The Soloist – A True Story


soloistposterThe Soloist, starring Jamie Foxx and Robert Downey Jr. is based on a remarkable and true story about Nathaniel Anthony Ayers (Jamie Foxx), a musician who was considered one of the most talented students to  attend the Julliard School of Music and who became schizophrenic.  At age twenty-one Ayres was attending Julliard School of Music when he suffered what appeared to be a nervous breakdown and ended up institutionalized and then homeless.

In the movie Robert Downey Jr. plays the role of Steve Lopez, a columnist for the Los Angeles Times who discovers and writes about Nathaniel Ayers for the LA Times. The Soloist moved from true story, to newspaper column, to book, to hopefully, a great movie. It’s a movie about mental illness, friendship and compassion. I predict The Soloist will be a touching and inspirational movie to all who need a less explosive life around April 24th, 2009, the new scheduled opening date.

Click here to see a video of the real Nathaniel Anthony Ayers and the real Steve Lopez

J.K. Rowling Harvard Commencement Speech Part 1 – June 5 2008


JK Rowling, June 2008

President Faust, members of the Harvard Corporation and the Board of Overseers, members of the faculty, proud parents, and, above all, graduates.

The first thing I would like to say is ‘thank you.’ Not only has Harvard given me an extraordinary honour, but the weeks of fear and nausea I’ve experienced at the thought of giving this commencement address have made me lose weight. A win-win situation! Now all I have to do is take deep breaths, squint at the red banners and fool myself into believing I am at the world’s best-educated Harry Potter convention.

Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility; or so I thought until I cast my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her speech has helped me enormously in writing this one, because it turns out that I can’t remember a single word she said. This liberating discovery enables me to proceed without any fear that I might inadvertently influence you to abandon promising careers in business, law or politics for the giddy delights of becoming a gay wizard.

You see? If all you remember in years to come is the ‘gay wizard’ joke, I’ve still come out ahead of Baroness Mary Warnock. Achievable goals: the first step towards personal improvement.

Actually, I have wracked my mind and heart for what I ought to say to you today. I have asked myself what I wish I had known at my own graduation, and what important lessons I have learned in the 21 years that has expired between that day and this.

I have come up with two answers. On this wonderful day when we are gathered together to celebrate your academic success, I have decided to talk to you about the benefits of failure. And as you stand on the threshold of what is sometimes called ‘real life’, I want to extol the crucial importance of imagination.

These might seem quixotic or paradoxical choices, but please bear with me.

Looking back at the 21-year-old that I was at graduation, is a slightly uncomfortable experience for the 42-year-old that she has become. Half my lifetime ago, I was striking an uneasy balance between the ambition I had for myself, and what those closest to me expected of me.

I was convinced that the only thing I wanted to do, ever, was to write novels. However, my parents, both of whom came from impoverished backgrounds and neither of whom had been to college, took the view that my overactive imagination was an amusing personal quirk that could never pay a mortgage, or secure a pension.

They had hoped that I would take a vocational degree; I wanted to study English Literature. A compromise was reached that in retrospect satisfied nobody, and I went up to study Modern Languages. Hardly had my parents’ car rounded the corner at the end of the road than I ditched German and scuttled off down the Classics corridor.

I cannot remember telling my parents that I was studying Classics; they might well have found out for the first time on graduation day. Of all subjects on this planet, I think they would have been hard put to name one less useful than Greek mythology when it came to securing the keys to an executive bathroom.

I would like to make it clear, in parenthesis, that I do not blame my parents for their point of view. There is an expiry date on blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you. What is more, I cannot criticise my parents for hoping that I would never experience poverty. They had been poor themselves, and I have since been poor, and I quite agree with them that it is not an ennobling experience. Poverty entails fear, and stress, and sometimes depression; it means a thousand petty humiliations and hardships. Climbing out of poverty by your own efforts, that is indeed something on which to pride yourself, but poverty itself is romanticised only by fools.

What I feared most for myself at your age was not poverty, but failure.

At your age, in spite of a distinct lack of motivation at university, where I had spent far too long in the coffee bar writing stories, and far too little time at lectures, I had a knack for passing examinations, and that, for years, had been the measure of success in my life and that of my peers.

I am not dull enough to suppose that because you are young, gifted and well-educated, you have never known hardship or heartbreak. Talent and intelligence never yet inoculated anyone against the caprice of the Fates, and I do not for a moment suppose that everyone here has enjoyed an existence of unruffled privilege and contentment.

However, the fact that you are graduating from Harvard suggests that you are not very well-acquainted with failure. You might be driven by a fear of failure quite as much as a desire for success. Indeed, your conception of failure might not be too far from the average person’s idea of success, so high have you already flown academically.

Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it. So I think it fair to say that by any conventional measure, a mere seven years after my graduation day, I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short-lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless. The fears my parents had had for me, and that I had had for myself, had both come to pass, and by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew.

Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one, and I had no idea that there was going to be what the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution. I had no idea how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality.

So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had already been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all – in which case, you fail by default.

Failure gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will, and more discipline than I had suspected; I also found out that I had friends whose value was truly above rubies. The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive.

George Carlin (1937 – 2008) a Tribute in Blog


George Carlin

George Carlin died on June 22nd, 2008 from heart failure at age 71. He would be missed by many, not missed by a few, and the rest perhaps did not know about George Carlin until the news of his death appeared on Yahoo and MSN under the entertainment section. George Carlin graced many stages, made HBO worth paying for and won four Grammy awards for comedy albums, which I am ashamed to say I did not buy any of because I thought both he and I would live forever. Now I will have to contribute to his estate.

George Carlin was a brilliant American standup comedian, actor and author who spoke bluntly about the quirks of pop culture and life. George Carlin’s style and frankness made people laugh but offended those who needed to be offended. His motto was “I think it’s the duty of the comedian to find out where the line is drawn and cross it deliberately.”

I am sure there would be hundreds of tributes paid to George Carlin both in print and in blog. This blog is paying tribute to George Carlin not because his death reminded me he was once alive but because it reminded me I have one of his books to read, which I will only identify as ISBN 1401301347. I will start the book tonight because death generally reminds me what time is all about and why saving the best underwear for that special occasion is a mistake.

I will end with some quotes by George Carlin:

Think of how stupid the average person is, and realize half of them are stupider than that.

Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac?

“I am” is reportedly the shortest sentence in the English language. Could it be that “I do” is the longest sentence?

Some national parks have long waiting lists for camping reservations. When you have to wait a year to sleep next to a tree, something is wrong.

If a man is standing in the middle of the forest speaking and there is no woman around to hear him… is he still wrong?

If you try to fail, and succeed, which have you done?

If you can’t beat them, arrange to have them beaten.

When someone is impatient and says, “I haven’t got all day,” I always wonder how can that be? How can you not have all day?

Fighting for peace is like screwing for virginity.

I credit that eight years of grammar school with nourishing me in a direction where I could trust myself and trust my instincts. They gave me the tools to reject my faith. They taught me to question and think for myself and to believe in my instincts to such an extent that I just said, “This is a wonderful fairy tale they have going here, but it’s not for me.”

At a formal dinner party, the person nearest death should always be seated closest to the bathroom.

The End