Tagged: mca

adamyauch2

zen and the art of being more like adam yauch

I still can’t settle on a headline capitalization policy.

It’s 11:45.  Between the supermoon and our city’s version of Mardi Gras I ain’t sleepin’.  My brother-in-law is in town helping remodel my mother’s bathroom, so every room in the house with upholstered seating has a slumbering human in it.  I’m holed up in the half bath, wide awake and worried about loud typing.  The woman who was literally howling for four hours straight finally quit as Vlad’s creepy snoring started up.

Jenny is so awake.

Earlier, I read this Adam Yauch profile at The Awl.  Turns out Dave Bry has what it takes to win a round of Six Degrees of MCA.  He talks about Yauch’s gracefulness in accepting his cancer diagnosis.  I’m not surprised.  My rudimentary knowledge of Buddhism tells me they believe in rebirth and that human life in itself is suffering.

What I found more notable was Yauch’s ease in regards to his own growth as a human being.  The Beastie Boys I invoked in yesterday’s post were superficial party boys without much regard for respecting people or thinking too deeply about much of anything.  Yauch was all in, yet we watched him mature to be a man of impeccable integrity.  Bry remarks that Yauch was open, honest, at peace and very matter of fact about his past.  Another tenet of Buddhism is not dwelling on the past.  I assume this attitude of his that I envy…

There’s movement.  I’m definitely typing too loud.  Oh, faster makes it worse. Switching bathrooms.  I’m back.

is due to his faith.  I don’t dwell on the past, but I also find the cliche about not regretting your mistakes because they made you who you are today complete and utter bullshit.  I’ve done things that have really hurt people in ways I’ll never make amends for.  We all have.  It is what it is, but it’s not okay.  It’s not worth it, and I find any other sentiment offensive.  It’s self-centered.  These things don’t define me or effect my life in any meaningful way, but they will always bug me.  they eat at me a little, and  I don’t know that I want to be the kind of person not bugged by these things.

But Yauch seemed to accept himself, almost compartmentalized it.  That would come in pretty handy.  It’s odd how in many other areas of my life I find compartmentalizing a little too easy.

That’s it.  No neat conclusion this time.  Just needed to get those sheep counted.

This Rolling Stone interview from 1998 addresses Yauch’s journey to Buddhism and what it meant to him.

Update: “You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of the night to write.” 
Saul Bellow

That’s the only reason this piece of crap is still here.  Blame it on the big emo supermoon.

 

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Adam Yauch

RIP MCA: a beautiful contradiction

It’s one of those things you always remember.  Where you were when you first heard/fell in love with the Beastie Boys.  For me it was at a kickball game in East Moline, Illinois in what must have been 1987.  I know it was fifth grade because of who was there.  License to Ill, specifically Brass Monkey.  I picked up a new copy a few months ago, and we had no business listening to that.  It’s gloriously vulgar, yet innocent, like adolescent boys with makeshift dry bars and panty-related agendas tend to be.

There aren’t many non-people things I’ve held on to consistently since then.  Perhaps unconditional love for the Chicago Cubs (shut up) and the midwest.  For most of my generation the Beastie Boys were responsible for a huge part of the soundtrack of our youth.  As grown as we get cranking License to Ill, Paul’s Boutique or Check Your Head can, for a moment, take us back to an unincumbered, debaucherous and oddly innocent time, despite knowing the music was made by three pretty deep and thoughtful guys.  Maybe that’s what makes it ok.

Today we lost Adam Yauch, MCA, to cancer at age 47.  A beautiful contradiction.  He leaves behind a wife, teenage daughter, his good works and an abbreviated lifetime of art that will continue to challenge us and provide us a reprieve from our adult woes.

crossposted at The Hunter S. Thompson Memorial Menstrual Shed and Champagne Room

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