking about what I'm going to say. I don't drink gourmet coffee and drive a pretentious car or wear leather shoes. I'm a guy, a guy who thinks about stuff sometimes with more than half a brain and paid enough attention in school to be able to communicate those thoughts in a relatively coherent matter to anyone who walks close enough to listen.

I'm not a writer...

you're welcome.

ps. Here's the lineup, the seven-day forecast, and the playlist

Mondays - Christian Spirituality

Tuesdays - Music, anything and everything

Wednesdays - Sports

Thursdays - Current Events

Fridays - General Culture (Theater/Films/Art/Cuisine/Travel)

Saturdays - Personal life and times of a professional parts driver (+ wife and doggie)

Sundays - no posts, just naps

see you tomorrow