A Boston Marathon official helps a runner thrown to the ground by the first blast.                                                     Photo by John Tlumacki, Boston Globe

“Train hard, fight easy.”

Banner hanging in Special Air Services Mess, Chelsea Barracks

Yesterday’s events in Boston have yet again brought into sharp focus the issue of bravery. Why is it that some display near-instant courage in the face of challenge or danger, while others, well… do not? Is it possible to practice being courageous? Could it be that by focusing on overcoming the inner obstacles we all face on a daily basis — the challenges Steven Pressfield in the War of Art calls, quite simply, Resistance — we can in fact become courageous?

Here are some thoughts on the subject. While I’m specifically addressing men in this video, the thoughts obviously apply equally to women.

A wonderful new electronic magazine is coming soon to a tablet, mobile device, or computer near you!

Back in the early 1990s, a fantastic TV series called Northern Exposure captured the hearts and imaginations of millions of folks around the world. Once a week viewers were transported to the mythical small town of Cicely, Alaska, a place where moose wandered down the main drag, a village populated by a compelling cast of characters who shared one thing in common: a desire to live on the very edge of civilization, as far away from the worries and stress of big city life as possible.

The popularity of Northern Exposure revealed a commonly-held longing among the Seekers among us — you know, the folks who love books like Lost Horizons and Treasure Island, people who ache for adventure, who pine to live in a place where they can find themselves, a place where they can both rediscover their place in the natural world, and enjoy the simple, meaningful things in life.

Well, there are places like that left in the world.

I’ve found one. It’s called Kaslo. And I’m happy to report, I live there.

Rather than create a new TV series, I’ve decided to create an interactive, electronic magazine, an “e-mag” that does for Kaslo and its denizens what Northern Exposure did for the fictional town of Cicely and its inhabitants.

Once a month, for a measly $1.99 an issue (or $19.99 for a 12-month subscription), you’ll get a hit of what it’s like to live in a place like this, through lively articles, spectacular art & photography, outstanding original fiction & non-fiction, poetry, music, and video. All served up in a gorgeous, interactive package. You may never pull off the Big Move out of the urban/suburban rat race that is your current reality: but at least you’ll be able to do so vicariously, once a month, thanks to KASLO – The Nirvana Chronicles!

If you can carve 12 minutes out of your busy day, dim the lights, pour yourself a nice glass of wine, get comfy and enjoy these suitably dark and wintry — but ultimately uplifting — outtakes from Northern Exposure.

And for those of you interested in a subscription, or would like to have me send a festive Christmas e-gift card to someone you know would love one, just drop me a line, at randy@netidea.com.

The Nirvana Chronicles – a new electronic magazine for folks who long for a better life!

There’s not a lot of good news out there these days. From global economic woes to Middle East meltdown, it’s easy to reach the conclusion we’re all headed for hell in a handbasket.

Ah, but wait a minute. Luckily, all is not gloom & doom. There’s plenty to celebrate in this life, too, from a granddaughter’s birthday to a mountain sunset; from a fabulous meal with good friends, to the gentle touch of a lover. The list is a long one, a fact often forgotten by most of us as we trudge glumly through another day of toil and trouble.

Enter The Nirvana Chronicles. A new electronic magazine, slated soon for launch for all those folks with iPads, iPhones, Kindles, and Android devices who are hungry for some uplifting, inspirational, silly, motivational, happy news for a change!

Help me spread a little joy!

OK, that’s nice. But why am I telling you this now, when the first issue isn’t ready yet? Because I’m looking for contributors. I’m looking for written submissions (you don’t have to be a pro, you just need to have something compelling/moving/fun/witty/inspirational to say), as well as terrific photos, videos, and audio (spoken word or music) for possible inclusion in Nirvana. Your content can range from the deeply personal to the sweepingly general. It could consist of a short poem or  a long article, a single snapshot or a photo essay, a 30-second video clip or a movie-length blockbuster, a live narration of you scaling your first mountain, or a version of you & your family sitting around a campfire singing Michael Row Your Boat Ashore!

The idea here is to create an online publication that people will flock to – because it’ll be intriguing, uplifting, informative, fun, and beautiful. The perfect antidote for the avalanche of grimness we’re constantly subjected to by “normal” media.

It’ll also be cheap – we haven’t fixed the monthly subscription price yet, but it will be less than $5.

So here’s your chance to be published, and to help make the world a slightly better place at the same time. What a great combo, right? Participating won’t make you rich – I can’t pay anyone for their submission – but it could help you out on the fame front! Seriously. One of the cool things about Nirvana is that its format will allow us to link to and/or promote you, your cause, your business, your latest project, whatever, tastefully embedded in your article/essay/caption. One more terrific way to let the world know what you’re up to.

Imagine you here.

Interested? Then all you have to do is drop me a line and say so. You can email me directly, at: randy@netidea.com. Or if you prefer to chat, give me a call, at (503) 545-8930. If you have an idea for a contribution, tell me about it. If you have some questions, fire away.

This is about as simple an opportunity as is ever likely to come your way to see yourself published in a well-designed, professionally published magazine, 21st century style. Just do it! And while you’re at it, spread the news to all your friends & family. Happiness does, after all, as Donavan reminded us back in the Sixties, tun in a circular motion. Together we can make The Nirvana Chronicles rock our world, and spread a little joy & hope in the process.

I look forward t hearing from you!

According to the ancient Tibetan/Chinese philosophy of Feng Shui, health is at the center of, well, everything. Unfortunately, many of us behave as if we just don’t get this. I’m sure any of you who are health care professionals are nodding in resigned agreement. If health interests you and you’re ready for a chuckle or two, check out this video from a recent live performance at British Columbia’s historic Langham Theatre — and here’s to your good health!

So, I started working on a novel last year, called Dodge, based on the whacky premise that developers would come into this part of the world with plans to destroy astonishingly beautiful and environmentally crucial creeks and rivers for profit (theirs, of course), and, even whackier, to build a crazy-ass ski resort on a rapidly receding glacier in the very heart of a pristine alpine wilderness, cradling crucial grizzly and mountain caribou habitat in its high altitude embrace. The book focuses on this admittedly far-fetched premise, and how an odd assortment of interesting characters who are drawn to live in such remote areas might respond.

I have such a vivid imagination.

Then along comes that wild & crazy gang of guys and gals, the British Columbia government, with their announcement that — wait for it — developers are to be allowed to build a fancy destination ski resort, smack-dab in the middle of the pristine alpine terrain you see in the photos above and below. Life, once again, imitating art.

I’m not quite sure why I’ve had such a passionate attachment to high places for most of my life, but it started at an early age. I still have a yellowed newspaper clipping, describing how a junior high school student (that would be me) organized a petition that persuaded the Oregon legislature to create a buffer zone around the fragile Mount Jefferson Wilderness Area, an amazingly beautiful chunk of the central Cascades, back in the mid-’60s.

I went on to climb all over the world, and have written several books on alpine themes, including The Mountains of Canada, Canada the Mountains, and The Naked Mountain. My wife, Janet, and I moved to British Columbia’s West Kootenays specifically to live in an area surrounded by spectacular mountain terrain. So when the chuckleheads in Victoria made their boneheaded announcement this past week, I was less than amused.

I suspect they’re going to be surprised at the vehemence of the public reaction. For my part, I’m pulling out the ol’ laptop, and together with the talented and driven Keith Liggett, who’s based on the other side of the Purcells in Fernie, what we hope will be a gorgeous and moving new book on the Jumbo Pass area is in the works. Intended as both a fundraiser for groups opposed to this crazed decision to allow the construction of a Euro-style resort in one of the most wonderful alpine areas left in “southern” North America, and a tangible reminder of the importance of wilderness in our lives, regardless of where we live, we hope to have the book (and a multimedia ebook) ready as soon as possible. So stay tuned.

In the meantime, here’s a brief video clip from an area adjacent to the Jumbo area, called Monica Meadows. It’s a nice reminder that joy and fun are to be found everywhere, certainly in the world’s high places. It also serves to give those of you who have never been here/there a taste of what you’re missing — and what is about to be paved, unless we do something about it. This clips stars the captivating Janet Mayfield, channeling Julie Andreas, and Scout the Wonder Dog. Make sure you really crank up the volume for this, the audio’s a bit weak (but the singing’s magnificent!)…

Look at all the room for some swell condos here!

Good grief.

Here comes another display of astonishing political short-sightedness. In the face of overwhelming local opposition — including everyone from residents to regional businesses to the Ktunaxa First Nation — a government, this time the benighted, anti-science, anti-environment, anti-people (hmmm... who’s left, I wonder?) government of British Columbia, has decided to allow yet another chunk of paradise to be paved.

This time it’s an area of unsurpassed alpine beauty nestled high in the Purcell Mountains, near and on the Jumbo Glacier, scheduled to be turned into a Euro-style destination alpine resort, with all the bells & whistles. Just like those swishy places in the Alps — you know, the rugged, mountainous core of central Europe, where the only remaining wildlife is the odd gaggle of drunken Brits on a cheap skiing holiday.

In its infinite wisdom, British Columbia’s government has given the go-ahead for the construction of a resort that will create precious few long term, high-paying jobs for British Columbians. Bored 18-year-old Aussies & Kiwis eager to get out and see the world on the cheap, keep your eyes peeled — those less-than-minimum-wage housekeeping, bartending, and lift operating jobs will be yours for the taking.

This development is so monumentally stupid, so astonishingly, breathtakingly ignorant, I scarcely know where to begin. Once I’ve calmed down a bit, I’ll craft another, more helpful post, with tips on how you can do something about this travesty, assuming you give a rat’s rear-end about namby-pamby things like, oh, say, the fate of the planet and the future of all living things on it.

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After 244 years in print, the Britannica says farewell

The Britannica‘s gone. And I say, “good riddance!”

If ever there was a poster child for the changes being wrought by the web specifically, and digital technologies generally, the Britannica was it. Its final edition, published in 2010, includes 32 volumes and sells for around $1,400. It will of course, never, ever be updated — although it must be said, it always took a long, long time for any of the previous editions to be updated, so never doesn’t seem much of a stretch.

Meanwhile it took only a couple of hours after the announcement was made at Britannica‘s Chicago HQ for word of the antiquated info-porkster’s demise to be reported and duly documented on Wikipedia. If the shoe had been on the other technological/editorial foot, we would have learned about the free, web-based “universal encyclopedia”‘s end in the pages of Britannica by, oh, say around 2020.

Some things cease to exist simply because they’re, well, stupid!

There have already been plenty of commentaries on the end of this venerable publication. The hippest amongst them point out (rightly, I think) that the Britannica‘s model — that of providing one voice (often, but certainly not always considered a leading expert) explaining The Truth, just doesn’t cut it. Knowledge, fed by research, vetted by peer review and the merciless crucible of the Real World, constantly changes. Making the approach taken by Wikipedia far better suited to keeping those who simply must know, properly up to speed at all time.

I would add another angle. For me, Britannica always represented a sort of upper middle class snootiness — if you didn’t have a set, it said something not very flattering about you and your family’s socio-economic position.

The company’s business model was ruthless, a classic example of aggressive, guilt-inducing, bottom-feeding capitalism of the worst kind.  I’m old enough to remember waves of merciless door-to-door encyclopedia salesmen sweeping regularly through our neighborhood, barging in and shaming countless working class families into shelling out what was for them a not-so-small fortune (“no problem, simply avail yourselves of our easy, monthly payment plan!”), desperate that their children have every chance to carve out a better life for themselves.

Of course, for most of us whose families did manage to acquire this Holy Grail of home reference works, once obtained, we scarcely cracked a cover, outside the occasional furtive search for articles on heady topics like Sexual Intercourse, the Kinsey Report, and Hitler’s Bunker.

In a world where it costs almost as much to send a book to someone as the book’s cover price, it’s little surprise the Britannica has gone where cowboys who smoke went before.

Adios, Marlboro Man. Vaya con Dios, Britannica

But let’s remember amidst all the inevitable nostalgia for “a simpler, less troubled time” (tell that to folks still alive who lived through Auschwitz or Pol Pot, or get on the ol’ sat phone and have a quick chat between mortar shell bursts and machine gun fire with anyone still alive in Homs), that Britannica never actually democratized knowledge. It merely provided those who owned it with the facade, the appearance they knew something those who didn’t have it didn’t know. It was a smug, dust-gathering reminder on the sagging bookshelf of one’s inherent superiority, a several-hundred-pound trophy that said to all who gazed upon its long row of gold-embossed spines, “these people have got it.” Literally.

Those who didn’t, or those who sported cheaper, less prestigious alternatives (mine was, sad to say, a World Book household), didn’t. Losers.

So after almost two-and-a-half centuries, no more print edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica. Good riddance. The Britannica is dead. Love live Wikipedia!

A fascinating thing has happened since I sent out some early review copies (books and ebooks) of Man Up In Ten Lessons. Actually, several fascinating things have emerged since then, but the most fascinating thing has been the feedback I’ve received from women. It seems as though more women than men think about — and are often worried about… men. Few of them seem concerned that a man might dare talk about subjects such as male courage and compassion, or even style and sex — they simply seem relieved that someone is talking about this stuff from a male point of view, and more than one woman has told me she intends to ensure a significant man in her life reads the book. Or else.

So I’ve made a momentous decision (well, perhaps momentous is a bit much, but a decision nonetheless): I’ve decided that, from here on in, most of my commentary on the state of being a man in the 21st century is going to be aimed at women. I’ll do my modest best to make up for all those tight-lipped, reticent, uncommunicative men in your life, the ones who never talk about their feelings, their hopes and fears, the guys who never chat with you about what makes them tick, the men whose behavior makes you wonder why you even bother.

Please don’t expect science here (but maybe a bit of pseudo science from time to time, just for the sheer fun of it). I’m simply going to draw upon my own considerable experience of being alive and male for several decades on several continents, and share my experiences, insights, and opinions with you, with as much wit, humor, and honesty as I’m able to muster. I know I don’t have to urge you to let me know how I’m doing. Or invite you to suggest topics of particular interest from time to time (as in, “why are men utterly unable to focus on more than one thing at a time?” or “what’s up with NASCAR?”). But consider yourself urged and invited anyway.

OK, so here’s my first salvo: men can be romantic. It just doesn’t come naturally to most of us, at least not as naturally as things such as watching sports on television or constantly checking our zippers even when we know they’re up. We just need to be nudged in the right direction. You know, like after listening to a Jack Johnson ballad, turn to your significant other and say something like “I’ll bet you a six-pack of Sam Adams you can’t write a love song like that for me!”

Here is an actual example of what may happen when you do this. And remember, it’s the thought that counts…

RANDY MORSE – Janet

If you’re closing in on 30 (or 40) and still have Luke Skywalker posters on your bedroom wall, it may well be time to Man Up

I’ve gotten some interesting feedback lately. Specifically from a guy who feels I’m a self-important, self-absorbed egoist for having the temerity to make pronouncements on what constitutes a “real man”these days.

In fairness to all concerned, this fellow hasn’t actually read my book yet (that’d be Man Up in Ten Lessons), or, as far as I know, read a blog I’ve written or a video I’ve produced. So he can’t know that my goal is to simply suggest a few ways men can go about becoming more comfortable in their own skins. Just being a man, period, would do nicely for most guys. He simply assumes, from the book’s title and cover,  that I’m a pompous windbag, embarrassingly full of myself, etc.etc. — you get the picture.

Now I may well be a pompous windbag (God, I hope not) — but to assume there isn’t something going on with men these days, something not-so-good, to assume all’s well on the man front, is to run the risk of being laughed out of the room.

Neal Gabler, writing in the Los Angeles Times (“Day of the Lout“), worries that the primary role model for young American men today is The Lout:

The lout is not exactly a reversion to the old macho stereotype. He isn’t tough, muscular, steely, monosyllabic, able to build a car engine or a house single-handedly or sail around the world solo. He’s not a sophisticate either, a Dos Equis most-interesting-man-the-world type. He doesn’t dress to the nines or know his wines or drive a Porsche, and he isn’t able to make witty cocktail party repartee. A lout is someone who is proudly stuck in a kind of adolescent parody of manhood that conflates insensitivity and machismo.

Louts luxuriate in their lack of sophistication. Louts travel in packs or just hang out with one another. Louts dress in T-shirts and jeans and eschew fashion. Louts guzzle beer rather than sip wine, and they are most likely to be spotted in bars or lounging on living room couches watching football. Louts don’t talk feelings; they talk sports and beer. Louts have few needs and no shackles. Above all, louts may ogle women and snicker about them, but women are pointedly never their top priority. At most, women are objects, just like in the old days. That’s the revenge part. Louts don’t have to make any concessions to women. Louts barely need women. Just give a lout a Bud and his buds and he’s happy.

Meanwhile, Kay Hymowitz, author of Manning Up: How the Rise of Women Has Turned Men Into Boys, describes great swaths of young North American men as “pre-adult” males, like actors in a play who only know the lines they are not to say:

[The pre-adult male] has to compete in a fierce job market, but he can’t act too bossy or self-confident. He should be sensitive but not paternalistic, smart but not cocky. To deepen his predicament, because he is single, his advisers and confidants are generally undomesticated guys just like him.

Single men have never been civilization’s most responsible actors; they continue to be more troubled and less successful than men who deliberately choose to become husbands and fathers. So we can be disgusted if some of them continue to live in rooms decorated with “Star Wars” posters and crushed beer cans and to treat women like disposable estrogen toys, but we shouldn’t be surprised.

Relatively affluent, free of family responsibilities, and entertained by an array of media devoted to his every pleasure, the single young man can live in pig heaven—and often does. Women put up with him for a while, but then in fear and disgust either give up on any idea of a husband and kids or just go to a sperm bank and get the DNA without the troublesome man. But these rational choices on the part of women only serve to legitimize men’s attachment to the sand box. Why should they grow up? No one needs them anyway. There’s nothing they have to do.

They might as well just have another beer.

Then there’s Tamara Shayne, who muses that tens of millions of North American men have become lazy, and have lost any compelling reason to demonstrate courage in their daily lives:

Lastly, the reason this generation of foolish lazy men has become an epidemic has to do with bravery. Women, going back for centuries, have been drawn to courageous men. The problem is that up until very recently, that used to mean something. Bravery used to mean being brave in a situation that called for it – fighting the draft, fighting for our country, standing up to other men in fights, risking your neck at your job in dangerous working conditions. But now, no one has to be brave anymore. We’ve created a world that has eliminated all risk and when there’s no risk, why would you ever need to face fear? So how can men show they are brave now? By going on Jackass! Technically I mean the show, but really if you’re just willing to act like one, that’s good enough for us. Get kicked out of a club, bully the weak, talk like Beavis and Butthead, imitate Jim Carey, revel in being fat, steal Stop signs. Flouting social conventions is one of the few ways left for a man to demonstrate courage. Which basically means, the stupider you act, the more your buddies will high five you, and the more women will buy into this notion that you are doing something manly. It seems so outrageous but I’ve seen it with my own eyes so many times; guys act stupid and girls mistake this for machismo and encourage the behavior. If you think this isn’t true, take a trip to any frat house in this country.

Clearly, I’m not making this stuff up. And as for the “who the hell do you think you are?” critique, my answer is simply this: I’m a guy who’s lived more than six decades, and therefor have some observations to dole out and some tales to tell. And as far as I can tell, there are a whole lot of men out there (and a lot of women, too) who are looking for a bit of guidance in these oh-so confusing, troubled times.

So there.