Summer at the midpoint

Fleeting, fleeting summer. Here we are, just a month out before school begins again (and Ayla goes to kindergarten).

School, of course, has not been too far away. I spent a week in Bowling Green for an AP Institute (to learn how to teach AP Literature & Composition). It was actually very productive, thanks to our instructor Danny Lawrence. I enjoyed some good meals as well. I will never look at cornbread, garlic mashed potatoes or prime rib the same after Montana Grille, and if there's a higher deity that loves me, Zaxby's will come to Louisville one of these days.

I also have been reading up for a Myths & Legends class that I'll be teaching for the first time next year. I hope to include some discussion of urban legends, especially local ones. (After all, the tools for discerning an urban legend as true or untrue are the same for determining any source is credible.) One of the sources for memorable folklore is a book Weird Kentucky; I definitely recommend it. Oh, and I'm sure Joseph Campbell will make its way into the curriculum . . .

But enough about school. April and I enjoyed our trip to Memphis over Memorial Day weekend. As planned, we hit Graceland, Sun Studios and the National Civil Rights Museum. Strangely, I felt more excited and closer to Elvis at Sun than I did at his home. As for the NCRM, it's a must if you're in the area. The museum is one of the best I've ever visited, and I can't describe how moved I was, looking into room 306 of the Lorraine Motel. On a lighter note, we were glad to have the chance to walk Beale Street and ate some of the best ribs ever at Charles Vergos' Rendezvous.

Going to the Outer Banks was amazing as well. A 12 hour drive was a bit much, although renting a mini-van helped, and Ayla really was a trooper. (On the way there, we stopped by Grand Caverns, Virginia and took a tour, so that gave us a chance to stretch our legs. Beautiful cave!) It felt good to touch the ocean -- and once Ayla got over her apprehension about the power of the waves, she enjoyed it as well. April, Ayla and I climbed Currituck Lighthouse, ascended the dunes at Jockey's Ridge, ambled around the Elizabethan Gardens, huffed around the Wright Brothers Memorial (the mound with the monument is a bit of a hike!) and saw the wild horses of Corolla in person, thanks to a 4 x 4 tour. All in all, pretty fantastic.

Canada is coming soon -- our last big trip of the summer. As long as we get to spend time with our friends Dan and Amy, and take a peek at Niagra Falls and the CN Tower, I'll be happy. After our 12 hour driving adventure, driving 9 up to Paris, Ontario will be a cakewalk.

What else to discuss? Oh yes, the big news of Michael Jackon's death. Have to admit, I got pulled in and watched the memorial live from the Staples Center, so I'm guilty of gawking as well. It's interesting, and sad, that MJ hasn't been on the blip of pop culture for years (indeed, I only found out about his 50 sold out London shows after he died), but when he died, all sins were forgiven by the public and his albums are charting again. How ironic that his current post-mortem album sales may erase his blossoming debt! Look, even if MJ was innocent of specific child molestation charges, he clearly is guilty of horrible judgment and decisions when it came to children. In addition to that, more than likely his death was the result of drug abuse. Should I feel sorry for a multi-millionaire that used drugs to kill the pain of his life? Certainly, he suffered; MJ's father got what he wanted, but what a price. In the end, it's hard to feel sorry for Jackson, if only for one reason: his children. When the world apparently stopped loving him unconditionally, he decided to become a father three times over to fill that void. I'm sure he really loved them, and did his best to raise them. But here's the deal. Jackson chose drugs, which had the chance of killing him, over his children. Because of that choice, with half or more of their child years ahead of them, they'll now be fatherless. And that's the part that guiles me most about Michael Jackson. It's a tragedy, and yes, I'm sure he had personal demons that were nearly impossible to fight -- but in the end, his choices led to three kids without a dad.

So why did I watch the memorial, and despite all of that, still had a twinge of pity for him? When I think of Jackson, I think of Thriller on cassette, playing "Billie Jean" over and over. Watching "Thriller" on MTV and always getting freaked out when he crumples to the ground while his date asks is he's okay -- and then he looks up with those frickin' yellow eyes. (Really, was that video appropriate in the middle of the MTV day for a nine-year old kid?) But mainly, when I think of Jackson, I think of my 1980's youth. Jackson wanted to stay childlike forever, and symbolically, even tragically, it seems he finally paid the price for that desire. When he died, I realized, part of my youth died too. I have a feeling a lot of people around the world felt the same way.