Well, I'm back and its damn well time I was. I've let this thing slide for a few months now; something I promised myself I wouldn't do. Its now 2010, and I, for one, am glad to see 2009 slip away. With the exception of a handful of things that happened at the very end of the year, I would write 2009 off as a colossal waste.
Christmas was okay. I spent far too much time in Huntsville, which seemed like a good idea at the time. Mom was a delight, but Dad's temper is fraying badly and I'm not going through that by myself again. Next year they can come to Seattle. From a strictly material sense, I made out like a bandit this Christmas. Julie, Scott, and the folks were amazingly indulgent this year. I look forward to getting a job to where I can once again afford nice gifts for them as well.
Yes, its nice to be back in Seattle. I referred to it as "home" to my Dad and I think it made him somewhat sad. Admittedly, without Julie and Scott, I wouldn't be here, but I am feeling more and more at home here each year.
It was nice to see some old friends in Alabama though. I had a particularly lovely visit with my old college friends, Jay and Anissa Webb. Jay has started his own voice over business and so he and I compared notes and he very kindly gave me a ton of information. More over, he's inspired me to try again with dialects on demand and stay in touch with him as a sort of life line for the two of us. He's a very giving person and I'm greatly appreciative.
Next to getting the company back up and productive is getting myself back up and running. I have got to hit the gym once more despite the daunting knowledge that I'm basically starting over. Again. Oh well, they tell me life is a journey and not a goal.
Okay, that's enough to satisfy the demons of inactivity. Time for bed.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Random Thoughts...
No particular reason to put metaphorical pen to paper tonight, just felt the need to move forward with my blogging even if it is in infinitesimal amounts. Maybe going forward is all there is.
Had a very nice Thanksgiving with my friends, Steve and Carolyn. We watched "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving," which Carolyn had never seen before and then I introduced them to "Castle." I think they're hooked. I feel like I've spread the Gospel. It was a lovely time and I was very grateful they had invited me.
In one week's time I'll be back in Huntsville. I'm very excited at the prospect, yet a bit leery of not being able to access everything in cyberspace there that I'm used to from my desk here. Will I be able to blog? Will I have access to Face book? I'm appalled and amazed that I ever thought these would be serious questions that I would have. It just goes to show how much I've embraced web technology ... as least in as far as I understand it.
I'm tentatively planning on staying Alabama until the middle of January or so. Of course, my planning may be moot if I land a job in the next four weeks. It'll be nice to see some of my old friends. I'm disappointed that Ronnie will be away this Christmas, visiting his wife's relatives in California. I'm used to always having him there for Christmas Eve dinner. Oh well, things change.
My sister and brother-in-law have been in India since November 19th and while I've enjoyed the privacy and solitude, I'm ready for them to come home. I know Titan is. He misses his mom and dad and gets antsy at not having more play time during the day. Well, perhaps more accurately, he misses not having multiple playmates. He's my buddy and I'll miss him greatly while I'm gone.
I bought a book on plot development that looks very promising. I'm hoping it'll help kick-start my writing. With any luck I might have to buy a small notebook to write in for the trip home. I'm looking forward to studying the book in the coming days.
Okay, that's enough for now. Sleepy.
Had a very nice Thanksgiving with my friends, Steve and Carolyn. We watched "A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving," which Carolyn had never seen before and then I introduced them to "Castle." I think they're hooked. I feel like I've spread the Gospel. It was a lovely time and I was very grateful they had invited me.
In one week's time I'll be back in Huntsville. I'm very excited at the prospect, yet a bit leery of not being able to access everything in cyberspace there that I'm used to from my desk here. Will I be able to blog? Will I have access to Face book? I'm appalled and amazed that I ever thought these would be serious questions that I would have. It just goes to show how much I've embraced web technology ... as least in as far as I understand it.
I'm tentatively planning on staying Alabama until the middle of January or so. Of course, my planning may be moot if I land a job in the next four weeks. It'll be nice to see some of my old friends. I'm disappointed that Ronnie will be away this Christmas, visiting his wife's relatives in California. I'm used to always having him there for Christmas Eve dinner. Oh well, things change.
My sister and brother-in-law have been in India since November 19th and while I've enjoyed the privacy and solitude, I'm ready for them to come home. I know Titan is. He misses his mom and dad and gets antsy at not having more play time during the day. Well, perhaps more accurately, he misses not having multiple playmates. He's my buddy and I'll miss him greatly while I'm gone.
I bought a book on plot development that looks very promising. I'm hoping it'll help kick-start my writing. With any luck I might have to buy a small notebook to write in for the trip home. I'm looking forward to studying the book in the coming days.
Okay, that's enough for now. Sleepy.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Superheroes...
Tonight I just feel the need to write. Which, I guess, is a good sign if I take it to mean that I'm slowly making my writing a habit. (If I ever hope to actually finish writing the pulp serial I have in mind this will obviously be crucial.)
It's all about the discipline.
Now that I put the pieces together I can see a metaphorical pattern uncloak in front of me. Self-discipline; what my father has, preached, and habitually pointed out to me that I lacked. And, in hindsight he was right. If I'd had more self-discipline I'd have graduated school on time with better grades. I'd have a good career by now... I guess I just chose to exercise my will in other directions.
I'm pleased to say that I *did* come through in some cases though. After being kicked out of school I reapplied and graduated with a 3.87 in my major. I proved to myself that with an iron will I could go on a sphincter-tightening diet for 10 weeks and lose close to 30 pounds. I would suppose that the problem is that I only picked and chose which battles to see through.
Odd, now that I think about it: my strong desire to write manifesting itself in idea for a series of connected pulp-style adventure stories set in the 1920's. But, those who know me well know I've always had a soft spot for the classic superheroes or mystery men. "The Shadow," "Batman," "Doc Savage," "John Carter," "Solomon Kane," Phillip Marlowe. There was purity about them despite their human flaws. A sense of purpose and a code of conduct that I can relate to and admire. "Down these mean streets a man must go..."
I'm sure that, by today's standards, they'd be considered archaic and quaint to the point of absurdity (well, not Batman, Frank Miller saw to that) but that's why I see them and their breed as timeless archetypes for the knight errant. Especially Solomon Kane; if ever there was smoke in search in fire it was him.
* For those not familiar with Robert E. Howard's character, Solomon Kane, here's a primer to help illustrate my point. Howard biographer writes, "Kane is an Elizabethan Englishman, adventurer, privateer, swordsman, duelist, soldier-of-fortune, world-traveler, explorer, religious fanatic. He is a strange, sinister, mysterious figure; tall, lean, dour, ascetic, garbed all in black. His quests constantly involve with rescues and vengeance, and his stage is the world -- often remote and fantastic. He is the contemporary and friend of Francis Drake, of Walter Raleigh, of Richard Grenville, of Henry of Navarre.
Kane is known far and wide as 'God's angry man.' ..."
Glen Lord adds, "A Puritan, he has a penchant for righting of wrongs done to others. His superhuman efforts and energies and successes are related directly to his fanaticism. Howard paints him as a sombre, black-clad swordsman, searching for something he may never find."
My favorite Kane story is entitled, "Red Shadows," and I can think of no better way to both introduce and explain Solomon Kane than by reprinting part of the first chapter:
Kane comes upon a small French village that has been looted and burned. While investigating, he finds the body of a young woman, not quite dead.
" 'The fires of hades!' he murmured. 'A girl! What has harmed you, child? Be not afraid of me.' The girl looked up at him, her face like a dim white rose in the dark.
'You -- who are -- you?' her words came in gasps.
'Naught but a wanderer, a landless man, but a friend to all in need.' The gentle voice sounded somehow incongruous, coming from the man.
The girl sought to prop herself up on her elbow, and instantly he knelt and raised her to a sitting position, her head resting against his shoulder. His hand touched her breast and came away red and wet. 'Tell me.' His voice was soft, soothing, as one speaks to a babe.
'Le Loup,' she gasped, her voice swiftly growing weaker. 'He and his men -- descended upon our village -- a mile up the valley. They robbed --slew -- burned--'
'That, then, was the smoke I scented,' muttered the man, 'Go on, child.'
'I ran. He, the Wolf, pursued me -- and -- caught me --' The words died away in a shuddering silence.
'I understand, child. Then --?'
'Then -- he -- stabbed me -- with his dagger -- oh, blessed saints! -- mercy--'
Suddenly the slim form went limp. The man eased her to the earth, and touched her brow lightly.
'Dead!' he muttered.
Slowly he rose, mechanically wiping his hands upon his cloak. A dark scowl had settled on his somber brow. Yet he made no wild, reckless vow, swore no oaths by saints or devils.
'Men shall die for this,' he said coldly. "
Now THAT is a sense of purpose. He didn't have to check his PDA to see if he could squeeze vengeance into his schedule. He didn't worry or wonder if it was the right thing to do or whether he should get involved; he simply chose and acted upon it without hesitation.
Things were simpler. I grant that this is a work of fiction, but you see my point: the heroes from the pulp era knew right from wrong and did the right thing. They had a code of conduct that they lived and died by. The sad thing is, my father raised me with a very similar code. He was raised by an old Texas Ranger and taught to shoot from the hip by an old gunslinger. Both these men imparted "the code" to my father, who passed it along to me.
The problem is that it does not fit into today's society. It's antiquated. Archaic. Like the code of Bushido, not only misunderstood by a great part of Western society, but laughed at by the ignorant: You try and behave with honor and discretion at all times. You protect the weak, avenge the abused, help those in need, take advantage of no one, stand by your friends and always, ALWAYS honor your word.
It and being a man were synonymous.
My sister calls my version of this Code "a knight complex." Smoke in search of fire. I think she feels I'm naively trying to fit the 21st century world around a 19th century system of behavior. It's certainly been pointed out to me many times before that I'm a "Superhero wannabe." It's true: I'd love to be "The Shadow," or "Doc Savage," with a simple purpose of righting wrongs and helping those in need. I've never tolerated bullies well. I've been punched out more than once while attempting to protect those victims who were weaker than I was. But the important thing, the crucial thing was that SOMEONE had to stand against the "bad guys." Even if you were outnumbered and outgunned, the getting back up was what mattered.
So, I guess, I'm Don Quixote and will have to live with it.
Anyway. It all serves to drive home the point that I need to get back to some self-discipline. The gym, my diet, getting my business off the ground, writing my serial.
Okay, I feel a bit better. Cathartic.
Time for bed.
It's all about the discipline.
Now that I put the pieces together I can see a metaphorical pattern uncloak in front of me. Self-discipline; what my father has, preached, and habitually pointed out to me that I lacked. And, in hindsight he was right. If I'd had more self-discipline I'd have graduated school on time with better grades. I'd have a good career by now... I guess I just chose to exercise my will in other directions.
I'm pleased to say that I *did* come through in some cases though. After being kicked out of school I reapplied and graduated with a 3.87 in my major. I proved to myself that with an iron will I could go on a sphincter-tightening diet for 10 weeks and lose close to 30 pounds. I would suppose that the problem is that I only picked and chose which battles to see through.
Odd, now that I think about it: my strong desire to write manifesting itself in idea for a series of connected pulp-style adventure stories set in the 1920's. But, those who know me well know I've always had a soft spot for the classic superheroes or mystery men. "The Shadow," "Batman," "Doc Savage," "John Carter," "Solomon Kane," Phillip Marlowe. There was purity about them despite their human flaws. A sense of purpose and a code of conduct that I can relate to and admire. "Down these mean streets a man must go..."
I'm sure that, by today's standards, they'd be considered archaic and quaint to the point of absurdity (well, not Batman, Frank Miller saw to that) but that's why I see them and their breed as timeless archetypes for the knight errant. Especially Solomon Kane; if ever there was smoke in search in fire it was him.
* For those not familiar with Robert E. Howard's character, Solomon Kane, here's a primer to help illustrate my point. Howard biographer writes, "Kane is an Elizabethan Englishman, adventurer, privateer, swordsman, duelist, soldier-of-fortune, world-traveler, explorer, religious fanatic. He is a strange, sinister, mysterious figure; tall, lean, dour, ascetic, garbed all in black. His quests constantly involve with rescues and vengeance, and his stage is the world -- often remote and fantastic. He is the contemporary and friend of Francis Drake, of Walter Raleigh, of Richard Grenville, of Henry of Navarre.
Kane is known far and wide as 'God's angry man.' ..."
Glen Lord adds, "A Puritan, he has a penchant for righting of wrongs done to others. His superhuman efforts and energies and successes are related directly to his fanaticism. Howard paints him as a sombre, black-clad swordsman, searching for something he may never find."
My favorite Kane story is entitled, "Red Shadows," and I can think of no better way to both introduce and explain Solomon Kane than by reprinting part of the first chapter:
Kane comes upon a small French village that has been looted and burned. While investigating, he finds the body of a young woman, not quite dead.
" 'The fires of hades!' he murmured. 'A girl! What has harmed you, child? Be not afraid of me.' The girl looked up at him, her face like a dim white rose in the dark.
'You -- who are -- you?' her words came in gasps.
'Naught but a wanderer, a landless man, but a friend to all in need.' The gentle voice sounded somehow incongruous, coming from the man.
The girl sought to prop herself up on her elbow, and instantly he knelt and raised her to a sitting position, her head resting against his shoulder. His hand touched her breast and came away red and wet. 'Tell me.' His voice was soft, soothing, as one speaks to a babe.
'Le Loup,' she gasped, her voice swiftly growing weaker. 'He and his men -- descended upon our village -- a mile up the valley. They robbed --slew -- burned--'
'That, then, was the smoke I scented,' muttered the man, 'Go on, child.'
'I ran. He, the Wolf, pursued me -- and -- caught me --' The words died away in a shuddering silence.
'I understand, child. Then --?'
'Then -- he -- stabbed me -- with his dagger -- oh, blessed saints! -- mercy--'
Suddenly the slim form went limp. The man eased her to the earth, and touched her brow lightly.
'Dead!' he muttered.
Slowly he rose, mechanically wiping his hands upon his cloak. A dark scowl had settled on his somber brow. Yet he made no wild, reckless vow, swore no oaths by saints or devils.
'Men shall die for this,' he said coldly. "
Now THAT is a sense of purpose. He didn't have to check his PDA to see if he could squeeze vengeance into his schedule. He didn't worry or wonder if it was the right thing to do or whether he should get involved; he simply chose and acted upon it without hesitation.
Things were simpler. I grant that this is a work of fiction, but you see my point: the heroes from the pulp era knew right from wrong and did the right thing. They had a code of conduct that they lived and died by. The sad thing is, my father raised me with a very similar code. He was raised by an old Texas Ranger and taught to shoot from the hip by an old gunslinger. Both these men imparted "the code" to my father, who passed it along to me.
The problem is that it does not fit into today's society. It's antiquated. Archaic. Like the code of Bushido, not only misunderstood by a great part of Western society, but laughed at by the ignorant: You try and behave with honor and discretion at all times. You protect the weak, avenge the abused, help those in need, take advantage of no one, stand by your friends and always, ALWAYS honor your word.
It and being a man were synonymous.
My sister calls my version of this Code "a knight complex." Smoke in search of fire. I think she feels I'm naively trying to fit the 21st century world around a 19th century system of behavior. It's certainly been pointed out to me many times before that I'm a "Superhero wannabe." It's true: I'd love to be "The Shadow," or "Doc Savage," with a simple purpose of righting wrongs and helping those in need. I've never tolerated bullies well. I've been punched out more than once while attempting to protect those victims who were weaker than I was. But the important thing, the crucial thing was that SOMEONE had to stand against the "bad guys." Even if you were outnumbered and outgunned, the getting back up was what mattered.
So, I guess, I'm Don Quixote and will have to live with it.
Anyway. It all serves to drive home the point that I need to get back to some self-discipline. The gym, my diet, getting my business off the ground, writing my serial.
Okay, I feel a bit better. Cathartic.
Time for bed.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
An Old Conundrum...
So, I'm musing over the age-old question: why do bad things happen to good people? This was brought sharply to mind after chatting with an old and dear friend online yesterday and I learned of all the tribulations she and her family are going through.
If I was simply cynical, I could say that s#it happens and that's life. I could say that if she (my friend) were the average person. But she's not; she's remarkable and one of the finest human beings its ever been my privilege to have known. To use the highest compliment that Dr. Hugh Black could ever bestow upon someone, "she's a good person."
She's a Chaplain at a hospital who truly believes that she's doing the work that God has set before her: offering guidance, comfort, support and encouragement to people who are (by virtue of being in a hospital) the very definition of people in need of someone who can help provide all these things. She loves what she does even when some weeks seem to be nothing but sadness and loss. She feels like she helps even when she makes the briefest of connections.
She's a moral and upright person who always has time for her friends, is devoted to her family and even adopted a child despite already having two of her own. It might sound cliche, but she honestly has that much love to spare. I'm not trying to say she's perfect or the reincarnation of Mother Teresa, but she's a good and honest human being.
And yet, in a manner of weeks, she and her family are visited by a host of troubles: possible MS, heart problems, I could go on but won't out of respect for her privacy. So she not only has to deal with other people's pain and problems every day but her own to compound things.
Now, I know that EVERY body has personal problems as well as those that stem from work. That *is* life. But here I'm talking about the average person.
It almost seems to me that God has a new Job in my friend. And, I'm sure there are thousands of other people in the world who feel that despite their best efforts to live a good and moral life that they too are Excretus Est Ex Altitudine. *
I don't pretend to be another C.S. Lewis and really theologically "throw down" on topics like this, but the story of Job does leap to mind. For all the petty people there are in the world, why do bad things keep happening to those who spend their lives trying to do the right thing? People who thrive on business might tell you that there are no "problems," only opportunities.
Balls.
It's one thing to see a new merchandising direction because your old one failed miserably, but this comparison fails to stand up under the Halogen light of real life. Angioplasty is not simply another chance to lose weight.
It seems terribly childish of me to look heavenward and yell that it's not fair. Here I can all-too-easily hear my Father telling me that life is NOT fair. But, to be even-handed, he's also fond of saying that A) things generally work out the way they're supposed to, and B) what comes around goes around. Both viable points, but the key word there is "generally." I associate "generally" with "average." So, to my mind, this rules out the truly good people who repeatedly have cosmic deuces dropped in their lap.
Okay, I admit this was a cathartic posting; I don't pretend to have unraveled the fathomless mysteries of the Cosmos, just throwing my metaphorical hat into the ever-widening ring of people who ponder old conundrums like these ... and I scratch my head.
* ("Shat upon from a great height.")
If I was simply cynical, I could say that s#it happens and that's life. I could say that if she (my friend) were the average person. But she's not; she's remarkable and one of the finest human beings its ever been my privilege to have known. To use the highest compliment that Dr. Hugh Black could ever bestow upon someone, "she's a good person."
She's a Chaplain at a hospital who truly believes that she's doing the work that God has set before her: offering guidance, comfort, support and encouragement to people who are (by virtue of being in a hospital) the very definition of people in need of someone who can help provide all these things. She loves what she does even when some weeks seem to be nothing but sadness and loss. She feels like she helps even when she makes the briefest of connections.
She's a moral and upright person who always has time for her friends, is devoted to her family and even adopted a child despite already having two of her own. It might sound cliche, but she honestly has that much love to spare. I'm not trying to say she's perfect or the reincarnation of Mother Teresa, but she's a good and honest human being.
And yet, in a manner of weeks, she and her family are visited by a host of troubles: possible MS, heart problems, I could go on but won't out of respect for her privacy. So she not only has to deal with other people's pain and problems every day but her own to compound things.
Now, I know that EVERY body has personal problems as well as those that stem from work. That *is* life. But here I'm talking about the average person.
It almost seems to me that God has a new Job in my friend. And, I'm sure there are thousands of other people in the world who feel that despite their best efforts to live a good and moral life that they too are Excretus Est Ex Altitudine. *
I don't pretend to be another C.S. Lewis and really theologically "throw down" on topics like this, but the story of Job does leap to mind. For all the petty people there are in the world, why do bad things keep happening to those who spend their lives trying to do the right thing? People who thrive on business might tell you that there are no "problems," only opportunities.
Balls.
It's one thing to see a new merchandising direction because your old one failed miserably, but this comparison fails to stand up under the Halogen light of real life. Angioplasty is not simply another chance to lose weight.
It seems terribly childish of me to look heavenward and yell that it's not fair. Here I can all-too-easily hear my Father telling me that life is NOT fair. But, to be even-handed, he's also fond of saying that A) things generally work out the way they're supposed to, and B) what comes around goes around. Both viable points, but the key word there is "generally." I associate "generally" with "average." So, to my mind, this rules out the truly good people who repeatedly have cosmic deuces dropped in their lap.
Okay, I admit this was a cathartic posting; I don't pretend to have unraveled the fathomless mysteries of the Cosmos, just throwing my metaphorical hat into the ever-widening ring of people who ponder old conundrums like these ... and I scratch my head.
* ("Shat upon from a great height.")
Monday, October 26, 2009
Definitely Fall...
Well, as usual, I've fallen back into sloppy behavior and have been remiss in keeping up with my journal. I'll try and do better but it soon becomes a case of is what I'm going to write interesting and/or cathartic enough for me to make the effort and for people to want to read? I guess I'll focus on cathartic for the time being and let "interesting" take care of itself. A fair amount has happened since I last put metaphorical pen to paper:
My friends, Carolyn and Steve, got married this past weekend. October 24th to be precise. They were kind enough to invite me to a very intimate reception with some of their closest friends. I was a bit shy at first since I only knew Allison, but once we got on the topic of books I relaxed and opened up. To tell the truth I wish now that I hadn't been quite as chatty as I was; I feel like I drew attention away from the newlyweds. Carolyn was gracious enough to say that it was just fine with her, and Steve is the very definition of quiet anyway.
Carolyn was, I think, still reeling from all that happened to her within the last two weeks: she lost her father and had to finalize her wedding plans all the same. I can only imagine how traumatic it must have been for her. She's amazingly resilient though and will be fine in time, I know. I say all that not to idly toss around Carolyn's personal business but to try and explain why I think she was glad to let me be the center of attention for awhile. It was good to see Alison again and meet the hosts of the reception too. Delightful time all the way around.
Fall is definitely here. It's cold and the leaves have gone from crackling as they shift and die in windblown Brownian motions to being sodden multi-hued masses on the curbs and driveways. It does make the fireplace that Julie and Scott had installed last year that much nicer though. Its lovely to come in from taking Titan outside to, as my sister puts it, "check his peemail," and have the fire to warm both of us up. Titan is getting a lot of mileage out his "bed" in front of the fireplace as well.
Halloween is fast upon us and Thanksgiving Day will be here before you know it. The end of the year seems to happen sooner and sooner as I grow older. Of course, the department stores are no help. They have their Holiday items out earlier and earlier every year. This year, our local Fred Meyer had theirs out in late September. Good Lord! What does that say to consumers? School's back in session ... for God's sake, do your Christmas shopping NOW before EVERY THING'S gone?!!
Last Sunday, we were invited to a celebration to honor Yussef, the newborn son of our friends Mo and Mariam. It was lovely to be invited, see all our friends, and take part in the feast and fun but I saw the pictures from that Sunday yesterday and I cannot BELIEVE how amazingly FAT I've become since the operation!! I had lost 25 pounds!!! Now I'm terrified to weigh myself for fear of what it'll do to my blood pressure. And the scales.
I had great plans to go to the gym today and start the long, hard, crawl back to some loose form of fitness, but I felt under the weather today. Maybe tomorrow. I have simply GOT to get back to the discipline. Even starting out at 10-15 minutes on the stationary bike will be a nice start. I don't want to over do it and spend MORE down time letting this mystery pain in my abdomen keep me from exercising.
Julie and Scott's trip to India draws ever nearer and I'll be alone on Thanksgiving again. I have mixed feelings about that: It'd be nice to have them there with me, but having been alone for two Christmases before this pales by comparison to no big deal. Maybe I'll buy a small turkey breast and make myself a nice lunch and not worry about the weight for one day. I'll see how it goes.
Finally have an idea for my pulp story. I'm going to try and write it as a serial. Who knows, there might be a magazine interested in it. One step at a time though; have to actually get a coherent picture from all my years of notes and create a story from the endlessly retooled opening that I have. I'm going to follow ("Doc Savage" creator) Lester Dent's formula for writing a pulp story and see if those are the parameters that will give me the guidance to see this through.
Okay, that's enough for tonight. If I'm not careful I'll get maudlin about my love life. Time to finish the latest Spenser novel and fall asleep...
My friends, Carolyn and Steve, got married this past weekend. October 24th to be precise. They were kind enough to invite me to a very intimate reception with some of their closest friends. I was a bit shy at first since I only knew Allison, but once we got on the topic of books I relaxed and opened up. To tell the truth I wish now that I hadn't been quite as chatty as I was; I feel like I drew attention away from the newlyweds. Carolyn was gracious enough to say that it was just fine with her, and Steve is the very definition of quiet anyway.
Carolyn was, I think, still reeling from all that happened to her within the last two weeks: she lost her father and had to finalize her wedding plans all the same. I can only imagine how traumatic it must have been for her. She's amazingly resilient though and will be fine in time, I know. I say all that not to idly toss around Carolyn's personal business but to try and explain why I think she was glad to let me be the center of attention for awhile. It was good to see Alison again and meet the hosts of the reception too. Delightful time all the way around.
Fall is definitely here. It's cold and the leaves have gone from crackling as they shift and die in windblown Brownian motions to being sodden multi-hued masses on the curbs and driveways. It does make the fireplace that Julie and Scott had installed last year that much nicer though. Its lovely to come in from taking Titan outside to, as my sister puts it, "check his peemail," and have the fire to warm both of us up. Titan is getting a lot of mileage out his "bed" in front of the fireplace as well.
Halloween is fast upon us and Thanksgiving Day will be here before you know it. The end of the year seems to happen sooner and sooner as I grow older. Of course, the department stores are no help. They have their Holiday items out earlier and earlier every year. This year, our local Fred Meyer had theirs out in late September. Good Lord! What does that say to consumers? School's back in session ... for God's sake, do your Christmas shopping NOW before EVERY THING'S gone?!!
Last Sunday, we were invited to a celebration to honor Yussef, the newborn son of our friends Mo and Mariam. It was lovely to be invited, see all our friends, and take part in the feast and fun but I saw the pictures from that Sunday yesterday and I cannot BELIEVE how amazingly FAT I've become since the operation!! I had lost 25 pounds!!! Now I'm terrified to weigh myself for fear of what it'll do to my blood pressure. And the scales.
I had great plans to go to the gym today and start the long, hard, crawl back to some loose form of fitness, but I felt under the weather today. Maybe tomorrow. I have simply GOT to get back to the discipline. Even starting out at 10-15 minutes on the stationary bike will be a nice start. I don't want to over do it and spend MORE down time letting this mystery pain in my abdomen keep me from exercising.
Julie and Scott's trip to India draws ever nearer and I'll be alone on Thanksgiving again. I have mixed feelings about that: It'd be nice to have them there with me, but having been alone for two Christmases before this pales by comparison to no big deal. Maybe I'll buy a small turkey breast and make myself a nice lunch and not worry about the weight for one day. I'll see how it goes.
Finally have an idea for my pulp story. I'm going to try and write it as a serial. Who knows, there might be a magazine interested in it. One step at a time though; have to actually get a coherent picture from all my years of notes and create a story from the endlessly retooled opening that I have. I'm going to follow ("Doc Savage" creator) Lester Dent's formula for writing a pulp story and see if those are the parameters that will give me the guidance to see this through.
Okay, that's enough for tonight. If I'm not careful I'll get maudlin about my love life. Time to finish the latest Spenser novel and fall asleep...
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Faith or Dodging Responsibility?
As I've gotten older I've come to realize that I'm taking more and more comfort from either "Faith" or "Fate." I'm not sure how to classify it.
Take relationships. It's so easy now to say, "If it's meant to be it'll happen." To stop stressing and leave it to chance, fate, or God. To say, if the woman doesn't turn out to be all I thought she was that it's in my favor and "wasn't meant to be." That I dodged a bullet. And I've dodged a lot of "bullets" in my time.
But is this relying on faith or simply avoiding facing an ugly truth that the common denominator is me? I mean, at what point does one draw the line between letting nature take it's course and using that as an excuse to avoid putting all their emotional eggs into one precarious basket?
I realize that "hindsight is always 20/20," and that's certainly true. I believe that, just because we don't see an explanation for why something went pear-shaped on us right away or soon after it doesn't mean that there's not one. It may be much later that we can look back and say, "ah, I see now. That had to happen so that this could happen." (Admittedly, it may never take the sting out of an unhappy memory. I've had several broken bones and cuts in my life and nothing has ever hurt me like watching your fiance pull off her engagement ring, handing it to you, and saying "I don't want to marry you.")
Fifteen years ago, my friend, Bill Barnett, once said a very insightful thing to me when we were at work (WBHL) discussing relationships: "I'll be alone before I marry stupid." To me that was brilliant and I've tried to remember that as I get older. Not to settle out of fear of growing old and, ultimately, dying alone. I've got a few friends whom I'm convinced have done this and as they get older I see the telltale cracks in the facade. Is it worth it? To have someone to come home to and give/receive affection even if you're not "happy" in the truest sense of the word? Is it worth it? I have to believe that it's not; that its lying to someone just for the sake of not being alone.
Of course, on the other hand, does this mean that I've set my sights impossibly high simply to avoid being hurt again? To convince myself that just because a relationship doesn't work out that I'm better off? Is that fair? I've been told countless times that its better to risk being hurt for the possibility of a great and consuming love. I don't mean to whine, but I'm having a tough time accepting this at 43 years of age. Does emotional safety justify being alone? It reminds me of a line from RUSH'S "Limelight" (Moving Pictures) "One must put up barriers to keep oneself intact."
But is that being "fair" and open? Or is it little more than daring someone to have feelings for you? To have them jump through hoops before you decide to trust them? At my age, I have to honestly wonder if, due to being hurt so many times before, I'd ever trust a woman again. THAT'S not the healthiest way to enter into a relationship, is it?
Okay, I can see I'm belaboring the point: is it leaving relationships to faith or avoiding the work needed to make one succeed?
When someone figures it out, please let me know, huh?
Take relationships. It's so easy now to say, "If it's meant to be it'll happen." To stop stressing and leave it to chance, fate, or God. To say, if the woman doesn't turn out to be all I thought she was that it's in my favor and "wasn't meant to be." That I dodged a bullet. And I've dodged a lot of "bullets" in my time.
But is this relying on faith or simply avoiding facing an ugly truth that the common denominator is me? I mean, at what point does one draw the line between letting nature take it's course and using that as an excuse to avoid putting all their emotional eggs into one precarious basket?
I realize that "hindsight is always 20/20," and that's certainly true. I believe that, just because we don't see an explanation for why something went pear-shaped on us right away or soon after it doesn't mean that there's not one. It may be much later that we can look back and say, "ah, I see now. That had to happen so that this could happen." (Admittedly, it may never take the sting out of an unhappy memory. I've had several broken bones and cuts in my life and nothing has ever hurt me like watching your fiance pull off her engagement ring, handing it to you, and saying "I don't want to marry you.")
Fifteen years ago, my friend, Bill Barnett, once said a very insightful thing to me when we were at work (WBHL) discussing relationships: "I'll be alone before I marry stupid." To me that was brilliant and I've tried to remember that as I get older. Not to settle out of fear of growing old and, ultimately, dying alone. I've got a few friends whom I'm convinced have done this and as they get older I see the telltale cracks in the facade. Is it worth it? To have someone to come home to and give/receive affection even if you're not "happy" in the truest sense of the word? Is it worth it? I have to believe that it's not; that its lying to someone just for the sake of not being alone.
Of course, on the other hand, does this mean that I've set my sights impossibly high simply to avoid being hurt again? To convince myself that just because a relationship doesn't work out that I'm better off? Is that fair? I've been told countless times that its better to risk being hurt for the possibility of a great and consuming love. I don't mean to whine, but I'm having a tough time accepting this at 43 years of age. Does emotional safety justify being alone? It reminds me of a line from RUSH'S "Limelight" (Moving Pictures) "One must put up barriers to keep oneself intact."
But is that being "fair" and open? Or is it little more than daring someone to have feelings for you? To have them jump through hoops before you decide to trust them? At my age, I have to honestly wonder if, due to being hurt so many times before, I'd ever trust a woman again. THAT'S not the healthiest way to enter into a relationship, is it?
Okay, I can see I'm belaboring the point: is it leaving relationships to faith or avoiding the work needed to make one succeed?
When someone figures it out, please let me know, huh?
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Another From the Vaults... (04/16/99)
(The following takes places when I was living with my old friend, Bill Barnett, who was kind enough to not only let me move into his one-bedroom apartment with him when I had no where else to go, but also taught me to be a copywriter and got me a job at WOWL/WHDF-TV. This particular anecdote is about going to a strip club with "the guys" and what an eye-opener it turned out to be for me.)
April 16th
Slept late. Odd dreams again. Got the called from [WOWL-TV Production Manager] David Yancey at noon today. I'm FINALLY HIRED!! That's right, after two weeks of frustration, I start this coming Monday. Admittedly, it's only part time to start, and It'll be minimum wage ... but it's a place to start. My foot will be in the proverbial door at last.
As I'm so fond of saying: one step at a time.
(5:00 that afternoon)
Bill called to ask if I wanted to have dinner with him and Keith Davis [a salesman at the station.] As I understand it, the plan is to have steak and then go to a strip club in Huntsville. (Maybe 'Visions'?) I'll hold off closing today's entry until I get back from this little outing...
(11:00 that night)
Well, all-in-all, I had a very nice evening. Bill, Keith Davis, Luther [station cameraman], and I wound up going to 'Visions' in Huntsville, where I blew about 9 of the $15 I walked in with. I'm very proud to say that *I* spent NO money on women, only on the cover charge and a drink. Bill and Keith played Daddy Warbucks with the 'dancers' while Luther and I (much amused) looked on, greatly amused.
Sad to say, but I liken the whole event to getting drunk: do it once to see what it's like, then do it again later to make sure you didn't miss anything. Then you make a decision as to whether you'll ever do it again. I have. I won't be going back to any more strip clubs.
Simply put: to me, it was vulgar. I mean, I understood what the place was going in and I enjoy the naked female form as much or more than most guys. But there was no love nor warmth in that place. Only ... greed. And smoke. (Did I mention the smoke? LOTS of smoke!) Call me naive if you must, but why would a sensible man go to a place where he was neither welcome nor appreciated for his company? Oh sure, they were glad to see you, as long as you had money to burn. What kind of environment is that? Why throw your hard-earned money at something you can't have? What do you gain?
These women were, for the most part, attractive and sexy but their eyes haunt me. I know a great many women love to be 'exotic dancers' and not only find it empowering and heady, but make quite a nice living off it. (I know for a fact that some of the dancers at Atlanta's 'Cheetah 3' drive Porsche's and other high-end cars.) But the eyes of these women were dead. No mirth, no enjoyment, no ... LIFE was echoed in their eyes. When they were on stage their little eyes shone like cocaine on an ebony table and that's how they make their money. But, once they come offstage their eyes were flat and listless again. It was almost like a self-preservation technique. And, I guess for a lot of them it is. I would suppose that way they don't have to open up to what they don't want to see.
I don't mean to sound all melodramatic, but I felt ... dirty when I left that place, and it wasn't just from the smoke. I wanted to get home and take a bath, to somehow make amends for being a witness to all that debauchery. Strangest of all, I felt an overwhelming desire to apologize to someone. (NO, not my Mom and Dad.) But to women in general. Bizarre, I know, but the desire for atonement was amazingly strong.
I did enjoy the company of Bill and my co-workers, let me hasten to add THAT. They were a lot of fun and made my night enjoyable: Bill, sitting ringside and all but folding dollar bills into origami shapes for the dancers, Luther, sitting at our table with his arms folded as if daring the place to impress him, scowling and occasionally muttering his catchphrase, 'Shit. Sucks.' (He did smile one time after I bought him a beer.) Then there was Keith. Sweaty Keith, with his comb-over and his clip on tie draped sadly partway across his bulging stomach. Keith seemed to know most of the women (servers too!) by name. Sad really how much Keith enjoyed himself.
Okay, lest I pontificate overly much, I'll close here for tonight.
April 16th
Slept late. Odd dreams again. Got the called from [WOWL-TV Production Manager] David Yancey at noon today. I'm FINALLY HIRED!! That's right, after two weeks of frustration, I start this coming Monday. Admittedly, it's only part time to start, and It'll be minimum wage ... but it's a place to start. My foot will be in the proverbial door at last.
As I'm so fond of saying: one step at a time.
(5:00 that afternoon)
Bill called to ask if I wanted to have dinner with him and Keith Davis [a salesman at the station.] As I understand it, the plan is to have steak and then go to a strip club in Huntsville. (Maybe 'Visions'?) I'll hold off closing today's entry until I get back from this little outing...
(11:00 that night)
Well, all-in-all, I had a very nice evening. Bill, Keith Davis, Luther [station cameraman], and I wound up going to 'Visions' in Huntsville, where I blew about 9 of the $15 I walked in with. I'm very proud to say that *I* spent NO money on women, only on the cover charge and a drink. Bill and Keith played Daddy Warbucks with the 'dancers' while Luther and I (much amused) looked on, greatly amused.
Sad to say, but I liken the whole event to getting drunk: do it once to see what it's like, then do it again later to make sure you didn't miss anything. Then you make a decision as to whether you'll ever do it again. I have. I won't be going back to any more strip clubs.
Simply put: to me, it was vulgar. I mean, I understood what the place was going in and I enjoy the naked female form as much or more than most guys. But there was no love nor warmth in that place. Only ... greed. And smoke. (Did I mention the smoke? LOTS of smoke!) Call me naive if you must, but why would a sensible man go to a place where he was neither welcome nor appreciated for his company? Oh sure, they were glad to see you, as long as you had money to burn. What kind of environment is that? Why throw your hard-earned money at something you can't have? What do you gain?
These women were, for the most part, attractive and sexy but their eyes haunt me. I know a great many women love to be 'exotic dancers' and not only find it empowering and heady, but make quite a nice living off it. (I know for a fact that some of the dancers at Atlanta's 'Cheetah 3' drive Porsche's and other high-end cars.) But the eyes of these women were dead. No mirth, no enjoyment, no ... LIFE was echoed in their eyes. When they were on stage their little eyes shone like cocaine on an ebony table and that's how they make their money. But, once they come offstage their eyes were flat and listless again. It was almost like a self-preservation technique. And, I guess for a lot of them it is. I would suppose that way they don't have to open up to what they don't want to see.
I don't mean to sound all melodramatic, but I felt ... dirty when I left that place, and it wasn't just from the smoke. I wanted to get home and take a bath, to somehow make amends for being a witness to all that debauchery. Strangest of all, I felt an overwhelming desire to apologize to someone. (NO, not my Mom and Dad.) But to women in general. Bizarre, I know, but the desire for atonement was amazingly strong.
I did enjoy the company of Bill and my co-workers, let me hasten to add THAT. They were a lot of fun and made my night enjoyable: Bill, sitting ringside and all but folding dollar bills into origami shapes for the dancers, Luther, sitting at our table with his arms folded as if daring the place to impress him, scowling and occasionally muttering his catchphrase, 'Shit. Sucks.' (He did smile one time after I bought him a beer.) Then there was Keith. Sweaty Keith, with his comb-over and his clip on tie draped sadly partway across his bulging stomach. Keith seemed to know most of the women (servers too!) by name. Sad really how much Keith enjoyed himself.
Okay, lest I pontificate overly much, I'll close here for tonight.
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