0719.LC.E.lcstylecl.txt
NASA Courtesy photos
Buzz Aldrin salutes the flag during the July 20, 1969 moon landing ... and commemorates the 40th anniversary with an MTV rap about the experience.
By S. Derrickson Moore
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — The date was July 20, 1969.
I rushed home from my job in the communications office at Michigan State University, turned on the TV and listened to Walter Cronkite talking with the “right stuff” guys.
I kept the volume low.
We had just coaxed our baby son Ryan into taking regular naps and were working to curb his night owl tendencies.
I should let sleeping babes lie, I thought. He’s 14 months old and there’s no chance he’ll remember this historic occasion.
But I couldn’t resist. And a couple of years ago, I came upon a scrap of paper on which I had written a little poem commemorating the occasion:
I woke you up
to tell you,
“Men are walking on the moon.”
You opened up your pool-blue eyes
and seemed delighted
but not surprised.
For Boomers, and our elders, it was a big surprise. While touring the space museums for this week’s “2009 Space Odyssey” feature, I thought back to my earliest memories of the space program.
When I was a little kid, we were bombarded with space race paranoia when the-then USSR beat us into orbit with the launch of Sputnik in 1957. Through my elementary-through-high school years, there was a lot of public anguish about too much art and not enough science in our public school systems. Luckily, my district already had great music and visual and performing arts teachers and programs in place, so we artistic types didn’t suffer too much while education theory was catching up to the reality: Music and visual arts programs actually enhanced cognitive skills necessary for achievement in math and science.
A little memorial at the New Mexico Museum of Space History reminded me how excited we were as tots when cute little primates became the first living beings launched into space ... and our horror when our parents had to explain that those first intrepid little critters were getting a guaranteed one-way ticket and would die out there, where no one could hear their poor little monkey screams. It would be a while before astronaut monkeys and dogs managed to make it back alive.
My son entered the planet in a more hopeful and triumphant time.
That moonwalk ushered in a whole generation of kids who would never know a time when there were not, “footsteps overhead in the clouds,” as a Hopi prophet I know once put it.
And maybe those early footsteps registered subconsciously, too, as a kind of symbol of watershed changes.
The first images shown on MTV were a montage of the Apollo 11 moon landing and the logo most of us still most associate with MTV is a slightly altered version of the iconic shot of Buzz Aldrin saluting an American Flag during that first landing. (While they were staking their video territory on Aug. 1, 1981, an MTV flag was superimposed on the scene.)
According to various Web sites I consulted, over a billion people were watching as astronaut Neil Armstrong stepped off the lunar landing module Eagle and spoke those now famous, if someone stilted, words: “That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.”
That was great, but I remember longing for something a bit more expressive and wishing we’d sent some poets and musicians up there, along with the original intrepid trio of Armstrong, Edwin "Buzz" Aldrin, Jr., and Michael Collins.
As it turns out, maybe we did. Aldrin, the second man on the moon, has released “Rocket Experience,” recorded with Snoop Dogg, Talib Kweli and back-up singers, and featuring space scenes and rappin’ rocket man Aldrin.
For a good time, check it out at http://newsroom.mtv.com/2009/06/23/buzz-aldrin-teams-with-snoop-dogg-for-rocket-experience/
In a summer filled with sad video clips of Michael Jack’s moonwalk moves, it’s transcendently inspirational to see one of the veterans of the original moonwalk still walking — let along rockin’ and rappin’ — at age 79.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Adios to Ed, Farrah & Michael
By S. Derrickson Moore
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — Whatever happens the rest of this summer, June ‘09 will be remembered as the time when icons of three generations passed away in a couple of days.
Some of us wondered, at first, what (in order of their departure) Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson would have to talk about in heaven.
My guess is: quite a lot. They all had multigenerational impact and appeal, and were a part of our lives for several decades.
Though I never met any of the three, with a week’s pondering, I came up with a one degree of separation link with each. Like many Las Crucens who witnessed his 2007 farewell performance with Mariachi Cobre and the Las Cruces Symphony, I’ve spent quality time with Ed’s “Tonight Show” colleague and friend Doc Severinsen. I also promoted Doc’s concerts when I worked with the Palm Beach County Council for the Arts.
Though the “Tonight Show” trio were closer to my parents’ age, most Baby Boomers may have logged more hours with Ed than with many of our own friends and relatives, as we grew up watching Ed bantering with Johnny and Doc and later as host of “Star Search” and those ubiquitous commercials.
The one degree with Farrah came when Ryan O’Neal jogged past me when I was visiting Jess Stearn in the Malibu Colony, where they all lived. Though we entered the planet just a few days apart, (I’m younger, something I used to cheer myself up by noting), Farrah was actually the coming-of-age pinup of boys my son’s age. I admired my fellow Aquarian’s uppity and sometimes eccentric choices in life. We both tackled the cause of domestic violence, she on film, at a time when I was reporting that there were more laws on the books to protect animals than women and kids.
Strangely enough, Michael, a decade younger than Farrah (and me) seemed more like a contemporary ... maybe because we’ve all known him since he was a little kid. I noticed in recent weeks that there was a Baby Boomer upper limit on this. Friends just a few years older didn’t quite get what all the fuss was about.
I remembered trying to make sense of Michael’s one-time Oscar date Madonna, during her “Truth or Dare” period, finally coming to the conclusion that she entertainingly articulated societal confusion.
Michael was tougher to peg. Fame on such a scale at such an early age was like subjecting a small child to repeated rape and electrocution. Expecting anything close to a normal life to ensue would be as insane as his childhood.
Somehow, he still managed to produce art that was innovative, entertaining and healing.
I thought about his work that moved me the most: “Ben,” his sadly wistful childhood love song to a rat amigo. And I remembered listening to his “Thriller” and “Bad” album tracks during one of the most difficult periods of my life, when I was working with people addicted to power, cocaine and other toxic substances in some of the world’s darkest capitals of arrogance and greed. I found that retreating with Michael’s music on my Walkman helped me cope with the impossible, something Michael had been doing for a lifetime. He knew the dangerous territory, the worst war zones of the Me Generation.
It may be too soon to try to make sense of their lives, but if their triad of departures could be summarized in one-liners, it could be argued that they died as they lived. Ed set the stage and made the announcement. Farrah brought glamour and then (surprising-to-some) depth and meaning as she showed courage and innovation in her choice of roles and the way she played them. And Michael, poignantly, had some surprising and innovative moves and timing, even in his last act. To the end, he was still trying to cope and heal himself enough for one last comeback, one last message from a maimed insomniac sentinel in a spiritually narcoleptic world.
Maybe his ultimate legacy will be to compel us to reflect on the way we treat our most talented children. I hope so.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — Whatever happens the rest of this summer, June ‘09 will be remembered as the time when icons of three generations passed away in a couple of days.
Some of us wondered, at first, what (in order of their departure) Ed McMahon, Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson would have to talk about in heaven.
My guess is: quite a lot. They all had multigenerational impact and appeal, and were a part of our lives for several decades.
Though I never met any of the three, with a week’s pondering, I came up with a one degree of separation link with each. Like many Las Crucens who witnessed his 2007 farewell performance with Mariachi Cobre and the Las Cruces Symphony, I’ve spent quality time with Ed’s “Tonight Show” colleague and friend Doc Severinsen. I also promoted Doc’s concerts when I worked with the Palm Beach County Council for the Arts.
Though the “Tonight Show” trio were closer to my parents’ age, most Baby Boomers may have logged more hours with Ed than with many of our own friends and relatives, as we grew up watching Ed bantering with Johnny and Doc and later as host of “Star Search” and those ubiquitous commercials.
The one degree with Farrah came when Ryan O’Neal jogged past me when I was visiting Jess Stearn in the Malibu Colony, where they all lived. Though we entered the planet just a few days apart, (I’m younger, something I used to cheer myself up by noting), Farrah was actually the coming-of-age pinup of boys my son’s age. I admired my fellow Aquarian’s uppity and sometimes eccentric choices in life. We both tackled the cause of domestic violence, she on film, at a time when I was reporting that there were more laws on the books to protect animals than women and kids.
Strangely enough, Michael, a decade younger than Farrah (and me) seemed more like a contemporary ... maybe because we’ve all known him since he was a little kid. I noticed in recent weeks that there was a Baby Boomer upper limit on this. Friends just a few years older didn’t quite get what all the fuss was about.
I remembered trying to make sense of Michael’s one-time Oscar date Madonna, during her “Truth or Dare” period, finally coming to the conclusion that she entertainingly articulated societal confusion.
Michael was tougher to peg. Fame on such a scale at such an early age was like subjecting a small child to repeated rape and electrocution. Expecting anything close to a normal life to ensue would be as insane as his childhood.
Somehow, he still managed to produce art that was innovative, entertaining and healing.
I thought about his work that moved me the most: “Ben,” his sadly wistful childhood love song to a rat amigo. And I remembered listening to his “Thriller” and “Bad” album tracks during one of the most difficult periods of my life, when I was working with people addicted to power, cocaine and other toxic substances in some of the world’s darkest capitals of arrogance and greed. I found that retreating with Michael’s music on my Walkman helped me cope with the impossible, something Michael had been doing for a lifetime. He knew the dangerous territory, the worst war zones of the Me Generation.
It may be too soon to try to make sense of their lives, but if their triad of departures could be summarized in one-liners, it could be argued that they died as they lived. Ed set the stage and made the announcement. Farrah brought glamour and then (surprising-to-some) depth and meaning as she showed courage and innovation in her choice of roles and the way she played them. And Michael, poignantly, had some surprising and innovative moves and timing, even in his last act. To the end, he was still trying to cope and heal himself enough for one last comeback, one last message from a maimed insomniac sentinel in a spiritually narcoleptic world.
Maybe his ultimate legacy will be to compel us to reflect on the way we treat our most talented children. I hope so.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Friday, June 19, 2009
The return of Alex the Great: A sense of play should last a lifetime
A sense of play should last a lifetime
By S. Derrickson Moore
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — He’s back! Or almost ... and for a little while, at least.
Grandson Alexander the Great is going to spend a big chunk of the summer with me prior to a family move from the Pacific Northwest to Phoenix.
And just in time. I’ve been musing a lot lately about the need for a sense of play to help us get through tough times.
Soulmate Dr. Roger and I discussed it during a recent vacation, when we frolicked through several elevations, three kinds of margaritas and some Type A side bets. I won one by making it through almost five days without checking my e-mail ... I think his best effort was three days. But he picked up some extra points by patiently and amusingly explaining the rules of ice hockey during the playoffs to sports-dyslexic moi.
We both learned some playful pointers by watching the mallards at Inn of the Mountain Gods. I’ve always believed that ducks are proof that God has a great sense of humor, which is crucial to creative play.
In fact, I believe that a fair sense of playfulness — and a sense of fair play — are as All-American as life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, vital to all we cherish and hold dear.
And if you find your will to play has ebbed with the years, or never fully developed in childhood, there’s no remedy like spending time with a kid or a grandkids.
I remembered a Michigan State professor who informed students in a child psych class that play is a child’s work, which kind of daunted the whole concept for me.
But as I watched my son Ryan and later young Alex and his small amigos in various playgrounds around the country, I finally got the professor’s point. Play is the way a child learns best, about himself, others and the world.
If you watch a crayon-clutching, tongue-thrusting kid in the act of full-tilt creativity, it’s clear that he or she is engaged in some serious business. But I think a lot of that business takes place in the magical right brain realm that transcends time, space and stress.
It’s a place we try to return to as grownups, through whatever forms our playful impulses may take us: art, gardening, dancing, nature adventures, extreme sports, a night out with the girls or the boys, a vacation or fun getaway with a loved one.
True play is a strange, wonderful and mystical combination of intense concentration and utter casual abandon.
For some fortunate souls, play can even extend to dreamtime. I have happy memories of hearing my son, then a toddler, giggling in his sleep.
“I was dreaming of swimming with whales who laugh,” explained young Ry, who grew up to compose for, and play and sing with, some very amusing musical groups.
The best playtimes may be a kind of work, but it’s fun and fulfilling work, the kind those of us lucky enough to have jobs we love can experience with a sense of play and adventure all our lives.
Grandson Alex was born with a creative sense of play he’s shared with me, from blocks and babyhood fountain splashing through his early childhood and on into sophisticated cyberspace quests.
He was a Las Cruces resident from ages 3 through 10 and happily agreed to a series of goofy adventures that ranged from swing dancing with me on the Downtown Mall, to sampling strange hors d’oeuvres at art openings, engaging in avant-garde art projects and a variety of extreme fiesta activities.
He was never too cool to hang out with his Gram, or let me share tales of our escapades in print. In fact, he would often introduce himself like a politician running for a position as potentate of play: “I’m Alexander the Great. You may know me from such Las Cruces Style columns as ...”
The lad who first shook Cinco de Mayo maracas with me when he was a tiny babe in a stroller turns 13 this August. He’s a baritone now, and taller than me.
I expect it's time for more playtime with his peers these days. But I also hope our playmate-soulmate bonds are forever and we’ll remain boon companions in good-time cahoots.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
By S. Derrickson Moore
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — He’s back! Or almost ... and for a little while, at least.
Grandson Alexander the Great is going to spend a big chunk of the summer with me prior to a family move from the Pacific Northwest to Phoenix.
And just in time. I’ve been musing a lot lately about the need for a sense of play to help us get through tough times.
Soulmate Dr. Roger and I discussed it during a recent vacation, when we frolicked through several elevations, three kinds of margaritas and some Type A side bets. I won one by making it through almost five days without checking my e-mail ... I think his best effort was three days. But he picked up some extra points by patiently and amusingly explaining the rules of ice hockey during the playoffs to sports-dyslexic moi.
We both learned some playful pointers by watching the mallards at Inn of the Mountain Gods. I’ve always believed that ducks are proof that God has a great sense of humor, which is crucial to creative play.
In fact, I believe that a fair sense of playfulness — and a sense of fair play — are as All-American as life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, vital to all we cherish and hold dear.
And if you find your will to play has ebbed with the years, or never fully developed in childhood, there’s no remedy like spending time with a kid or a grandkids.
I remembered a Michigan State professor who informed students in a child psych class that play is a child’s work, which kind of daunted the whole concept for me.
But as I watched my son Ryan and later young Alex and his small amigos in various playgrounds around the country, I finally got the professor’s point. Play is the way a child learns best, about himself, others and the world.
If you watch a crayon-clutching, tongue-thrusting kid in the act of full-tilt creativity, it’s clear that he or she is engaged in some serious business. But I think a lot of that business takes place in the magical right brain realm that transcends time, space and stress.
It’s a place we try to return to as grownups, through whatever forms our playful impulses may take us: art, gardening, dancing, nature adventures, extreme sports, a night out with the girls or the boys, a vacation or fun getaway with a loved one.
True play is a strange, wonderful and mystical combination of intense concentration and utter casual abandon.
For some fortunate souls, play can even extend to dreamtime. I have happy memories of hearing my son, then a toddler, giggling in his sleep.
“I was dreaming of swimming with whales who laugh,” explained young Ry, who grew up to compose for, and play and sing with, some very amusing musical groups.
The best playtimes may be a kind of work, but it’s fun and fulfilling work, the kind those of us lucky enough to have jobs we love can experience with a sense of play and adventure all our lives.
Grandson Alex was born with a creative sense of play he’s shared with me, from blocks and babyhood fountain splashing through his early childhood and on into sophisticated cyberspace quests.
He was a Las Cruces resident from ages 3 through 10 and happily agreed to a series of goofy adventures that ranged from swing dancing with me on the Downtown Mall, to sampling strange hors d’oeuvres at art openings, engaging in avant-garde art projects and a variety of extreme fiesta activities.
He was never too cool to hang out with his Gram, or let me share tales of our escapades in print. In fact, he would often introduce himself like a politician running for a position as potentate of play: “I’m Alexander the Great. You may know me from such Las Cruces Style columns as ...”
The lad who first shook Cinco de Mayo maracas with me when he was a tiny babe in a stroller turns 13 this August. He’s a baritone now, and taller than me.
I expect it's time for more playtime with his peers these days. But I also hope our playmate-soulmate bonds are forever and we’ll remain boon companions in good-time cahoots.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
The heart and soul of our city
By S. Derrickson Moore
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — We’ve come a long way in resurrecting the corazon y alma (heart and soul) of our city.
While working on a recent issue of PULSE devoted to Las Cruces’ historic downtown area, I thought back to my first days as a resident of Las Cruces, back in 1994.
I remember that I loved the Las Cruces Farmers & Crafts Market, the Branigan Cultural Center, Branigan Library and Coas My Bookstore, which reminded me of the rambling, whole-block Powell’s Bookstore in my longtime home in Portland, Ore.
Otherwise, the Downtown Mall, as we called it then, and still do, despite noble efforts to rechristen it, was kind of, well, challenging. Others would refer to it in bleaker terms: a home for derelicts, a “graveyard of high hopes.”
I remembered the motto of Oregon activists and then-fledgling neighborhood organizations who vowed to “make the city a delight.”
They did. Portland became a wonderland of revitalized waterfronts, dramatic fountains and more park and wilderness land within city limits than any urban area of the country. It’s been a long time since I’ve been back, but my son keeps me posted on the progress of everything from light rail to their art and music scenes.
Las Cruces is much smaller, but we’ve also managed some major milagos in the “delight” department.
I walked the length of the Downtown Mall during a recent Saturday, reflecting on the changes.
The famous block between Las Cruces Avenue and Griggs has undergone a couple of major transformations in the 15 years I’ve lived here, and there’s no question that it’s looking better. The Rio Grande has gone from a quiet, dingy little second-run movie theater to an intriguing venue for live performances, with gallery areas and a nice suite of offices for the Doña Ana Arts Council. It’s joined an already impressive-for-our-size theater community that offers world premieres of original plays, ensemble pieces and local and traveling acts. The Las Cruces Community Theater was active when I arrived, and has been joined by Ceil and Peter Herman’s Black Box Theatre. Other regional venues have undergone enhancements or transformations. The Mastery in Life Center has started the twice-monthly Howling Coyote Coffeehouse open mic and jam sessions.
Court Junior High was then a crumbling mess, and hopeful plans were mere gleams in the eyes of Irene Oliver-Lewis and then-Mayor Ruben Smith. Today, it’s a restored Pueblo Revival showplace that houses Court Youth Center and its theater and Alma d’arte, a charter high school for the arts.
But it’s the block north of Las Cruces Avenue that’s still my favorite and everyone else’s, retro arches and all. It borders the Branigan Library, the new city hall and the entertaining CAPA art wall, which is attracting sticky-fingered art thieves, kind of a recessionary tribute, I suppose.
That best block, at least for now, still has the Las Cruces Farmers & Crafts Market, Coas and Branigan Cultural Center. It has since added the Las Cruces Museum of Art, part of a burgeoning downtown museum complex that now includes the Las Cruces Railroad Museum and, if all goes well, before too long will add the Las Cruces Natural History Museum, relocated from the Mesilla Valley Mall.
With luck and financing, we’ll also soon have a history museum in the historic Amador Hotel.
Despite tough economic times, galleries have made impressive inroads in the Downtown area, especially on that best block, where The Main Street Gallery, Blue Gate Gallery, M. Phillips Gallery and Unravel Gallery continue to offer venues for leading regional artists and specialties that range from Russian and European painting to fine art textiles.
We have some entertaining hybrids too: Savor art and coffee at Ocotillo Roasters Evergreen Gallery and custom tailoring and impressive international art at Art of Life Gallery.
We’re even developing a kind of downtown “Off Broadway” gallery tradition, with colonies of artists who have homes or studios in the region hosting periodic gallery tours and open houses, and the establishment of Mesquite Street gems like UnSettled Gallery. On Griggs, we’ve lost White Raven, and Paula Van Overbeke Voris now confines Griggs and Reymond to special events and classes, but In Effect, Dennis Lujan’s Griggs Street gallery, still showcases some of our most cutting-edge artists.
We can now enjoy art and cultural exhibits at the city museums, theaters, libraries, schools and nonprofit institutions like Southwest Environmental Center. We can see art during an outdoor amble, on the CAPA fence and as part of the Viva Ventanas project to add curb appeal by decorating windows in downtown buildings. Restaurants like Ono Grindz have art exhibits, too.
Coas and the Rio Grande Theatre host story hours for kids and join several downtown sites which take advantage of our status as a mecca for authors and poets by hosting booksignings , lectures and readings and regular story hours for kids.
In recent years, I’ve enjoyed everything from chamber music, dance and performance art to black tie galas and a magical winter festival on the Downtown Mall.
We are making our city —and its downtown corazon y alma— a delight.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — We’ve come a long way in resurrecting the corazon y alma (heart and soul) of our city.
While working on a recent issue of PULSE devoted to Las Cruces’ historic downtown area, I thought back to my first days as a resident of Las Cruces, back in 1994.
I remember that I loved the Las Cruces Farmers & Crafts Market, the Branigan Cultural Center, Branigan Library and Coas My Bookstore, which reminded me of the rambling, whole-block Powell’s Bookstore in my longtime home in Portland, Ore.
Otherwise, the Downtown Mall, as we called it then, and still do, despite noble efforts to rechristen it, was kind of, well, challenging. Others would refer to it in bleaker terms: a home for derelicts, a “graveyard of high hopes.”
I remembered the motto of Oregon activists and then-fledgling neighborhood organizations who vowed to “make the city a delight.”
They did. Portland became a wonderland of revitalized waterfronts, dramatic fountains and more park and wilderness land within city limits than any urban area of the country. It’s been a long time since I’ve been back, but my son keeps me posted on the progress of everything from light rail to their art and music scenes.
Las Cruces is much smaller, but we’ve also managed some major milagos in the “delight” department.
I walked the length of the Downtown Mall during a recent Saturday, reflecting on the changes.
The famous block between Las Cruces Avenue and Griggs has undergone a couple of major transformations in the 15 years I’ve lived here, and there’s no question that it’s looking better. The Rio Grande has gone from a quiet, dingy little second-run movie theater to an intriguing venue for live performances, with gallery areas and a nice suite of offices for the Doña Ana Arts Council. It’s joined an already impressive-for-our-size theater community that offers world premieres of original plays, ensemble pieces and local and traveling acts. The Las Cruces Community Theater was active when I arrived, and has been joined by Ceil and Peter Herman’s Black Box Theatre. Other regional venues have undergone enhancements or transformations. The Mastery in Life Center has started the twice-monthly Howling Coyote Coffeehouse open mic and jam sessions.
Court Junior High was then a crumbling mess, and hopeful plans were mere gleams in the eyes of Irene Oliver-Lewis and then-Mayor Ruben Smith. Today, it’s a restored Pueblo Revival showplace that houses Court Youth Center and its theater and Alma d’arte, a charter high school for the arts.
But it’s the block north of Las Cruces Avenue that’s still my favorite and everyone else’s, retro arches and all. It borders the Branigan Library, the new city hall and the entertaining CAPA art wall, which is attracting sticky-fingered art thieves, kind of a recessionary tribute, I suppose.
That best block, at least for now, still has the Las Cruces Farmers & Crafts Market, Coas and Branigan Cultural Center. It has since added the Las Cruces Museum of Art, part of a burgeoning downtown museum complex that now includes the Las Cruces Railroad Museum and, if all goes well, before too long will add the Las Cruces Natural History Museum, relocated from the Mesilla Valley Mall.
With luck and financing, we’ll also soon have a history museum in the historic Amador Hotel.
Despite tough economic times, galleries have made impressive inroads in the Downtown area, especially on that best block, where The Main Street Gallery, Blue Gate Gallery, M. Phillips Gallery and Unravel Gallery continue to offer venues for leading regional artists and specialties that range from Russian and European painting to fine art textiles.
We have some entertaining hybrids too: Savor art and coffee at Ocotillo Roasters Evergreen Gallery and custom tailoring and impressive international art at Art of Life Gallery.
We’re even developing a kind of downtown “Off Broadway” gallery tradition, with colonies of artists who have homes or studios in the region hosting periodic gallery tours and open houses, and the establishment of Mesquite Street gems like UnSettled Gallery. On Griggs, we’ve lost White Raven, and Paula Van Overbeke Voris now confines Griggs and Reymond to special events and classes, but In Effect, Dennis Lujan’s Griggs Street gallery, still showcases some of our most cutting-edge artists.
We can now enjoy art and cultural exhibits at the city museums, theaters, libraries, schools and nonprofit institutions like Southwest Environmental Center. We can see art during an outdoor amble, on the CAPA fence and as part of the Viva Ventanas project to add curb appeal by decorating windows in downtown buildings. Restaurants like Ono Grindz have art exhibits, too.
Coas and the Rio Grande Theatre host story hours for kids and join several downtown sites which take advantage of our status as a mecca for authors and poets by hosting booksignings , lectures and readings and regular story hours for kids.
In recent years, I’ve enjoyed everything from chamber music, dance and performance art to black tie galas and a magical winter festival on the Downtown Mall.
We are making our city —and its downtown corazon y alma— a delight.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Friday, June 5, 2009
Tired of being scared? Me, too.
By S. Derrickson Moore
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — What are you scared about today? The economic crisis? Rising unemployment? Plagues and famines? Earth changes and global warming?
How about terrorists? And if so, where? At home or abroad? In Europe? Asia? Iran? Iraq? Pakistan? In the air? On the ground? On the high seas?
And when you were making your plans for the new millennium, did you really think the world would be concerned with pirates ... the real kind, not those portrayed by Johnny Depp on the silver screen?
Actually, it hardly surprised me at all. I’m a Baby Boomer and it seems like someone has been trying to scare me all of my life.
It’s kind of strange, when you think of it, since we were born to parents who tried so hard to make the world a safer, happier place for us, who survived the Great Depression and World War II, who took to heart President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s proclamation that “the only thing we have to is fear itself.”
When I hear that, I always think of a dinner in Santa Fe during the 1980s with British-born members of the “Greatest Generation,” who had survived some very scary things, including numerous German air raids bombing London, dangerous missions behind enemy lines, and searches for surviving friends and family in ravaged war zones and concentration camps.
“Somehow, I don’t ever remember the climate of fear being as great as it is now, in times of peace,” one of my dinner companions said. “There is this aura of free-floating angst, fear and anxiety that hangs over everything.”
And those were the golden days, comparatively speaking.
I think back to my childhood and the Cold War. The atom bomb drills when we were periodically asked to crouch under our elementary school desks and put our little hands over our heads, as if that could protect us from the force which ravished Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Of course, those were also the days when we routinely and repeatedly stuck our tootsies into the Buster Brown x-ray machine at the shoe store to make sure each pair or shoes we were considering did not cramp our little toes.
There was a lot of confusion about what we should and shouldn’t fear and how to deal with it all.
Don’t be a litterbug. Save the environment. And that jingle I still find myself singing some days: “Buy soft drinks in throw-away cans. Start today!”
The war to end all wars. The Korean War. The Vietnam War. The Gulf War. The War on Terror. The Iraqi War. And those are just a few of the more-or-less official ones. Let’s not get into the border wars, the war on drugs, the immigration wars, religious conflicts and ethnic “cleansings” and the numerous international struggles and skirmishes of recent decades.
The Hong Kong Flu. The Bird Flu. Swine Flu. AIDS. Rabies. The Plague, again. Microbes from outer space, and while we’re out there: Comets. Killer Meteorites. UFOs and ETs with bad attitudes.
Had enough? Me, too.
This summer, why don’t we all take a little break from free-floating, mindless, soul-less fear? Consider the old maxim: Why worry when you can pray? Assess the situation, get whatever information we can and take constructive action when possible. Helping others always makes you feel a little better. If you can’t give money, volunteer. Or clean out your closets and donate what you don’t need to charity.
As Tenny Hale advised: When you feel like giving out, give outward. Take a deep breath and relax and rejoice that we are living in one of the most beautiful corners of the planet, populated with lots of sweet souls who care for one another and respect each other’s differences.
And maybe, ponder the full “fear” quote from FDR’s 1933 Inaugural address (find the whole speech at http://historymatters.gmu.edu/d/5057/) delivered during our first Great Depression: “So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself — nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. In every dark hour of our national life a leadership of frankness and vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves which is essential to victory.”
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — What are you scared about today? The economic crisis? Rising unemployment? Plagues and famines? Earth changes and global warming?
How about terrorists? And if so, where? At home or abroad? In Europe? Asia? Iran? Iraq? Pakistan? In the air? On the ground? On the high seas?
And when you were making your plans for the new millennium, did you really think the world would be concerned with pirates ... the real kind, not those portrayed by Johnny Depp on the silver screen?
Actually, it hardly surprised me at all. I’m a Baby Boomer and it seems like someone has been trying to scare me all of my life.
It’s kind of strange, when you think of it, since we were born to parents who tried so hard to make the world a safer, happier place for us, who survived the Great Depression and World War II, who took to heart President Franklin Delano Roosevelt’s proclamation that “the only thing we have to is fear itself.”
When I hear that, I always think of a dinner in Santa Fe during the 1980s with British-born members of the “Greatest Generation,” who had survived some very scary things, including numerous German air raids bombing London, dangerous missions behind enemy lines, and searches for surviving friends and family in ravaged war zones and concentration camps.
“Somehow, I don’t ever remember the climate of fear being as great as it is now, in times of peace,” one of my dinner companions said. “There is this aura of free-floating angst, fear and anxiety that hangs over everything.”
And those were the golden days, comparatively speaking.
I think back to my childhood and the Cold War. The atom bomb drills when we were periodically asked to crouch under our elementary school desks and put our little hands over our heads, as if that could protect us from the force which ravished Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Of course, those were also the days when we routinely and repeatedly stuck our tootsies into the Buster Brown x-ray machine at the shoe store to make sure each pair or shoes we were considering did not cramp our little toes.
There was a lot of confusion about what we should and shouldn’t fear and how to deal with it all.
Don’t be a litterbug. Save the environment. And that jingle I still find myself singing some days: “Buy soft drinks in throw-away cans. Start today!”
The war to end all wars. The Korean War. The Vietnam War. The Gulf War. The War on Terror. The Iraqi War. And those are just a few of the more-or-less official ones. Let’s not get into the border wars, the war on drugs, the immigration wars, religious conflicts and ethnic “cleansings” and the numerous international struggles and skirmishes of recent decades.
The Hong Kong Flu. The Bird Flu. Swine Flu. AIDS. Rabies. The Plague, again. Microbes from outer space, and while we’re out there: Comets. Killer Meteorites. UFOs and ETs with bad attitudes.
Had enough? Me, too.
This summer, why don’t we all take a little break from free-floating, mindless, soul-less fear? Consider the old maxim: Why worry when you can pray? Assess the situation, get whatever information we can and take constructive action when possible. Helping others always makes you feel a little better. If you can’t give money, volunteer. Or clean out your closets and donate what you don’t need to charity.
As Tenny Hale advised: When you feel like giving out, give outward. Take a deep breath and relax and rejoice that we are living in one of the most beautiful corners of the planet, populated with lots of sweet souls who care for one another and respect each other’s differences.
And maybe, ponder the full “fear” quote from FDR’s 1933 Inaugural address (find the whole speech at http://historymatters.gmu.edu/d/5057/) delivered during our first Great Depression: “So, first of all, let me assert my firm belief that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself — nameless, unreasoning, unjustified terror which paralyzes needed efforts to convert retreat into advance. In every dark hour of our national life a leadership of frankness and vigor has met with that understanding and support of the people themselves which is essential to victory.”
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Summer reading fun
By S. Derrickson Moore
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — Ah, summer.
I was thinking back to the golden days of yesteryear and what was on the agenda as soon as we heard those magical words: “Schools out!”
For me, the big four were spending time with friends, swimming (in nearby Lake Michigan, the Pere Marquette River at our place up north or at my grandparents’ resort at Lake Margrethe in Grayling, Mich.), staying up late and reading.
My friends and I would lounge on the almost-as-white-as-White-Sands sandy dunes of the Lake Michigan shore and devour all the Baby Boomer classics: Trixie Belden, Nancy Drew, Bobbsie Twins and Hardy Boys mysteries, and even some of the classics: “Heidi,” “Little Women,” “Treasure Island,” and “Tom Sawyer.” We shared vast stacks of comic books (now referred to as graphic novels in some circles). There was the popular line of “classics” comic books based on great literature, which mom and dad approved of because they correctly figured they would whet our appetites for the real thing, and my cousins’ sleazy romance comics, which did not delight our parents.
Not that there was any kind of censorship in our tribe. By the time I was a sixth-grader, I’d zipped through “Gone With the Wind,” James Michener’s “Tales of the South Pacific,” and potboilers like “Peyote Place” and “My Wicked, Wicked Ways,” Errol Flynn’s “uncensored autobiography.”
My parents’ attitude was that anything I was old enough to want to read and ask them questions about was okay. When I wanted to read “Rise and Fall of the Third Reich” and “Brave New World,” they helped me change the rules so that an 11-year-old could check out books from the “adult” sections of public and school libraries. This was back in a more innocent era, when an “adult” label was not synonymous with porn, but was meant to helpfully wrangle little kids to subjects more compatible with their interests and reading levels.
But as soon as I learned to read, I was unwilling to be wrangled. I still remember my profound sorrow when I realized that I could not possibly read every book in the world.
Those pangs have since been assuaged by years as a book reviewer, slogging through eight to 10 books a week in my prime, some of which I could’ve happily lived without encountering.
But I’ve never quite forgotten that summertime joy of discovering a great new author, hopefully a prolific one, who invites you into rich new worlds that you can revisit at many stages of your life.
I am thankful that the fanatic reading gene seems to be dominant in our family DNA.
Son Ryan and grandson Alexander the Great have shared — and sometimes introduced me to— some of the best summertime reading ever.
Ryan and I shared the enduringly entertaining and surprisingly spiritual fantasy novels loved of Madeleine L’Engle, whose “Wrinkle in Time” and other books have offered us clues for living in strange times. ( “You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children,” she once noted.)
During vacations, I’ve shared Las Cruces Harry Potter marathons with Alex, who also got me hooked on the Stephenie Meyer “Twilight” series, long before the first movie hit the screen.
During our last vacation, we did all the things you would do in the outdoor summer paradise that is the Pacific Northwest. We communed with horses and wildlife, hiked, swam and fished. But we also packed books.
Ryan always has some exotic contribution — rocker biographies, maybe, or laugh-out-loud humorists, from Dave Barry to Graham Roumier’s definitive Sasquatch profile: “In Me Own Words: The Autobiography of Bigfoot,” a haunting account of the ravages of fame.
Summer reading is still my fave vacation activity, accessble to us all. What are you reading this summer?
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — Ah, summer.
I was thinking back to the golden days of yesteryear and what was on the agenda as soon as we heard those magical words: “Schools out!”
For me, the big four were spending time with friends, swimming (in nearby Lake Michigan, the Pere Marquette River at our place up north or at my grandparents’ resort at Lake Margrethe in Grayling, Mich.), staying up late and reading.
My friends and I would lounge on the almost-as-white-as-White-Sands sandy dunes of the Lake Michigan shore and devour all the Baby Boomer classics: Trixie Belden, Nancy Drew, Bobbsie Twins and Hardy Boys mysteries, and even some of the classics: “Heidi,” “Little Women,” “Treasure Island,” and “Tom Sawyer.” We shared vast stacks of comic books (now referred to as graphic novels in some circles). There was the popular line of “classics” comic books based on great literature, which mom and dad approved of because they correctly figured they would whet our appetites for the real thing, and my cousins’ sleazy romance comics, which did not delight our parents.
Not that there was any kind of censorship in our tribe. By the time I was a sixth-grader, I’d zipped through “Gone With the Wind,” James Michener’s “Tales of the South Pacific,” and potboilers like “Peyote Place” and “My Wicked, Wicked Ways,” Errol Flynn’s “uncensored autobiography.”
My parents’ attitude was that anything I was old enough to want to read and ask them questions about was okay. When I wanted to read “Rise and Fall of the Third Reich” and “Brave New World,” they helped me change the rules so that an 11-year-old could check out books from the “adult” sections of public and school libraries. This was back in a more innocent era, when an “adult” label was not synonymous with porn, but was meant to helpfully wrangle little kids to subjects more compatible with their interests and reading levels.
But as soon as I learned to read, I was unwilling to be wrangled. I still remember my profound sorrow when I realized that I could not possibly read every book in the world.
Those pangs have since been assuaged by years as a book reviewer, slogging through eight to 10 books a week in my prime, some of which I could’ve happily lived without encountering.
But I’ve never quite forgotten that summertime joy of discovering a great new author, hopefully a prolific one, who invites you into rich new worlds that you can revisit at many stages of your life.
I am thankful that the fanatic reading gene seems to be dominant in our family DNA.
Son Ryan and grandson Alexander the Great have shared — and sometimes introduced me to— some of the best summertime reading ever.
Ryan and I shared the enduringly entertaining and surprisingly spiritual fantasy novels loved of Madeleine L’Engle, whose “Wrinkle in Time” and other books have offered us clues for living in strange times. ( “You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children,” she once noted.)
During vacations, I’ve shared Las Cruces Harry Potter marathons with Alex, who also got me hooked on the Stephenie Meyer “Twilight” series, long before the first movie hit the screen.
During our last vacation, we did all the things you would do in the outdoor summer paradise that is the Pacific Northwest. We communed with horses and wildlife, hiked, swam and fished. But we also packed books.
Ryan always has some exotic contribution — rocker biographies, maybe, or laugh-out-loud humorists, from Dave Barry to Graham Roumier’s definitive Sasquatch profile: “In Me Own Words: The Autobiography of Bigfoot,” a haunting account of the ravages of fame.
Summer reading is still my fave vacation activity, accessble to us all. What are you reading this summer?
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Friday, May 15, 2009
Star in the Ultimate Reality Show
By S. Derrickson Moore
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — This may very well surprise you, even if you consider yourself a cutting-edge tech geek.
I’m happy to announce we now have the technology for the ultimate, multimedia, multisensory, cradle-to-grave reality show experience.
That’s right. You can not only see and hear (assuming you have normal sight and hearing) virtually every lifetime experience, but you can also smell, taste and feel every sensation as you enjoy the URS (Ultimate Reality Show).
Imagine. You can experience the world with the zest and wonder of a child, learning new skills and enjoying all the sensory miracles of nature. Imagine the sensation of raindrops, warm sun, cool snow and summer breezes on your skin. The taste of juicy fresh fruit, the fire of a chile pepper, the smooth chill of peppermint ice cream.
For those brave enough, we can also now experience the emotions and thought processes as well as the full range of sensations that are part of the URS.
There are risks, of course. No matter how well you think you can control the technology, there is always the danger of experiencing fear, pain, jealousy, hatred, greed and other unpleasant sensations. But willingness to encounter these things will enhance your skill set and mastery of the URS experiences that will allow you to get to higher levels and MURS (master level URS) experiences that include opportunities to savor things like love, compassion, faith, hope and joy.
If your tastes run to adventure and you have the will, stamina and determination, you can customize the URS to experience the thrill of swimming in a rejuvenating stream or lake. Or skiing or hiking or running through a beautiful landscape, with the wind actually rippling through your hair, the aroma of evergreens and wildflowers surrounding you.
Again, imagine: Experiencing the full spectrum of emotions, thoughts and sensations as you live through a range of “firsts:” first day of school, first friendships, first kiss, first loves, first child of your own, first job, fun vacations ... and all the rites of passage and ceremonies of life: births, graduations, marriages, anniversaries, funerals, honors and triumphs, quiet accomplishments, obstacles triumphantly overcome.
Some feel the URS can be enhanced by texting, sexting, Twittering, YouTube, Skype, My Space, Facebook and iTunes and gadgets ranging from Blackberrys to iPhones, PCs and laptops, Wii or any other state-of-the-art video games. Others think such things are useless distractions in the full enjoyment and appreciation of the URS.
The choice is up to you. You may interface your Ultimate Reality Show with any or all of these things, or even with more primitive technologies and systems, from TV, books and magazines to movies and snailmail. (And, to the surprise of many, even very young tech geeks have reported amazing thrills from interfaces with books and snailmail letters during URS.)
And there’s more: You can also interface your URS with the URS of others. No special attachments are necessary to begin, though I personally feel your URS will be enhanced by interfacing with loving family and friends, especially in the beginning.
Some feel you should proceed with great caution and carefully plan and negotiate terms of endearment before you contemplate any URS interfaces with others.
But I’ve found that some of the most rewarding and exciting URS interfaces can result from spontaneous and serendipitous links with a URS based in a different land and culture.
Again imagine: these interfaces will enable you to expand and enhance your own URS to experience and identify with the adventures of others.
All it takes to successfully navigate such interfaces is a bit of compassion, empathy, and for best possible results, faith, hope, charity, love, imagination, courage and a sense of adventure and humor.
If you haven’t guessed by now, the Ultimate Reality Show is you, your life.
It’s yours to experience, in surround sound, Technicolor, and sensory full-tilt open throttle.
Right here, right now.
Pay careful attention or you could miss the best parts.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
Sun-News reporter
LAS CRUCES — This may very well surprise you, even if you consider yourself a cutting-edge tech geek.
I’m happy to announce we now have the technology for the ultimate, multimedia, multisensory, cradle-to-grave reality show experience.
That’s right. You can not only see and hear (assuming you have normal sight and hearing) virtually every lifetime experience, but you can also smell, taste and feel every sensation as you enjoy the URS (Ultimate Reality Show).
Imagine. You can experience the world with the zest and wonder of a child, learning new skills and enjoying all the sensory miracles of nature. Imagine the sensation of raindrops, warm sun, cool snow and summer breezes on your skin. The taste of juicy fresh fruit, the fire of a chile pepper, the smooth chill of peppermint ice cream.
For those brave enough, we can also now experience the emotions and thought processes as well as the full range of sensations that are part of the URS.
There are risks, of course. No matter how well you think you can control the technology, there is always the danger of experiencing fear, pain, jealousy, hatred, greed and other unpleasant sensations. But willingness to encounter these things will enhance your skill set and mastery of the URS experiences that will allow you to get to higher levels and MURS (master level URS) experiences that include opportunities to savor things like love, compassion, faith, hope and joy.
If your tastes run to adventure and you have the will, stamina and determination, you can customize the URS to experience the thrill of swimming in a rejuvenating stream or lake. Or skiing or hiking or running through a beautiful landscape, with the wind actually rippling through your hair, the aroma of evergreens and wildflowers surrounding you.
Again, imagine: Experiencing the full spectrum of emotions, thoughts and sensations as you live through a range of “firsts:” first day of school, first friendships, first kiss, first loves, first child of your own, first job, fun vacations ... and all the rites of passage and ceremonies of life: births, graduations, marriages, anniversaries, funerals, honors and triumphs, quiet accomplishments, obstacles triumphantly overcome.
Some feel the URS can be enhanced by texting, sexting, Twittering, YouTube, Skype, My Space, Facebook and iTunes and gadgets ranging from Blackberrys to iPhones, PCs and laptops, Wii or any other state-of-the-art video games. Others think such things are useless distractions in the full enjoyment and appreciation of the URS.
The choice is up to you. You may interface your Ultimate Reality Show with any or all of these things, or even with more primitive technologies and systems, from TV, books and magazines to movies and snailmail. (And, to the surprise of many, even very young tech geeks have reported amazing thrills from interfaces with books and snailmail letters during URS.)
And there’s more: You can also interface your URS with the URS of others. No special attachments are necessary to begin, though I personally feel your URS will be enhanced by interfacing with loving family and friends, especially in the beginning.
Some feel you should proceed with great caution and carefully plan and negotiate terms of endearment before you contemplate any URS interfaces with others.
But I’ve found that some of the most rewarding and exciting URS interfaces can result from spontaneous and serendipitous links with a URS based in a different land and culture.
Again imagine: these interfaces will enable you to expand and enhance your own URS to experience and identify with the adventures of others.
All it takes to successfully navigate such interfaces is a bit of compassion, empathy, and for best possible results, faith, hope, charity, love, imagination, courage and a sense of adventure and humor.
If you haven’t guessed by now, the Ultimate Reality Show is you, your life.
It’s yours to experience, in surround sound, Technicolor, and sensory full-tilt open throttle.
Right here, right now.
Pay careful attention or you could miss the best parts.
S. Derrickson Moore can be reached at dmoore@lcsun-news.com
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