Of Being Rooted

All to often I am told that my homely ways are strange. There are many lands to travel to upon this gorgeous Earth. Yet I am content, perhaps too content to just be here in my land. It is not my land because I own it; I should say I have never owned any land. However being in this place at the foot of the Uncanoonuc Mountains, and in the branches of the mighty Merrimack, I feel as though it were my land. Over twenty years I have tread upon its rich soil, smelling the decay of colorful foliage, feeling the mud of the wet season, cool from melted snow, and danced upon the white glades in barren winter. I know the trees, and some of their names, the birds and their songs, the bugs and their jobs, the beasts and their wanderings. Were this land to perish I feel part of myself would as well, if not entirely.

Who knows their land though? I should say I only know little. The food I eat comes from many different and strange lands. What relation have I to the wilds near me? I forbid myself to treat it as though it were a postcard, a pretty picture, a fancy of beauty and nothing more. My childhood has taught me more than that. Yet I long to connect more, while noticing those around me connecting less. Who has forgotten the importance of the land? Do we not eat of its fruits, rest in its shade, marvel at its warmth, shiver in its cold? It is not that man can not ignore nature, it is that man can not afford to ignore nature. When people do not like an area they simply move, I feel that is foolish. When you are rooted you love your land, when you love your land you own it, when you own the land you take care of it, and those who are stewards of the land would protect it. So it goes without saying that the reason nature is attacked is because no one owns the land, no one loves it or cares for it. Then it is a slab of resources, ripe for the taking without regard for its health.

Perhaps the analogy of the lover matches this better. Two people living side by side, learn to be with one another. The man and his neighbor woman live in harmony and trust. It is in this that love is born, not by some compatibility, taste, or instantaneous mechanism. Yet the man who sees a beautiful woman from afar, and travels there, uses her for his own fleshy needs, and leaves, we call him a bad man and the woman a prostitute. If the man lived with the woman in close proximity, he could not use her, they live with one another, and it would cause discord in his life.

So it is with land, those that live with it treat it better, because it is they that must be in harmony with it. Yet we still see the allure of other lands, be it for climate, resources, or other personal gain. If mankind fulfills such desires the land that is used becomes nothing more than a whore for man's taking.

I have not traveled to many lands, nor enjoyed it when I have traveled for my small part. I love the land I live on, I treat her well, and wish I could do better for her. The eastern slopes of the Uncanoonucs are close to my heart, and I trust they always will be.

I Hate Toby Mac

I just returned from my trip to Gilford, New Hampshire. I went there to attend a festival for a few days to see some Christians artists I enjoy and wish to support. They were tremendous and I enjoyed myself thoroughly. However when ever I attend such festivals you are bound to bump into people you do no like, or worse Christians artists that are not worth the very air that carries their piss poor lyrics and musical sound waves.

I found my distaste for Toby Mac particularly hard to defend while I was there among the masses of countless fans, and yet I somehow loathed him the most. I think it was because there was so much fanfare and joy surrounded by one performance. I suppose that makes me a Grinch of sorts, spoiling everyone's good clean fun.

Music is artistic in nature because it struggles to be successful and push the boundaries of work in its realm. Artistic music is the most respectable. Modern examples would be early punk, progressive rock, early hip-hop, underground rap, and other contemporary forms of music that shape the music that we hear today with respect to its artistic influences. Lower on the scale, tied for second, both pop music and Christian music. Largely they try to do the same thing, pop emulates the success of real artistic movement, then repackages it and makes it marketable. Christian music is guilty of both this and emulating pop, it is like a farce of a farce. However most music we hear is for certain people to enjoy hearing and enjoying the artistic merits of its predecessors, albeit duplicated. Remember though that emulated music still carries the spirit of the original art in it. (though just a shadow)

Lastly there is party music. Though it has its time and place, it does not seek to create art, it is more so to entertain, thus its title. This places it third on my echelon of music appreciation. Lastly there is Christian party music, it is the worst music that can be. It is like party music, but it not only as the failure of copying its secular counterpart, it also is hypocritical. Having fun is something human beings enjoy, and I do not doubt that we were made that way, there is no fault in wanting to have fun, but parties are about excess, lavish enjoyment, and indulgence. Christians should not (idealistically) be a part of a partying culture, nor should they celebrate in a lavish way until their brothers and sisters have their needs met, to do otherwise is completely selfish and against the message of Christ. So it goes that Christian party music, like Toby Mac, has the least amount of respect from me, and thus my abject avoidance of his concert.

In summation Toby Mac is a farce, of a farce, of a farce, copied thrice. There is very little art involved, creation is put aside for celebration, and the revelry is not justified by the author's own ethics. This alone is why Toby Mac deserves little to no respect, in my opinion, from anyone. Just as a coup de grace, he is a skinny white boy who pretends to be black, looks like he was dressed in the dark, has the lyrical sense of Vanilla Ice, the mentality of Jerry Faldwell, and the musical skill of Milly Vanilly. That kind of triple threat of personalities means he could only be the most fake, profiteering performer possible. In a way that is the only sense of respect I have from him, such a synergy of snickering capitalism, even I am wowed by such a performance.