%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |   A tentative blog to test the temperature. |
|
Ten years ago I was writing several blogs on various subjects - F1 motor racing, Music, Classic Cars, Great Romances and, most crushingly, a personal journal that included my thoughts on America, memories of England and Africa, opinion, humour, writing and anything else that occurred. It all became too much (I was attempting to update the journal every day) and I collapsed, exhausted and thoroughly disillusioned in the end. So this blog is indeed a Toe in the Water, a place to document my thoughts in and on WdC but with a determination not to get sucked into the blog whirlpool ever again. Here's hoping.     |
| Ah Poetry Indeed As it happens, I did read Lilli’s Newsletter entitled Ah, Poetry (https://www.writing.com/main/newsletters/action/archives/id/11924) and I also read the poem entitled Kindness (https://www.writing.com/main/redirect?htime=1682608845&hkey=f5e75d8043e654afb1a8...) that she directed the reader to. Strangely, I had a similar experience to this lady, Naomi Shihab Nye, when she had the poem dictated to her by a voice in the air. Mine did not come to me from quite the same source, however, since it was not dictated but seemed to arrive in my brain in an instant, complete and requiring no effort from me apart from writing it down quickly before it was lost. Even that was entirely unnecessary since I have never forgotten it. At the time, the only way I could describe that moment of its transition to me was that the spirit of William Blake had passed it to me in a moment of madness (his, not mine). Blake has been dead since 1827 so the only excuse for this impression must be that it was the first, and destined to be the last for a long time, rhyming poem that I had written. It is totally unlike my style then or ever. Here it is in its brevity and directness: Plant Oh, deep in thy vegetable heart of matter What humus thoughts grow thou Tomorrow you feed on their rotting flesh Though they may pluck thee now These days I would not have capitalised each line and nor would I have left it unpunctuated. But that is how it came to me so that is how I leave it. Word count: 288 |
| Lollipop Man Everyone takes him for a sucker but he can really stick it to them. |
| Kids I have come to the conclusion that I’m either a brilliant father or so bad that God keeps trying to train me to be better. When the first kid came along, I thought, “Okay, that’s twenty years you’ve signed on for - let’s see if you survive this.” It turned out to be easy (he was a very good kid) and so it wasn’t too horrible a shock to find out, towards the end of the twenty years, that there were two late arrivals on the way. They turned out to be not too bad as well and I was just beginning to enjoy my approaching freedom after another (nearly) twenty years, when God threw an unexpected job at me. This consisted of attempting to educate a bunch of teenagers who had been excluded from school. It was not lost on me that this was a fairly cruel trick to play on me in my fast-approaching old age, but I knuckled down and found that the kids really did seem to gain something from it. I may have been doing something right, most likely as a pure accident. Then came America and the love of my life. I suppose I should have been unsurprised that she came with a couple of kids dubbed, in her inimitable way, the Girl and the Boy. Well, I kept my nose to the grindstone and we all seemed to survive somehow. They came of age and began to leave into adulthood. At the last moment, the Boy brought a friend into our lives. Over time he became part of the family and, today, he is back home with us, on a short break from being a Marine and amazing us with his exploits. I’ve been old for so long now that I have earned the title of Ancient. You might think that I also deserve a rest from kids by this time. Fat chance. The Girl recently provided us with a grandchild… Word count: 327 |
| A Blast from the Past I came across this nugget of apparent wisdom while reading my old blog: if you know everything about one thing, write about it. If you know a little about everything, write about yourself. It might actually be good advice... |
| Betsy Here’s a story that was never written and probably never will be. If nothing else, it demonstrates that the world is full of stories, so there’s no excuse for having nothing to write! YouTube loves to throw unexpected things at me, just to see if I’m still awake, and yesterday it sent me a mystery. This came in the form of a video of a young lady named Betsy Legg. She was having a go at one of Bob Dylan’s old songs, Tomorrow is a Long Time. Obviously, YouTube knows that I’m a sucker for anything by Mister Zimmerman and, sure enough, I was unable to resist taking a listen. Betsy’s voice turned out to be rivetting. Almost a dead ringer for Joan Baez, yet somehow having an extra appeal, perhaps because I know nothing of the singer. I resolved to find out more. It turns out that YouTube has a number of her songs, all taken from an album she made in 1971. The songs are covers of well known folk songs of the period and Betsy does a fine job of them all. Now I’m fairly used to discovering artists that I’ve never heard of before but finding that they were famous in their day. There were decades when I just wasn’t listening, I know. But Betsy quickly became a mystery of impenetrable lack of information. I found myself following a well worn trail of others who had looked for information on young Betsy. There was nothing. Google tried all sorts of people with similar names but had to throw up its hands in despair in the end. When Google gives up, you can be sure that there’s nothing out there. I did find a long thread of questions regarding Betsy but no one seemed to know anything definite. One claimed that the album had been a private pressing in Atlanta, Georgia, with very few copies produced. Somehow, one of these had found its way on to YouTube. Someone else maintained that she was now Betsy Simon and lived in Tennessee. But there was nothing definite. The story turns out to be just a series of unanswered questions. Who is or was this young lady with the voice of an angel and why had she never been noticed and broadcast to a world hungry for talent? Was this reluctance toward fame a matter of Betsy’s own choice or was it another of those sad tales of close, but no cigar? If it’s the former, there is some irony in the fact that her album is now available to everyone, courtesy of today’s technology. It’s frustrating to be left wondering about Betsy’s story. But, at the same time, there is also something fascinating in being able to write our own story around these few songs so exquisitely sung. In our minds, she can remain as the voice that was just too good for this world. Betsy’s version of that first song I listened to is embedded below. If you want any more, you’re going to have to search YouTube for yourself! Word count: 512 |
| The Most Famous Person You Never Heard Of That’s what my wife calls him and it was true - once. Now, of course, I’m one of his biggest fans. And YouTube reminded me this morning that the great man died only a few days ago (March 03). A sad day for all who ever heard David Lindley play. Plenty of them have never heard of him even now. He was not one for having his name in lights or making a big fuss about his talents. Yet he played with most of the big names in the music business over the last forty years, so much in demand was his virtuoso slide guitar playing. Much of the time he was playing other instruments, usually of the stringed kind, for he could play anything. He is often referred to as a multi-instrumentalist or even a maxi-instrumentalist. David had his own band (El Rayo-X) but he was far more often away playing for someone else. He had a special bond with Jackson Browne whose live performances without him are rare indeed. The world is a poorer place without him. I had to pick a video as my thank you for the entertainment he provided over the years and that was impossible. There are just so many of them. In the end, I sorta picked this one with a pin but it’s as good as they all are: Word count: 226 |
| P.O.M.S. For several years now I have self diagnosed as having P.O.M.S. No need to feel sorry for me - I am sorry enough for myself not to need any help on that score. But thank you for the thought anyway. What is P.O.M.S? Often confused by Australians as having something to do with Englishness, POMS, affectionately known as Poms, stands for Poor Old Man Syndrome. Affecting 97% of males beyond the age of sixty, the first symptoms of Poms are audible. You know those groaning sounds that all old people make when getting out of a chair? Well, Poms typically extends those sounds to many other situations. Getting in and out of bed is an example, as is the act of sitting down. Any function requiring a little effort will be advertised by a range of grunts and groans appropriate to the situation. Later, Poms is evidenced by an increasing irascibility with inanimate objects. This can be manifested in impatient comments to a toaster a few seconds late in popping up, a string of insults directed at any implement that contrives to slip from the old codger’s grasp, loud oaths expressed when latches, catches and clasps refuse to cooperate, and similar occurrences obviously sent to torture a poor old man out of his usual uncomplaining nature. These waves of bad temper are followed by a rise in sarcasm and rudeness in response to any attempts to sympathise or ameliorate the condition for the sufferer. Poms does not react well to company or assistance, its symptoms being purely self expression and nothing to do with cries for help or the like. It is probably best understood if one remembers its old name of C.O.B. (Crotchety Old Bastard). If you have to deal with a sufferer from Poms, just leave the blighter to wallow in his own misery, that’s my best advice (and, as I have mentioned, I ought to know). Word count: 327. |
| Advertise That! I have said before that I watch very little television, a slave to the computer as I am. But it's one of those inescapable facts of life these days and I have not been able to avoid it completely. Inevitably, I have noticed a few things about television in America and perhaps the most surprising is the difference in the advertising. Apart from the sheer overwhelming quantity of commercial breaks in the States (at times it seems that the program being shown is grudgingly inserted in tiny pieces in between important and informative collections of commercials), the style of the advertising is different. It is far more direct than British advertising; the message is "This product is great, it will change your life, it beats brand X every time, buy it NOW!" That might be effective (who am I to say it isn't?) but such straightforward hype hasn't been seen in Britain for years. British adverts are subtle, so much so that at times it's impossible to work out exactly what is being pushed at the viewer. I think this started way back in the early seventies, when overt cigarette advertising was outlawed. For a brief moment there was consternation amongst the tobacco companies - how were they to get across the delights of their product now? But they were saved by Benson & Hedges. B&H brought out a series of ads that relied upon their highly recognizable brand color only. It became a game to notice the B&H gold hidden within the ad. They didn't make the game too hard, so everyone could play. It was a very clever exercise in subverting the rules: they were not mentioning the product nor any of its undoubted charms; the campaign relied entirely upon the market's already-established brand recognition. The ploy must have been effective for all the other tobacco companies followed suit with their own variants of the idea. In fact, it was not long before products other than cigarettes were being advertised in the same way. And again legislation has contributed to this. It became unacceptable to talk about the speed and power of a car in its advertisement; apparently, we had to be protected from our lust to drive fast cars. So now car ads concentrate on the look of the machine. There is competition amongst the manufacturers to have the ad with the most unlikely angle of shot or the most removed from saying anything meaningful about the car. I can't help but wonder whether these oblique advertisements actually sell more cars. Without access to actual statistics, it's impossible to say. But I do suspect that they do little more than make the customer feel good about the company itself. A polished, clever and attractive ad is bound to produce good customer relations, at least initially, just as a harsh and poorly produced one reflects badly on the manufacturer. In America it seems that the obvious attributes of a vehicle can still be referred to. Truck ads especially will concentrate on matters of power and strength. Handling and speed can be portrayed, if not detailed in actual performance figures. And, most surprisingly to the British viewer, it is quite acceptable to trash the competition. This runs throughout American ads - if your product has to go up against a well known brand, you should mention it and then give some figures that demonstrate how much better your version is. Of course, the cynical Brit thinks immediately, "Hang on a minute, I've just watched an ad for your competitor and it said exactly the opposite..." But the game continues regardless. Everyone can demonstrate just how far superior their product is than the competition by picking on one aspect where it happens to come out on top. The fact that names are named is pure horror to us Brits; our advertisers would not dream of doing such a thing. You may hint that your product beats "brand X" but to actually name it? Oh, no, that will never do. Another major element of British ads is humor. This has developed to the point where some of the advertisements are much funnier than the comedy shows (okay, I know British comedy shows aren't very funny - the point is, their ads are!). Competition is very fierce in this area and it may be that the best comedy writers are snapped up by advertising long before the TV programs have a go at them. I can see humor beginning to creep into American advertising but it isn't the same. In the States, the viewer is left in no doubt as to what is being advertised; in Britain, the funniest ads are often the hardest in which to identify the product being advertised. But it doesn't seem to matter. Produce a funny ad and the Brits will love it. They will repeat it amongst themselves, develop it and transform it into a catchphrase. And what greater success can an ad agency have than that the public accept an ad into folklore? Who cares that it doesn't shift any products? It makes people laugh and that's what really counts. On both sides of the Atlantic the richest industries are the ones that advertise on television. In Britain that means insurance, loan companies, banks, car manufacturers and (strangely) charities. America does the same but adds an industry that would shock the Brits - the pharmaceuticals. Medicines are not advertised in Britain. I presume that this is because it is regarded as "unethical" to tout the amazing properties of your drug over the competitor's version (probably exactly the same thing but with a different name). And, of course, the real reason is that the public is deemed too stupid to decide between medicines and this is a decision for the trained professionals, the doctors, to make. But in the States the drug companies advertise constantly and trash each other's products mercilessly. We are bombarded with pictures of happy, shining people whose lives have been transformed by some miracle cure or other. "Take just one Gubbledizer and be totally free of itching teeth for 24 hours! Finklebod only works for 6 hours so you have to take four to get the same effect!" Then the medical ads have small print and this is what really catches my attention. They are bound by law to mention any possible side effects so, while we continue to watch the amazingly-cured patient frolic through meadows and sparkling streams, a rapid-fire machinegun voice rattles out the warnings. "Do not take Tubbydoodle if you suffer from heart problems, liver disease, recurrent headaches, ingrown toenails, double vision, extreme angst, violent hiccups or flatulence. Tubbydoodle has been known to cause skin problems, palpitations, hair loss, flat feet, facial tics and loss of manners in some patients. It has not been tested on patients with arthritis and bad tempers." Listening to the lists they come out with makes me think that I'll take my chances with the original problem, thank you. But it turns out that it doesn't matter anyhow. You have to ask your doctor about the medicine because only he can prescribe it. So the whole thing is intended to put pressure on doctors to prescribe the advertiser's cure rather than the competitor's. It all seems a bit unnecessary to me. And a bit scary, too. Finally, I should mention the differing attitudes of the two nations when it comes to sex. Many Americans are horrified when they see how British advertisers will happily use sex to push a product. Half naked people are a regular occurrence in British ads. Innuendo is applied liberally. And, if a few bare butts come into the shot, hey, it all adds to the fun. But not so in the States. Naked flesh is definitely a no-no here. It seems that it is okay to talk about it, however. The pharmaceutical companies are the major offenders here and I defy any Brit to listen to an ad for viagra without blushing at least a little. Suggestion? Who needs suggestion when you can just lay the facts before your audience? And I'm not even going near the advertisements for "feminine products"... Winston Churchill once said that we were two peoples separated by a common language. Of course, he was right. But he failed to mention that we also approach the matter of advertising in totally different ways. In the States the word is, "BUY THIS!" And in Britain it's, "Hah, that made you laugh did it? And what about this, ain't that a beauty? Pardon? Oh, you wanted to buy something..." Word count: 1,429 |
| A Flower for Ted For a long time I have felt that the dead live on in the memory of the living. Only when a person is forgotten by all who knew or may have read of him, is a person truly dead. In this way, it could be said that Alexander the Great (or Grape, as the old joke has it) still lives in a way because he is not forgotten, even these thousands of years later. And this may be the unconscious motivation behind gravestones - a last effort to be remembered by at least the passerby, who never knew the deceased when alive. This idea was the reason for the poem I wrote for Solace.Bring  ’s Express It In Eight when the prompt was the word “prank.” It brought immediately to mind an old friend, Ted Flower, that I had not thought of in years. While not a true prankster, he delighted in the practical side of jokes and we often cooperated in bringing one into reality. It was the least that I could do, to write a poem in homage to the man ("Homage to Ted Flower"  if you’re interested).My duty done, Ted began to slip away into the past again. Then, this week, Lilith of House Martell  selects the prompt “mirror” for the Promptly Poetry Challenge. It did it again, didn’t it. My mind went racing back to old Ted and a remarkable ability of his. He could write forwards in the usual manner but he could also write backwards. Then he proved that he could write upside down (the writing, not him). As if that wasn’t enough, he could write mirror writing that could only be checked if you looked at its reflection in a mirror (I did and it was perfect). And then he tears the ring out of it by proving he could write in all the other weird ways in mirror writing.I checked them all and there were no errors. Yet he wrote them all at the same pace, unhurried but without pause, as though it were the easiest thing out there. If there was a trick to it, I never discovered it. An ability like that makes one stop and think. It’s either some weird, inexplicable natural talent, like an idiot savant thing, or Ted must have spent hours, weeks, maybe even months or years, training himself to do it. I can’t imagine what would drive one to such extraordinary lengths to acquire a skill. Especially one so useless and pointless. You could say that he picked a certain sentence and concentrated only on learning that. I can’t remember the sample sentence he actually used. But the time and effort required for even that is so unimaginable that I must confess myself baffled. So that was one outstanding thing about Ted that I had forgotten over the years. He died quite young, in his forties, I think, and time has laid many strata over those days in my mind. But I wrote a poem in celebration of his odd talent and you can read it here (again, if you’re interested): "Mirror Man" There’s more, much more. Thinking of Ted has brought back plenty of memories. He was married to a delightful young lady, a German of irrepressible optimism and stocky frame, and my family had an intermittent friendship with her that lasted for a few years after Ted’s death. But she lived some distance from us and we were only able to see her on rare occasions. No doubt she keeps the old rascal’s memory alive and I do not need to feel too guilty for him drifting into the past as he has. And, for a few days, he lives again in this unlikely writing talent of his. Good on yer, Ted. Word count: 627 |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
I've always remembered that episode and thought that was a fun idea.
Quite good is quite a good compliment 
As someone who just reviewed an item in your port, I can't help but wonder, Did I pick an item that you'd throw out? 