Cycho Librarian

One of the more common things I see and hear from people who are defending the display of the Confederate battle flag is “My ancestors didn’t own slaves.” Putting aside for a moment that this isn’t really a very good defense of a symbol that has stood for hatred and terror for the better part of 150 years, the main thing I want to ask the people who say that is, are you sure? I mean really, are you sure? Thanks to a lot of research that was done by my great-grandmother, grandmother, and other members of that side of my family, I have a pretty good idea of the history of the branch of my family tree. I’ve spent some time looking for more details about that history, and every so often I’ll take another look to see if any new information or records have moved online. A couple of weeks ago I was doing just that, looking for a more complete family tree. I have to take a moment here to acknowledge that I am able to have that understanding in large part because of the privilege that comes...

I’m amazed and heartened by the number of White people I see recognize Juneteenth publicly today. I’m trying very hard not to think “it took you all long enough!”, recognizing that I had no idea what Juneteenth was myself until I was well out of college. Once more, we White people were shielded from the lived reality of millions of our fellow citizens. But my greater worry about Juneteenth is that it’s another recognition of evils that we White people committed against Black people that gives us an easy out. “It’s terrible that those people were kept in bondage for two years after the Emancipation proclamation, but then the Union soldiers showed up in Galveston Bay and everything was made right!” Juneteenth, particularly for us White people, can fall too easily into the “White Savior” narrative that excuses what actually happened. So what’s much more on my mind today is Reconstruction. That is, the reason why there were Union soldiers landing in Galveston Bay. I came across this Twit...

Today I got to drive one of my favorite roads in Southeast Ohio, route 329 between Amesville and Glouster. 329 winds its way from the Hocking River near Guysville up the Federal Creek valley through Amesville and on to Trimble. It’s a beautiful farming valley that is filled with history from the coal mining era back to the early days of European settlement and on from there back to the mound-building cultures of North America before European contact. You can’t help but feel the weight of history as you wind your way through this unglaciated valley carved by water and time through the former sea bed that makes up our topography in this area. But today what was most on my mind was the tour I got of the area from a former Board member who is a historian and community activist with deep roots in our county. She gave me her Underground Railroad tour of Athens County, and Federal Creek features prominently in that story. Ever since then I can’t drive 329 without thinking of the stories of t...

We got out for a hike this morning, and we’re going to try to do that every morning weather permitting. I’m grateful that we live in a place where beautiful and wild places are minutes away. I’m also grateful that we don’t have a shelter in place order and most likely won’t thanks to the small size of the community and our low population density. I feel for my friends in New York and San Francisco who no longer have this outlet. But I think the most important thing I was grateful for this morning was some space: a break from being up to my eyeballs in news and updates and decisions related to the current situation. While social media has been a great benefit during this time in many ways-- up to date information, fun diversions, connection with friends near and far-- it has also created an environment where it’s very easy to begin to lose hope, fall prey to worst fears, and get sucked into pointless battles about which conspiracy is true or not. My advice for all of you, my friends, ...

So now we find ourselves with the fate of our democracy hanging on two old white men. Somehow or other we looked at all the options we had and managed to talk ourselves into the idea that either a) “other people” would only be able to vote for Biden, or b) no one else was as “pure” a progressive as Sanders. And let’s not even get started on misogyny. We had more than a couple female candidates who could have mopped the floor with Trump, and the only reason we’re not looking at Warren or Harris as a clear frontrunner right now is because they’re women. I am, honestly, fine with either of these men as the nominee. I can vote for either one with a clear conscience. But geez, we had to go and make it hard on ourselves, didn’t we? Here’s what I hope to Bog both of these candidates and their teams are thinking about, and I very much hope that you, my friends, are thinking about these things as well as we head toward convention. First off, these guys are old. I am not using that word pejor...

The Breeders had an amazing set last night. I jumped, sang, moshed, and felt that amazing joy that you can only feel when fully immersed in the music that formed you in your twenties. I walked out the festival with a grin on my face as big as Kim and Kelley’s were on stage, as they were clearly enjoying the performance as much as we were. I’m glad I didn’t listen to a lot of their albums before the set, so as they played songs I hadn’t heard in years I had some of that sense of joy and discovery from the first time I heard them. They finished with “Gigantic” and of course we all lost it. There was also a sense of time passing, though. Not sad or bittersweet, but just different. Kelley sat on the stage and put on readers so she could see the bass tab on one song. One of the guys with the band had as much grey in his beard as me. And the people I moshed with looked they may not have been born the first time I heard the Pixies.   I was also thinking a lot about my college crew. Rob a...

365 days, 365 photos. Sunrises, sunsets, woods, mountains, lakes, fields, cities, bike rides, hikes, friends, celebrations, and the ordinary beauty of the everyday. It's more than a little odd to see an entire year reduced to a single image. On the one hand it makes the year seem very short, very small. On the other hand, it's incredible to see what one year, or one image, can contain. Every image in this has a story, and each story intersects other stories. In one image is an entire world, and in this one image is the entire year. Who I was on January 1 is completely different from who I was on December 31, and there's no way anyone could have predicted the path I would take to get there. And yet, here it is captured in a single image. The sense of place a photograph gives you makes this so much more powerful than just a journal. I can remember exactly where I was when I took each shot, where I was going, what I was doing, how I was feeling, what I was thinking. Da...

So what am I really thankful for? I’m thankful for my home; cozy and warm, with cats curled up beside me. I’m thankful for Mozart, Haydn, Brahms, and Mahler, and the chance to sing them to thousands. I’m thankful for art; in galleries, on streets, danced on a stage, seen in a museum. I’m thankful for pizza, beer, and Douglass Street. I'm thankful for comfortable saddles and chain tools. I’m thankful for a place on the floor at the SOMC Life Center, and getting stuck at railroad crossings. I’m thankful for my Light and Motion Urban 550 and Scioto Trails after dark. I’m thankful for people who think it’s a good idea to ride 50 miles to a garden. I’m thankful for chainsaws and friends who know how to use them. I’m thankful for mosh pits in Pearl Alley. I’m thankful for sprints in the dark. I’m thankful for Lower Twin and Mingo Road. I’m thankful for Ohiopyle, Cumberland, the big slackwater, Harper’s Ferry, Silver Spring, and the Dubliner. I’m thankful for tomatoes and fires. I’m th...

I don't care about birthdays. To be clear, this doesn't mean that I don't like birthdays, or that I have some sort of pathological aversion to getting older. I literally don't care about birthdays. My birthday rolls around, and most of the time my only reaction is, "oh yeah, it's my birthday again, isn't it?" I've had people suggest that I'm avoiding some deep seated anxiety about getting older, but seriously, I really don't care. Since I've been divorced, it's been a good excuse to throw a party and have some friends over, but I could do that any time. Granted, people are more likely to show up when it's my birthday, but all I really want is to hang out with my friends. Against all of this, this time it's different. As much as I'd like to think that this is just another number, it is a landmark. Both because we happen to have ten fingers and so have a weird affinity for intervals of ten, but also because of how it...

I am so tired of this. I don't know what's different this time around. We have many of the same players and attitudes as we did in 2008, but for some reason back then it didn't seem to bother me as much. Maybe it's that, as I observed to someone the other day, at least McCain was consistent. But this time around there doesn't seem to be a coherent, let alone consistent position on the right. But I don't think that really explains my weariness with the election this time around. It's more than that the position is so incoherent. It's that so many people have bought into it and don't seem to have the foggiest idea that everything about it is so wrong, and so dangerous. Most of you know that I'm fairly upfront with my political leanings and my beliefs. If I feel that the person I'm talking to can handle an intense debate without it damaging our relationship, I'm even more than happy to really engage, to really push and argue and tear a...

The other day a friend of mine responded to my comment that I missed David Tennant as the tenth Doctor Who, saying that there was something very meta about that because I could be a doppelganger of David Tennant. However, after thinking about it some more I'm wondering if David Tennant might be my doppelganger. So much so that I've started searching my belongings for a pocketwatch engraved with Gallifrean symbols . Consider-- both Cycholibrarian and the tenth Doctor: Are tall and skinny. Have a tendency to run their hands wildly through their hair while thinking, and don't seem to care about the resulting mess. Prefer to wear Chuck Taylor All-Stars (even with a suit). Have a tendency to talk very quickly about things no one else understands. Have been known to bellow "Allons-y!" and other non-English phrases for reasons only clear to themselves. Have very expressive faces, especially when  grimacing about Very Important Things. Move so fast that others f...

There is a magic in the rising moon, Across the sea the siren voices call, The mountains pull the wand'rer from his room, And forests make no lord so fit a hall. Beneath clear skies we huddle round the flame, Laughing until our hands and souls are warm. New faces fast become our ancient names Known to us all before the world was born. This is my blessing and my greatest fear: To see it all and never stop for rest. I think and new frontiers 'fore me appear, And pathways spread beyond each undimmed crest, Until I feel my heart will burst its bonds With all the possibilities and songs.

This morning I had another of those "small world" moments that seem to come so frequently in our hyper-connected world. I'm involved in a public art project for Columbus's bicentennial next year to create original pieces for the carillon bells at my church, and one of the composers who I've shown around the tower friend requested me. Even though I had never met her before this project, I come to find out that she's already friends with two other friends of mine. This is the point where most people just laugh and make a joke about how Columbus is really a pretty small town. But I've thought about this before and I'm not sure that it's so much that Columbus is a small town, but that we are all connected a lot more than we think. Think about how many times this has happened to you: you're at a party, maybe not even in your hometown, and you fall into conversation with a stranger. That person happens to know someone where you're from or whe...

When I studied Greek, and in particular the Odyssey , one concept that always stuck out to me was νόστος , a Greek word meaning the return to one's home, usually after a long time away. As with most translations, this doesn't do the word justice. So much more is tied up in that word than just coming home: the longing for one's home, the comforts of home, the end of a long journey. For me it was always best summed up by book 13 of the Odyssey . After 20 years away from Ithaka, Odysseus is left on the shore of his homeland, and hidden by a mist brought by Athena to hide him from his enemies. At first Odysseus doesn't recognize the island, and when Athena, disguised a shepherd, tells him where he is, he doesn't believe her. Finally Athena reveals herself and lifts the mists, showing Odysseus the familiar landmarks of his home, and Odysseus falls to the ground and kisses the earth. This is, to my mind, a perfect description of what it's like to come home after a l...

Ten years ago we all received an unimaginable shock. Everyone responded to this differently, but for me there have always been two main outlets when I'm dealing with something that extreme: music and writing. After September 11, 2001 I tried to put what I was thinking and feeling into words, really just for myself. I've carried the result around in a portfolio ever since, and it seems fitting to share on the tenth anniversary. New Phoenix I saw them once before— Atlasian pillars thrusting up against the dome In the futility of concrete, Pretending that the day begins And ends because we said so. So this is what we’ve wrought, O Beautiful for Pilgrim’s Dreams— The roar of our invention still echoes down the canyons. Thine Alabaster Cities Gleam a little less Now stained by human tears. Who were we to tempt the sin of Babel? The peoples of a thousand tongues Thrown all together in one place As though the color green were Word enough To reunite the sons of Abr...

One of the more interesting side-effects of the divorce is that I am now car free. The reactions I get when I tell people this are, frankly, kind of amusing. Almost always there’s some look of horror, an expression of sympathy, questions of how I can possibly survive without a car, etc., etc. The way I ended up here is really very simple: we only had one car, she needed it, I didn’t. I was already riding my bike pretty much everywhere I needed to go. I have one bike with a crate and a trailer, so transporting groceries and so forth wouldn’t be much of a challenge; and in the worst case scenario, my new apartment is an easy walk from stores, restaurants, and a bus line. So really, it’s not that big a deal. In fact, one of the most interesting things about being car free is how surprisingly easy it’s turning out to be. “But Nick,” you say, “sure it’s easy for you. You’re cycho!” Okay, I grant you that I already ride my bike a lot, but contrary to what some people tell me, you won’t...

Hi there. It’s been a while, I know. When I look at the last post date I have another one of those 20/20 hindsight moments and think, well of course I stopped writing then, that’s probably around the time things started to really go downhill. Not that they were great before that… By the time you all read this I’ll be divorced. In the grand scheme of things it’s probably not that big a deal. One of the things that’s struck me as I’ve gone through this and let people know is the number of friends who have already been through this but I had no idea. So that’s a positive to know that things do work out on the other side. But right now, from in the thick of things, it really sucks. As divorces go, this one is pretty straightforward. We had no children together, thank goodness, and my stepdaughter is an adult. No property to speak of. Massive debts, but those are easily split depending on whose name they’re in. I’ve found a nice place, moved out, and am starting to develop new rhy...

Short post tonight: just a thought really. When was the last time you climbed a tree?

Passage of the health care reform bill in the House this past week and the ensuing reaction put me in mind yet again of how absurd our political rivalries have become. That such a watered-down excuse for a "reform" bill would cause this much vitriol back and forth across the aisle is utterly absurd to me. How is it that we've come to a point where something that should be a no-brainer-- figuring out a better way to provide health care to everyone-- leads to protests that our government is either socialist or fascist, or possibly both? The main thing that confuses me is how we ever got anything done before this. Certainly emancipation, the New Deal, civil rights, and even Johnson's Great Society weren't uncontroversial. But they still happened. You could make the claim that extraordinary circumstances or the force of character of their proponents were the only reason they succeeded, but that seems overly simple to me. What has shifted in our society that now ...

I have something obscene sitting on my desk at work. Shocking, I know. But there it is. Or at least according to these fine, upstanding citizens it's obscene. What is this obscenity? Shield your eyes children, for here it is:  Yes, it's a graphic novel. Personally, I'd maybe call this one R-rated. But apparently a couple library employees in Kentucky felt it was their duty to shield the community and an 11-year-old from being exposed to this execrable work, which was given a starred review by Publisher's Weekly and named as one of the 10 best graphic novels of 2007 by Time . Indeed, it was so insidious that it was necessary to pray over the reader to prevent the images from penetrating the purity of her mind. It's utterly laughable to me that a few drawings of boobs and copulation without parts visible would cause this sort of reaction. Don't get me wrong, I don't think an 11-year-old should read this. And having read the book myself, I don'...