%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |   My fourth blog. Amazing yet disconcerting. Don't worry; this'll go away in a year or so. |
|
First there was "I'm Studying You"  ...then there was "Who Do I Think I Am??" . Finally, we reached "Who do I still think I am??" .Until now. Welcome to the Buffalo in your soul...       A THREE-TIME CHAMPION OF THE "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" !   |
  "Of the many forms of comedy, and one of my favorites, is comedy teams. Share your thoughts on comedy teams. Would you be more likely to be part of a comedy team or are you the 'lone stand-up type'?"Hey folks...welcome back to Day 2 of the Comedy roundtable discussion! Interesting prompt we've got today, so I'm gonna get right to it. I like the idea of comedy teams...they're versatile, and they allow the opportunity for each person to play off the other. Obviously that opens up a lot of different options, as opposed to just doing a solo bit. You can have two performers who are opposites of each other, or similar, or an ensemble cast. Combinations and outcomes become limitless. Personally, I could see myself in either a solo stand-up role, or as part of a cast. I'm not sure if I could do a duo or trio or something similarly small. It's not that I don't work well with others, but sometimes in a setting like that I have a hard time getting my ideas out and having them understood the same way I visualize them. If I'm by myself, I don't have to worry about someone misinterpreting me; in a large collaborative effort, there's less pressure to come up with something that stands on its own. I think in groups there's also more of a willingness to see your material worked down and edited, whereas in a two- or threesome there tends to be more of a "this is how it is" attitude...pushing your own ideas rather than being open to change. It's likely your names are on the project; you don't get to hide behind some fancy group moniker. It's possible that the other reason I'd prefer to work either by myself or in an ensemble is that's the kind of comedy I prefer...one man stand-up routines, monologues, and sketch comedy with a varied cast. A two or three person routine, in my head, almost requires too much work. A lot of rehearsal. And some kind of gimmick or show. Don't get me wrong; I know that that's needed whether you're a team of 1 or 100...but if you mess up and it's just you and one other person, you have to hope that the other guy can bail you out. In a bigger group there is more opportunity to ad-lib and get around a scene...a scene! In a duo, chances are you are the scene, and the set-up and the punchline. All of this is just my opinion though. I know very little about acting and performing actual comedy. I'd probably be halfway decent at it, if it weren't for having to remember pesky lines and stuff. I'm a classically trained karaoke artist who reads song lyrics from a monitor while the instrumental plays and sets the mood; I'm not sure how well those skills would translate to a more thespian-themed setting.   "I just have to share this with you...when a 'darning needle', a scary cross between a dragonfly and a giant mosquito, flew into the kitchen, my friend's daughter screamed. Her mom reassured her that she was fine, saying they are harmless, and they fly around minding their own business. After a couple seconds of intense staring by the child, she then asked, 'What is their business?' She didn't get why her Mom and I burst out laughing. I know all of us at one point in our life have had those moments; share with us about someone responding in a literal way to a figurative expression. Or create a story of your own."Ok,  that was a cute story...and I'm sure when I was little I've said similar things to put myself in that same situation. Of course, at the time we hardly ever realize it, and it usually turns into a story a parent springs on you later in life...like when you're introducing them to a new girlfriend for the first time. This may not qualify as something in the literal/figurative category, but it's the best I can come up with. When I was maybe five or six, my mom, brother, grandmother, and my mom's aunt drove from Buffalo to Connecticut to see my aunt. It was about a seven or eight hour drive, so we made a few stops along the way. One of the stops was at a Friendly's restaurant...and if you ordered off the kids' menu your meal came with a small sundae.  This is the face of someone who was serious about ice cream quality. I ordered a strawberry sundae, and because I was a under the age of 30 I happened to take my ice cream very seriously. I was into it...it was probably best not to distract me. My grandmother couldn't help but admire vocally my delicious, fruit-topped frozen treat. She very sweetly asked if she could have one of my strawberries. I obliged her, mainly because she was our ride home from somewhere I'd never been before, and if all I had to give up was a strawberry, well, that beat hitchhiking. So using my spoon like a shovel, I dug through my sundae to get her a really nice one (you're never too young to start workin' on bein' the favorite grandchild). I carefully loaded it onto my spoon, and stuck the spoon in my mouth. I made sure I got all the ice cream and strawberry syrup off this most delectable fruit, and then I withdrew the spoon from my mouth and offered it to grandma. She looked at me disgusted and asked me why I did that. My response? "I was just cleaning it off for you!", like I didn't know any better.   "On February 16, 1923 King Tut’s Burial Chamber was opened. How would you feel at this time if you knew that your grave would be opened and you would be put on exhibit in the year 3599? Do you agree with this practice, be it in the name of historical research?"I don't mean to sound rude or crass, but I don't know how else to say it...who the hell would want to research my grave 1500 years from now? Does anyone have any idea how absolutely silly that sounds? King Tut died in 1324 (approximately)...I know a lot has changed since then, and sure, he was Egyptian royalty, so there were some different rules, but in the grand scheme of things how different were burials back then compared to now? And furthermore, without doing anymore research and basically running on blind speculation, he was buried in a tomb, no? Like, isn't that where the whole "Who's buried in King Tut's tomb?" gag was started? So they didn't have to blow up a pyramid to gain entrance, which I guess is good. But they went looking for him 600 years later!! What could possibly be worth digging up a corpse that's been underground or whatever for that long? It's not like he was using Oil Of Olay and taking lots of vitamin B so his skin and bone game was on point. Maybe he wanted his riches buried with him because he was concerned some people in his posse were shady...homie you're dead, if they're shady they're taking off with the loot right before they seal you up. Shady don't know nothin' 'bout karma. Historical purposes? Unless I'm learning how to become a mortician, you couldn't pay me to care about looking at a body that's been dead for 600 years. I don't even like reading about people who've been dead that long...and me? Who would possibly be that interested in me in the year 3599- 1500 years in the future- that they'd want to dig me up and study my remains? I ain't takin' anything in the casket with me 'cept my memories...and that's even if I deserve a casket. I'd rather be cremated anyway; good luck trying to piece me back together after that. And just for the sake of argument, let's say I've got about 40 years left to live and I die when I'm 80. Fair enough. With advances in science and technology, storing people who are cryogenically frozen becomes a socially acceptable alternative to death and funerals, and more people opt for it because the price went down and they want to be around for their great-great-great-great-great grandchildren. Assuming certain factors in my life right now hold true between now and the time I decide to nap in that great freezer in an underground bunker, there is almost zero reason for me to rejoin society 1500 years later. I'll still be unmarried with no offspring, I'll still probably hate most people I come across, and most of my earthly possessions will have been sold, lost, destroyed or ruined in the Great Technological Meltdown of Year 2987. I'd basically be Phil Hartman's "Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer" or some kind of anti-cyborg circus freak. Why would I want that? What useful research purpose would I serve? How pissed do you think scientists would be if they chose me as a specimen to find out more about life in the 21st century and I turned out to be kinda useless? Hold on...if I can be propped up 1500 years into the future just to let more people down, maybe I kinda want in on that. Who do I see to negotiate a sweetheart deal for me?   Better pay attention...this might be the only time you read a blog entry that I've written where a banjo is a featured instrument.   You're all mostly people who enjoying writing and reading things, right? Good...so I assume most of you have at least a cursory grasp of how grammar and punctuation work. Now that we're all collectively a little smarter than the society was when basic English was invented (not factoring in reality television), there may be a need for an updated list of new punctuation marks . Because it's awfully difficult to convey sarcasm in ordinary handwriting. Western New York has once again made national news, and not for the right reasons. Two convicts recently escaped from a correctional facility, and one of 'em is definitely a brutal killer. I've seen reports that have said they may have gotten some help from the inside, because they tunneled out using power tools...and while they were at it they also left a racist note . One person commenting on the article said the note reminded them of a type of candy they used to buy years ago, and I agreed, because the image looked vaguely familiar although I couldn't place it. [Update: Last time I looked at Facebook, an article was posted saying the men were cornered 40 miles from the prison...and the candy in question was possibly Cherry Clan .] I know I've got some people who read this fat slab of interwebz soil who like to cook fancy things that aren't just grilled cheese or dumping jarred sauce over pasta, and since this is a website dedicated to various literary pursuits, maybe some of you might like a handful of recipes as written by classic authors ...there's also a link to different collections and blogs, which I assume have even more gourmandizable goodies for you to make and share. Elle - on hiatus  , or maybe Lyn's a sly fox  , maybe you guys would really enjoy this.  And finally, it came to my attention last night that The Muppets have once again been synced up with a classic song from the annals of hip-hop history...this time, it's Ol' Dirty Bastard's "Shimmy Shimmy Ya" . Enjoy!I think that's about all I have for you guys today, and if you want more, too bad...it's raining out, and I just got back from another session with my therapist that ended with me feeling worse than when I started (that I at least acknowledged to him before I left, which I guess could be considered a breakthrough in my treatment), so I'm gonna go hard on the package of Nutter Butters I picked up from CVS on the way home and hope that makes me like my life a little more, or at the very least makes me so full that I forget to care. Peace, the blow's been softened, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
| "Even bloggers who prefer to write a serious toned blog can't resist sharing something funny. Share your opinion on using comedy in blogging. Do you enjoy reading comedic blog entries? In the 30 Day Blogging Challenge, do you look forward to 'Funny Fridays' or do you dread them?" Hey there everyone! We're on the second week of our June mini-challenge roundtables...this time around our old friend Brother Nature  is the host, and the topic is Comedy. Luckily, I'm slightly more well-versed in this category than last week. I put "comedy" as one of my blog's genres not because I think it's funny, but because I'd rather it be funny more often than not. You can put ten of us in a room with the same prompt, and chances are seven of us are going to write some slight variation of the same thing...a general, matter-of-fact, here's how I feel sentiment. And that's ok, but that's not ok for me. I'd prefer not to be serious, and if you laugh that's a bonus. I'd rather be unexpected; different. And that's opened some doors for me. I've been nominated for WDC's Quill Awards in both the blogging and comedy categories, I'm an editor of the unofficial WDC blogging newsletter, and I've read some extraordinary people (yes, I'm aware I just said that). I've gained a nice following, and I'm proud of that. I'd like to think that some of that is a result of my humor, but really, asking me isn't gonna get us any closer to an answer. I guess what that all means is...well, I'm not sure. I wanted to say that my brand of comedy has allowed me to be taken seriously when a prompt lends itself no other choice but to be faced seriously, but I don't know how true that is...it must suck if you click on whatever link takes you to me because you've had a bad day and you're hoping I can make you laugh, but instead I wound up writing about the clubbing of baby seals or something. But we're all different and we all bring certain things to the table, and we also have varied expectations of what we're looking for when we sit down to read...maybe we want to be informed, or we just want something to agree with, or we want to laugh. Blogging is a medium similar to television and movies in that respect. You have a general idea of what you're getting when you tune in. As far as "Funny Friday" goes...I used to love it. Now, I absolutely loathe it...because it's rarely funny (and I'm saying this as someone who has both written for and judged entries in the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" ). Some people don't want to write in genres they feel they're not confident enough in, and I get that. If I've got 10 contestants and seven of them are spending four Fridays a month telling the internet how much they hate "Funny Friday", then clearly there's a problem. That's why, during this month, I'm gonna be thinking of ways I can fix this. I made a promise to everyone once I took over the 30DBC that I wasn't gonna change much or do anything drastic...now that I've got a few rounds from the other side of the table under my belt, the time seems right to tinker with the categories a bit. Nothing's set in stone yet, but I would expect at least a couple of the days taking on different meanings for now...including Friday. As much as it pains me from a comedic perspective, I have to do what I think is best for the entire group...I can't run it like I'm sending out prompts to an entire group of people like me. I do think though that comedy has a place in blogging, and it always will. If you can make people laugh, you'll always have friends.  "Tell me a story about moving day. It can be a funny story or a moving day horror story. It can be real or imaginary. If you want you can write a poem or a rant. Be creative and have fun."I don't have a ton of moving stories, because I've only moved a few times in my life, and most of the time those days have gone pretty smoothly. Sure, there was that one time my mattress flew out of the back of Verno's pickup onto a busy main road at 5pm, or the time a friend of ours thought he could handle a 27" tv by himself down our basement stairs only to wind up on his back underneath it, and yeah every time you move no doubt does something get broken or fail to turn up, but I'm sure that's the case 90% of the time with anyone. Now when I help someone move, I'm sorta the point man. I don't do a lot of the heavy lifting, because I'm no longer a strong man, but I can pack a truck tighter than a championship Tetris board. Maybe 10 years or so ago, I was helping my dad and stepmom move from their house to a duplex...a downsizing. At the time I was living around the corner from them, and they had a few things they were gonna give me. After we got them settled into their new place, I took the box truck we rented back to the house along with my little brother and a couple of his friends to grab a recliner and some other stuff. I let them ride in the back because there was no room in the front. It was maybe a 30 second ride from the house to my place, 542. But...we had to go over train tracks, which were elevated almost like a ramp and were certainly not the most flush. We unloaded and took the truck back to the duplex...I took every precaution to not be the safest driver. Instead of slowing down while going over the train tracks, I accelerated. With four teenagers in the back, you'd have thought there was a full load still with all the whoas and holy shits going on. I did not slow down rounding corners. I definitely stopped abruptly. And when I opened the lift to let them out, they just kinda spilled onto the driveway like kids getting off their first roller coaster ride. But that's what happens when you're the cool older brother.  "From a book description: 'In the belief of the Gond tribe [in India], the lives of humans and trees are closely entwined. Trees contain the cosmos; when night falls, the spirits they nurture glimmer into life.' Have you ever watched the trees at night, and can you imagine if they have a night life and which secrets they are hiding?"I won't go as far as delving into the cultural aspects of trees and how our lives intertwine with them, but I will say that when I was a little kid, we had a tiny backyard...and the people who lived a block over and directly behind us had some decent trees...evergreens, maybe. When it got really dark out and we came home late, those trees used to scare the living piss outta me. They looked like giant tree monsters, and I swore they were moving...like, coming after us. Because it was so dark, they seemed closer and ominous. My mom couldn't unlock the door fast enough. Ahhh, those spooky suburban trees. Harmless, really...in daylight they were behind a fence and mute; their roots keeping them in the neighbor's yard. But what about the forest trees, the park trees, where they lived in giant clusters sorta like humans in our sprawls? Were they undomesticated, like stray cats, digging through the park garbages for food scraps and hissing at the others? You often hear the old saying "If a tree falls in the forest but no one's there, does it make a sound?"...if there's no supervision at night, do they party like wild teenagers? Was it the wind, or the feral energy, that caused a few downed branches? And even though there are signs posted everywhere about not bringing glass bottles to the park, they still get there somehow. I've never seen a tree in a liquor store, but I've never seen a teenager in one either, yet there are always empties to be found in forests. The life of a tree- any non-suburban tree- is tough. The park trees, the forest trees...they're out in the elements day in, day out, with no one to love them for what the really are. The kids, they just wanna run and jump and climb with wild abandon of thought. The birds squat, building homes out of other trees within your branches and paying no rent and not contributing anything. When a person uses parts of other people to create a new human, we call that the miracle of life and it's beautiful and we throw a party; birds are just a-holes for doing what they do to trees, like they own them or something. But at night, they rejoice. I believe that's where the phrase "Dance like no one's watching" originated from...because a tree won't dance in your presence. It doesn't want you to see the revenge it's taking on the freeloadin' birds, or the possible loss of branches in the drunken dance-offs with the other trees. It's only fair we allow all of the Earth's living, breathing things some privacy and downtime, to escape from the mundane, sedentary life growing rings and fearing the lumberjacks . We don't know what we don't see...but are we right to assume that what we do see exists when we're unable to see? Let no one tell you I don't suffer for my art...I spent an awfully long time down the rabbit holes of YouTube in the wee hours of last night looking for a specific video related to this song. I found many similar ones, but not the exact one I was looking for. I'm disappointed.  I'm sure the trees got nothin' on these wild parties . I enjoy a good pun every now and then...in fact, it's been awhile since Charlie ~  , Mitchopolis  and myself went pun streaking for our own enjoyment (and the detriment of someone else waking up to 50 new emails re: blog comments). Good thing the internet can provide me with puns as well, when no one else is around. And finally, this weekend marked anniversaries of two of my favorite films of all-time (and that's sayin' somethin', 'cuz I'm not much of a movie watcher anymore)...Ferris Bueller's Day Off and The Goonies . They don't make movies like either of those anymore.Well, I think I've said all I need to say for another day. It's 8:23pm, which means we're probably not getting the tornado they've been warning us about all day (please, like I need another excuse to stay inside and panic), so I can try to hopefully sleep easier tonight. Peace, up and out, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
 "And for day five, who did it? What was your villain or murderer's motive?"'Sup y'all? Today's the fifth and final day of our Mystery Roundtable in the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" , which has been graciously hosted by ElaineElaine  ...I hope you'll come back next week for another discussion, hosted by- wait, am I allowed to mention the surprise guest hosts and their topics? I mean, it kinda is my forum/contest and all. Ahhhh, never mind.Anyway, the topic today is my villain and his or her motive. Yeesh...I feel like I just took one of those courses where after a certain amount of money time you'll be able to do something exciting all on your own, like Write A Mystery Novel In Just Five Days!...here's how (operators are standing by). However, I feel like I'd be repeating this course if it actually counted for anything...unless you like your novels to look and feel and cost more like comic books. From 1967. But hey, I've made it this far, right? So why not give it a shot. Let's say my villain is actually a beloved doctor. He's got his own little practice, and a few times a month he visits a couple retirement home complexes in the surrounding areas to eat lunch, play bingo, and offer some very basic medical services. All for free, of course...because he gets insurance kickbacks from Medicaid and the government or whatever. Only, the number of senior citizens in these centers dying seems to be on the rise lately...at a rate much higher than history dictates. Most are women, and almost all of them have no real family left to speak of. Local newspapers are running articles about this, and investigations are launched into the dietary staffs, the registered nurses and caregivers, and even the janitorial crew...all to no avail. That's when one of the guys down at the precinct calls me...he's worried about his ma and wants me to check things out. So I go to one of these senior clubhouses. And that's when I first notice the doctor. The old ladies can't wait to line up just for a chance to talk to him. He relishes the attention as he takes them one by one into his makeshift office behind the partitions in the corner. I visit a couple more of these places...and each time the doctor is there. Same scene, same crowd. I start watching the obituaries in the newspaper. Sure enough, people are dropping off daily, almost in a pattern. I use my connections to get attendance lists from each luncheon. Looks like we've got a match...but just to be sure, I need the doctor's records. Citing HIPPA laws and privacy regulations, of course the good doc is non-compliant with my requests. Luckily, the force has my back on this and we get what we need the old fashioned way...with a warrant and a raid. And on the way out, one of the officers knocks over a gallon-sized bottle propping open a door. It smells...like bleach. After looking over the documents, we've got all we need to make the arrest. Turns out the doctor was nefariously chatting up his victims, and convincing them to sign over important parts of their wills to him. And then he'd do some "preventative maintenance"- maybe a flu shot, or a shingles vaccination- off the books, so there was little evidence of a paper trail inside the senior complexes. But he wasn't using pharmacy-grade materials...once he cajoled the women into whatever he wanted, he shot them up with needles full of bleach. Amazing how he was able to get away with it for so long. And I know this whole idea of mine is full of holes...so don't try to tell me it could never happen because of this or that. I understand that this isn't very well thought out...it's a blog entry about an idea, not an entry in a competition for the Grammy equivalent of a nice mystery title. And it's also my first time doing this, so go easy on me. I do have to thank ElaineElaine for a fun (and educational) week headin' us up. I've enjoyed this experience, and learned a few things along the way. I hope the rest of the month works out like this past week has! "Finish the following sentence in the voice of someone ten years older or someone ten years younger than you: The only things in life I ever wanted were..."I never asked for much...just a roof over my head, an honest woman that loved me for who I am and not in spite of me, and a job that put as much into me as I put into it. Twenty years ago I had that, for the most part. Ten years ago, I barely had any of that. And today? Nothing's ever certain. Life used to be so much more carefree...before I learned how to think too much or let every little detail bother me. I used to get away with a lot more too...guess we've all learned how to think a little more, but about different things. Funny how everything is done now to the letter, to the minute, to the fullest extent...you could get away with being five minutes late or a little off with a task. Now everything's grounds for termination or a fine or someone's gettin' pissed off way too early and entirely too much. Makes my heart ache thinkin' 'bout it. "Life's not fair"...well, it never was, and it definitely ain't now. The older I get the unfairer my vision, hearing, and wallet become. Pretty soon demographics are gonna start overlookin' me...and the only attention I'll get is if I'm passed out on a park bench in broad daylight or I accidentally drive my car through a strip mall storefront. All I wanted was a voice, and when I got that I wanted to be heard. When I was heard I wanted to be understood. And when I finally became understood, I realized all I ever did was want...so I stopped asking.   "Imagine a long coat, imagine the pocket of that coat, imagine what is inside the pocket... oooohh noooo...You are being followed aggressively...keep in mind all of the above details...what are they going to discover when they get to you and grab your pocket. "So I'm chillin', mindin' my biz...walkin' down the street to the drug store to kill some time and maybe grab a snack for later. I complete my transaction and I'm out. I'm a block into the way back home, and I decide to turn around. I don't know what made me; I know I'm normally paranoid and jumpy but even the street itself is quiet today, offering no reasons whatsoever to be startled. But there's a man about 30 paces behind me. He's got a hat like mine...a long raincoat like mine...he walks like me, with a bit of a limp. That's me! What am I doing behind me? I start to walk faster; he starts to walk faster. And the worst part is as soon as I reach the intersection, it's too early for me to cross...I'm catching up to me. As the light turns green I book across the street as fast as I can, running in front of a car making a left turn...but it's no use. Before I can even turn around, I feel my hand on my shoulder. As I face me he lifts the brim of his hat to take a closer look at me. My doppelganger makes for his pocket, like he's gonna draw a weapon on me. I fish around in my long pockets, knowing the closest thing I have to inflicting harm on someone is my housekeys, but I can't find them. I don't even see me raising up an arm to attack, I'm so panicked. I pull the extra-long Spicy Nacho Slim Jim from the bag I had shoved down in the pocket, unwrap it, and snap into it. If this was the last meal I'd wind up buying for myself, I better be getting at least one bite of it. As I'm about to stab me with a dagger under the midday sun, my man shot backwards as if he was hit by a bus. In a split second, about ten feet away from me, he's spontaneously combusting. To the ground falls just the raincoat and the hat. I just shake my head, walk away, and wonder to myself, "Why did you even wear a raincoat today? It's gorgeous out." All I really want most of the time can be summed up in this song...  So I finished up Aquarius on Hulu last night, and I'm a little disappointed. I get that it's fiction based on historical events, but On The Road was fiction too, supposedly based on real events, and comparatively they're not even close (in terms of similarities to their counterparts)...Kerouac wins, hands down. But the worst part of Aquarius wasn't what it left out (network tv probably can't get into a whole lot more detail), or the loose ends left open after the finale, but the god damn Carrie Underwood Almay commercials that ran...every. single. commercial break. Every epidsode...what were there, 12? Times five or six breaks per episode (including the one that runs right before the start of a show). And I binge-watched over the course of three nights (not including the two nights I fell asleep during the first episode and had no clue what was going on), so let's call it a minimum of 72 times I had to see Carrie "my face looks like a foot" Underwood rub white cream all over her cheeks because she's 'Murican and needs to keep it real. While it's pretty much known information at this point that Facebook collects data from your browsing history to target specific ads for you to ignore, clearly (thankfully?) Hulu doesn't, as I have never once tried looking up makeup or anything related to it at all on this or any of my devices...including ones that I used prior to having Facebook, Hulu, or bank accounts.  You may have heard me on occasion refer to myself as "lazy", which is ok and we can do that without the quotation marks, but give it up for the people who have laziness mastered down to epic science levels. I'm legit jealous I haven't thought of some of these, but I can definitely cop to #4. And #13. Probably #24 as well. I guess I'm not that lazy then! HA! Take that, Mrs. Zichittella (my 11th grade Chemistry teacher who failed me for not having all of my lab work completed). I know some of my readers are grandparents, and admittedly I am not one who should be giving out any kind of parental advice, but if you're ever in charge of a kid, consider me lookin' out for you here. You probably should avoid these children's books on your next library visit with the youngins.  And finally, today is National Donut Day...or is it National Doughnut Day ? I prefer "donut", as it's three less letters I have to type while saying the same thing, but I'm seeing "doughnut" more and more (except for the places that actually sell them). Doesn't really matter to me, as long as I don't have to make 'em (the x-link wasn't working, so try this link instead: {link:http://www.mentalfloss.com/article/50968/13-things-you-might-not-know-about-dunkin’-donuts’-“time-make-donuts”-guy}).I think that sound means we're done with this round of entries; let's see how our contestants did. Peace, uninterrupted prosperity, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
| "In conjunction with yesterday's prompt, what job would your mystery solver have? Would your protagonist be male or female, or something else altogether such as an animal?" What's up y'all? We're on Day 4 of the Mystery Roundtable over in the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" , and despite my lack of topical knowledge I've been enjoying this exercise. That said, today's prompt may turn out to be the easiest one for me...so much so that if I really felt comfortable posting a three-sentence response under the misleading auspices of a "blog entry" I totally would. But you know I just can't do that. First though, in case you missed it and since today's entry relies a little bit on knowing what I was sorta trying to talk about yesterday, have a look or a refresher here: "This one's about types 'n stuff, sponsored by the letter N." . Now, my first thought regarding today's prompt was "Really? He's gonna solve mysteries, duh!" But perhaps I have to be a little more specific. My protagonist will be the detective version of me...not some stereotyped do-gooder who has payed his dues and worked himself up through the ranks, or an overgrown manchild roaming the streets because he's bored and his friends' moms won't let them come out to play, or Snoopy in a Sherlock Holmes hat with a magnifying glass lookin' for Linus' blanket. It will be me. If I were a detective. And since I'm a male, I believe that pretty much takes care of the next question. Now, would I be working on my own? Maybe. In fact, yeah. Maybe I'm a unjustly disgraced cop who's a little down on his luck, taking odd jobs on the down-low because the shady police force doesn't want to investigate certain cases. Maybe I've only got one or two trusted connections over at the precinct who are willing to help me but are also one wrong turn of mine away from telling me to stick it up my ass. And maybe I'm down with some kind of street gang that provides me with tips in exchange for me turning a blind eye to some of their hooligan behaviors. I'm a prick, but deep down I believe in justice, and I'm a prick because some of the people working for justice are very unjust, if ya know what I'm sayin'. I could bust rookie cops trafficking drugs, a shop owner running a prostitution ring out of his basement, and find a kidnapper. Typical policework...but I get to do it without the "I'm a cop" line to fall back on. Meanwhile, my former boss at the station keeps digging into my past to help fabricate false claims against me, and mysterious former allies occasionally show up...sometimes to help me, and sometimes because they're working against me. Compelling stuff. Hell, I'd read a book or watch a show about that on tv. And at the end, I'd watch someone else get all the glory because of my work (even though most of the time I'd barely be able to get out of my own way). I'd pour myself a glass of Crown Royal, light up another menthol, shake my head, and fall asleep on the couch during the newscast. And then I'd do it all again...do I eventually get hired back to the force? Am I severely wounded tracking a suspect, even though I have no legal right to? Or do I die miserable and alone, having alienated everyone close to me during another publicly embarrassing display of bad adulting? Tune in next week, when we'll find out.  "What books do you plan on reading this summer?"I'd love to say I've got at least a mental list goin', but I don't. I've got one book out that I keep telling myself I'm gonna read...Room by Emma Donoghue. It's on my nightstand. It has been for awhile, except when I took it with me to Buffalo, thinking I'd read it during my mom's garage sale. I did not. But if I'm being honest here, the majority of my reading will be done here on WDC. I'll be reading blogs for the 30DBC, as well as The Blogging Bliss newsletter (you can read back issues here at "Blogging Bliss Newsletter Archives" , including the May '15 feature article I wrote that recently went out). I'll also be trying to get my grubby little fingers in the mix at a few other places around here (but I don't wanna overextend myself), and I'll eventually continue archiving my own works. That's kinda where we are as a society now...books, as much as it pains me to say it, are a secondary form of delivering content. I know a lot of you might fight me on that, but look at you right now: you're reading this because it's on the internet. And chances are, you'll be reading a few other blogs as well. Plus your email and your social media catching-up. Sure, you might retire at the day's end with a book in your hand, but compared to the time you'll spend with digital devices, what gets more of your attention? I'm not trying to start an argument or anything...it's just the nature of the world right now.  "Do you have a lucky object that you keep nearby? Do you even believe that objects can hold luck?I don't. I live in a small space and I don't like clutter, so I tend to not keep the unessential stuff out in the open. And now that I think about it, I've never really been into the idea of good luck charms...at least not as an adult. I mean, ok, when I played sports I had certain rituals and superstitions, but those aren't the same as items responsible for the intangible "good luck". That's probably a topic for another day though. Some of you might disagree with what I'm about to say, and that's ok (it's nothing new)...I don't believe in the concept of luck, good or bad. It's easy to believe in when you're a kid with a rabbit's foot or a lucky penny or whatever, but as an adult you see so much of the world and how it works to know that these trinkets aren't the reason things do or don't go your way...and I'm not just saying that because I think I've had more than enough situations where life hasn't exactly turned out fair. There are plenty of examples where chance and circumstance play a role, and luck often bears the brunt of your shitty decision-making or your falling into the right place at the right time. Is it really luck though? Divine intervention? More like timing, missed connections, and talent/skill. Bad luck isn't getting hit by a car. Good luck isn't winning the lottery. Both are, mostly, bound by a series of coincidences...and depending on your outcome, luck is either praised or blamed. Not because you tied your shoes a certain way or forgot your magic troll doll. People have made a lot of money exploiting the public with marketing terms like "lucky", but how useful are these objects? They're no more special than a rock I can find in my building's parking lot. I think the value these particular items actually hold for some people is the confidence having them inspired within the possessor. If it makes you feel better about your day knowing the bottle cap from the beer you had the night you met your wife is always in your wallet, by all means, do your thing. If not seeing it there sends you into a panic, causing you to be off your game at work, chalk it up to that if it helps you cope. But there could be an almost infinite amount of other reasons why things happen the way they do...so many variables and missteps and what-ifs. Luck's just a word, like a doll is a toy and a rock is, well, a rock. But like I said, if it makes you feel better, more power to ya. I may not believe in the idea of luck, but I still occasionally catch myself hoping for good luck and cursing bad luck...it's human nature. I think we learn about it at a young age, as a parent's way of explaining to a child why sometimes things don't always work out or why they did. We carry it with us until we learn that no matter what you do, there always exists the possibility of the opposite of the desired outcome occurring. I had this song in my head as going along with both the 30DBC and BCOF prompts. A great live version, featuring REM's Michael Stipe...on the surface it sounds like a positive message, but I think if you look hard enough at the meaning it could almost as easily go the other way.  I can't remember if I've promoted this recently or not, but please check out the "Love Shouldn't Hurt Poetry Contest" , run by my good friend Lyn's a sly fox . There's only a day or two left to enter, and you guys know there aren't a whole lot of things I'm willing to get behind, but the purpose is dear to me and I think it's a great message being spread. Even if you can't participate, there's a group involved as well that accepts donations...please consider this, and thanks in advance. Eschew luck with me for a moment and give yourself a look at some Random Facts . Some call it "useless knowledge"...but you never know when something like this will come in handy at "Trivia Night" inside your local watering hole. And finally, let's brush up on words that no longer mean what they used to ...and in many cases, what they used to mean is now the opposite of what they currently mean. Silly words...there's, like, too many of them, and stuff.Yup, with that I think I've done said plenty here today...come back tomorrow when we wrap up the week with Day 5 of the Mystery Roundtable, and hope I don't embarrass myself by not knowing much about it. I'd like to think we covered my lack of mystery knowledge earlier in the week, but a wise man once said "A man doesn't know what he does not know." Peace, it's gonna be a glorious day, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
| "There are so many different styles in which to write a mystery: cozy, hard boiled detective, private investigator, historical, police procedural- to name a few. If you were to write a mystery what approach would you chose?" Good afternoon friends! We're back here for Day 3 of the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" 's mystery roundtable discussion, where I'm absolutely out of my element and have almost no idea what we're talking about...sorta like life sometimes, only I know a little bit more about that on rare occasions. As per days 1 & 2, I've heard most of these terms before but never really sought out how to differentiate between them...and "hard boiled"? Who comes up with these? I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation for it, and underneath my fingers rests a device I could use to investigate it, but that kinda goes against my reasoning that the internet exists solely for me to look up song lyrics and random lists of things I didn't know I needed to know, in order to later share with you, the uninterested public. That's why, if you're ever gonna catch me writing a mystery, take my temperature and call a doctor I'm gonna go with "police procedural". Because I'm at best vaguely familiar with the other examples mentioned, that seems the way to go. I never really was one for cop shows and dramas on tv, but I started watching Backstrom last fall and got pretty into it...if someone wants to solve a mystery for me, they can figure out why FOX cancelled it after one season (although I'm hoping Hulu picks it up, but I kinda doubt they will). I guess the reason I'd be into something like that is it seems like it'd be easier to do, and I'm lazy. It's like the template has already been established as far as the setting and characters...cops and detectives, forensics, police station in a sleepy little town, a diner (there's always a diner), etc. All you really have to do is develop these people, come up with a plot and a bad guy, throw in a few twists, and stick a big freakin' bow on it at the end. And throw in a corny joke on the last page, where everyone chuckles while choking down a donut. Systemic and formulaic...I feel like if you were gonna throw a boatload of money at me to write one of these things and then have it adapted for television, I could probably get away with it. But let's not get all crazy and challenge me on that, ok? And how is a mystery considered "cozy"? Maybe it's just me, but if something puzzles me enough to warrant that strong of a label like mystery, chances are the solution isn't gonna be easy to come across, which is likely to piss me off, and that's like the polar opposite of coziness. No one ever says "I'm so comfortable here being frustrated and not having the answers I desire", and mysteries especially involving some sort of violent crime don't exactly inspire, say, the warmth of a campfire with friends or being tucked into bed at the perfect position to get sucked into a favorite novel. When I think of a cozy mystery, I get taken back to the 80's/90's series Murder, She Wrote , which I think you had to be at least 68 years old to watch and enjoy. Dick Tracy, Angela Lansbury was not. That said, even though I currently have a lot of time on my hands, it's safe to assume that I have at least twenty other books to write before I get started on my murder mystery crime drama extravaganza. I'm still wondering how I fit in on this panel of writers who are better suited for the category...I'm like Snoop Dogg cooking with Martha Stewart . "Life is strange. Like: Did the skipper of Gilligan's Island rescue when you wandered off from your mother when you were four years old in Tucson, Arizona? Did a big bright star hang around your house two weeks before Christmas every year for years? These things happened to me. Do you have a story like these? I want to hear about them!"I'm still jealous of Princess Megan Rose GOT Fox  and her story about being rescued by The Skipper...if something frightening and potentially dangerous was gonna happen to me, that's how I'd want it to play out. And I've been fortunate enough to meet a handful of celebrities throughout the course of my life, but not to the point where it became surreal. In fact, I'm having a hard time coming up with any story involving something mysteriously unexplained...and I've been through some weird things in life...at least two or three car accidents where I likely could've died, items that go missing and are discovered days or weeks later in unlikely places, two candy bars falling out of a vending machine when I only paid for one...but nothing that feels remotely unique. I'm sure I could spit out a few moments, and someone else will come along and say "Yeah, that happened to me too!", and suddenly I no longer feel special. The truth is, events like these are often disappointing more than they're miraculous, because you're usually told to shut up about them, like at restaurants when the cook decides to bless your plate with an extra-large scoop of mashed potatoes or bonus dipping tubs for your McNuggets that McDonald's normally charges fifteen cents extra for...and the next time you go back expecting the same treatment you get dicked by the cat who follows the rules down to the letter/ounce/penny. And in the age of social media, you can't just brag about this stuff because there's always someone else waiting to rain on your extra cheese parade. It's not really a win if you can't enjoy the moment without sharing it with others. I guess there's one recent example that I sorta got lucky...when I went back home over Memorial Day weekend, I got to watch parts of a couple of hockey games. And those games went into double-overtime. Bonus hockey for the price of one game! But even that came with a cost, as one was on Saturday night and it pushed the start of a Saturday Night Live rerun back to almost 1am (which is well past my bedtime). Rarely am I ever lucky without the pendulum swinging the other way.  "Do you have a favorite letter of the alphabet? If so, write a poem or story about that letter. If you don't have a favorite letter of the alphabet then write something funny about the weather in your section of the planet."In nearly 40 years of life, I honestly don't think anyone has ever asked me this before...and I'm pretty sure I've never given much thought to having a favorite letter. I suppose if I had to choose one of the 26, I'd go with N, for no other fact than it's the first letter of my first name. Anyone else find it a little disconcerting that the one thing we're primarily known for and classified by the most is a name we didn't even have a chance to pick out for ourselves? Imagine the chaos though if we all went by our old AOL screennames, our first email addresses, or our WDC handles. Kinda sucks if you had to be Jsmith37, or you're at a restaurant waiting to be seated and the hostess calls out "Table for two, for **IheartBackstreet4lyfe**." It'd be confusing for me...when I lived with my boy DMFM we shared a computer and an AOL screenname. Our answering machine's outgoing message would've been "Ruckushouse isn't here right now, but leave a message at the tone and one of us will get back to you." There would definitely be awkward moments...not that we were without them back in the early days of the internet; there just would've been more. There are some pretty fun words that start with "n". No (always a crowd-pleaser). Nancy-boy. Narcolepsy. Nautical. Nyquil. And my favorite, nincompoop. "N" is also the first letter in nom-nom-nom ...letters are cool like that. My question though...who determined the order of the alphabet? Why was it considered so important for it to flow in the sing-songy manner that it does, the way we learned it as kids? Try rearranging it on paper (without just substituting letters that rhyme with one another), and then sing it in the pattern you know it to be. I'm doing it in my head right now and it sounds terrible. And oh god, I can't stop it now. I think I just discovered how dyslexia was created.Trying to stick with a mystery theme here, and it's not as easy as it looks...even for me, who knows more about music than probably anything else in life of any importance. On the plus side, this band will be coming to Canalside in WNY at the end of the month for a free show. Not that I'll probably be able to go, but it's still cool to know that it might be the first time a lot of people I know are exposed to Spoon. "And all the trouble you look for all your life, you will find it for sure in the mystery zone." Lyrics.  In my thirst for useless knowledge, I stumbled upon the reasoning behind four mysterious song titles with perfectly stupid explanations . I think it's important that we uncover the true meaning of some of life's greatest questions. And while they are all perfectly good songs, I don't think this counts as "greatest questions"...or "true meaning", for that matter.  Rejoice! Netflix has announced that somewhere around mid-2016 the fifth season of Arrested Development will come out. Fire up the Cornballer, get a stew goin', and say goodbye to these...the Bluths are comin' back! You're gonna get some hop-ons.  I know a lot of you are curious people like me, which is why I've found a newly-updated list of items you didn't know you know you need ...I myself am partial to #13, and someday look forward to making it a part of my wardrobe. And finally, you guys know I'm a fan of lists, right? CBS has released what will probably be David Letterman's final Top 10 List , which consists of fan-favorite moments...and will probably be the last time I mention him here (at least for a little while). Well, that about does it for me this fine day...I hope you got as much out of this experience as I did (which isn't much, but I'll take anything at this point). Peace, we'll send it ahead as a test, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
| "Red herring: Something, especially a clue, that is or is intended to be misleading or distracting. More info can be found here . The prompt for June 2, 2015: In writing a mystery is it essential to have a red herring?" Thank you, and welcome back to this week's "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" roundtable discussion on the Mystery genre, where yesterday I determined I don't really know much about it and should probably be sitting this round out. However, it's been quite awhile since I participated in anything, so I'm gonna subject you all myself to my own ignorance. I'm gonna be very upfront about this...I've heard the term "red herring" before, but I never bothered to look it up or see what it meant. As for what I do between blogging and my loose attempts at poetry, the need has never really made itself known to me. I guess I could say that what I assumed about it is right, in that it's a device meant to throw someone (in this case, the reader) off the trail of the final reveal. I get it...it's a fancy way of holding my right fist up while I suckerpunch you with my left, preferably in the nether regions (the old "What's the capital of Thailand?" joke). There should be more nicknames for plot tricks like this...just not seafood-themed ones (unless they're of shrimp or breaded fish sticks or a beer-battered fish fry like I like to get from the Main Street Grille whenever I head back home...and the fact that I usually leave there a drunken hot mess is irrelevant to this entry). Back to the purpose of this entry though...a red herring, in my opinion, is absolutely vital to maintaining a good mystery. Ever watch a movie and think, "Gee, if the main character did 'A' instead of 'B', this farce would be over in the first five minutes..."? I know; I do it all the time when I watch a movie, or a tv show. It's that dumb decision that generally sucks you in, mainly because you wanna see how the protagonist is gonna get out of the nonsense he/she has gotten into. And by golly, it works! That's why I'm ok with them. A well-executed red herring reminds me that I don't know everything, as hard as I sometimes try to convince myself otherwise. While my head is sniffin' around all these other angles...Bangkok!! And suddenly I'm rolling on the ground, cursing "Why why why?" enlightened to the fact that maybe I need to pay even more attention rather than allowing myself to get sidetracked. You win, mystery writers. Until I figure out where to hide an open can of tuna fish in your closet in such a way that you won't find it for days.  "'When you’re awake, you know you’re awake. But when you aren’t, you don’t know you aren’t. The question is, how do you know you exist?' by Maria Popova in Brain Pickings. Write whatever you wish about this, through any form, style, genre, fiction, non-fiction or poetry."Mind, already = blown. Well-documented is how I'd describe my relationship with sleep. Last night was the first night in awhile that I've had a serious problem falling asleep, mainly because I misjudged the amount of Ambien I have left before my next doctor's visit, and I'm trying to save it for when I really need it...which would've been last night. And my sleeping patterns have been so jacked-up for years that it's hard to know when I've actually settled into a good one until it's too late (and I know, I could call my doc's office to get the script renewed, but it always turns into a freakin' hassle...so save yourself from reminding me of that tip). But damn, the existential question! I love it! I feel like, at times, because of habits and bad decisions and nights of heated passion, I've missed out on a ton of great dreams...when I do dream now, it's a- pardon the wordplay- nightmare. The latest series of themes recurring in my dreamtime movies involve random situations where I'm unable to speak. I try but the words don't come out. Things are happening and I'm unable to use my voice to stop them. I wake myself up by talking, but I don't remember what's been going on in my head. It's a scary way to greet the day. If only there were an opt-out clause built in to my sleep aids that says "Ya know what, we're not gonna haunt you tonight...", I'd be all-in on that. You don't miss what you didn't know you had, right? But sleep doesn't work that way. I know I exist because I'm here, tapping away on a keyboard. I have interactions on virtual platforms. I went to the store earlier for a few things, and I heard some of my neighbors in the hallway. So there's proof that life exists around me. But I'd be lying if I didn't say I derive the most enjoyment out of life when I'm asleep. When you miss out on a solid night of it for over a decade, you learn how to enjoy it, even when it's terrifying at times. You can only make so many adjustments when you're awake to compensate before it catches up to you. I'm more than happy to not be in control of my head for a few hours at a time each night. There are days when I wake up and look forward to going back to sleep at night. Sure, it's a product of sleep aids and sedatives and pain meds coupled with not having any ambition for anything (a vicious cycle)...but it beats being a zombiefied mess of a person blah-ing through life. There are times when I crave interaction and enjoyment, but solely on my terms. I've looked. I don't see it. At least I'm cognizant of when I start to ramble, which I'm doing now. I don't have a good knot ready to tie this portion of the entry up with, and I blame that on the sleep I didn't get last night.  "I'm reminded of a great truth in life: We're all struggling down our life paths. Nobody has it easy in life. You can take any five people, for example, and in the group you have...it's your story to tell. Inquiring minds are curious what story you will share about those five people."So true. I remember one morning as a teenager, walking into my sister's room. She had a sleepover with a few of her friends, and after subtle early-morning conversation I judged them all as the big dick older brother. "You're the nerd, you're the alcoholic, you're the desperate loner stuck with six cats, etc." I was an asshole! Judgements at 18 over the lives of a bunch of impressionable 14-year-old girls, like I'd already seen the big bad world or some shit. Not knowing anything about the future, the eating disorders, the suicides, the struggles to fit in, anything that would happen later on. In retrospect, I was a terrible person, projecting all I knew about me at that age on people who didn't deserve it because that's all I remembered about me...the name-calling, the bullying, other people acting out to hide their insecurities. I thought that that's what I should've been doing to protect myself. Create doubt in others to assert something greater within. And wow was I wrong. You'd think I'd know better, having gone through it. But no. There's no right answer. There is no "tearing others down to make yourself feel better and fit in". It's not politics or lunchroom philosophy. It's people. They're people. And we're all full of doubt because that resonates within a hell of a lot more than someone saying you're good at something...because when you're not sure about who or what you can trust, motives cloud your sight. And you can deny it until you're blue in the face, but it's true. Don't judge. Everyone is fighting something you can't see. This world would be a much better place if we looked out for one another first rather than destroying people for our own perceived gain. The self-satisfying oneupsmanship doesn't get anyone any further ahead. Unfortunately, it's still a losing battle against those who want nothing more than to put you in the proverbial ground. Again, I'm rambling. I'll stop now...but not before I remind you to look out for each other as you would yourself. You never know. You guys know I love The Tragically Hip. From their (in my opinion) worst album comes this poignant song...the great white north in your soul. "Oh, Honey Watson, we were born with sin. Some truth, some reconciliation, and gone with the wind. If it feeds the need...if it dies, it dies. Now, the struggle has a name. We are the same; it hasn't changed. I still feel the same." Lyrics.  I may have found the new unofficial mascot/hero for my blog (not that I need one). Ladies and gentlemen, #56 in your program, but #1 in your hearts, Ben Ancheff . I miss pitching...being able to rock a two-seamer. Good on this dude. I'm a fan. And kudos to NBC, for making Aquarius available on-demand in its entirety through Hulu. Took me a few nights to get through the first episode (I kept bailing because I was exhausted) but I stuck through it and now I'm hooked. It helped that I was an insomniac last night, but ever since I knew the story of The Beatles through "The White Album" I'd been fascinated with Charles Manson (just not in a cultish serial killer way)...I read Helter Skelter one summer during high school. I don't worship the guy the way some do Marilyn Monroe or Joe Montana or Bob Marley, so let me have this "watching a fictional tv show based on historical events" thing without me being labled. Cool? Cool. Took a selfie the other day, and I swear to gawd I need to start the #nonewselfies movement, because it's so unnatural. Yes, I know I need a proper haircut, and yes, I need to stop making the "no, I'm not making a face" face when I take my own picture. Hence, #nonewselfies. Sun's out, bun's out.  And finally, how about 15 words that don't mean what they used to ?I think that means I'm done here. Join us tomorrow, won't you...as I figure out more ways of being ill-prepared in all things "mystery genre". Peace, like the sun in a mirror, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! I don't understand any of this, and it's probably better that way... but the brand statement at the end was kinda cool. |
| "This week, June 1 through June 5, will be a round table discussion involving the mystery genre. Pretend we are meeting around a conference table and talking away. The prompt for June 1, 2015: If you were writing a murder mystery what would you chose as a method of death?" What's up you guys? Ok, whereas in the past I've been able to explain away absences from blogging with some credibility, I find that that only goes so far. I even got the random "So, you're not writing your blog anymore?" question from my mom when went home during Memorial Day weekend, and I just kinda brushed it off with "Well, I'm doing other things...<voice trailing>" and "I'll be at it again soon, don't worry..." but while yes, it's true I've been doing other things, the fact is I've been highly unmotivated for the most part. And that stops today. Because over in the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" ...Well, I'm honored to be considered as part of a panel discussing anything, but Mystery isn't my topic of choice. In fact, pretty much my entire history with the genre can be summed up in one picture:  For real. I don't read it. It's not that I don't like it...when I was a kid two of my favorite series to read were The Hardy Boys and Encyclopedia Brown. But then I grew up, got bored with reading, met girls, found heartbreak...and the rest is history that I'm still trying to decipher. I am actually starting to branch out though...the next book I plan on reading is Room by Emma Donoghue, and it looks interesting. But anyway... Suffice to say I have no real adult experience with the mystery genre outside of the game of Clue, and even then I haven't played that since I was probably 13. I'm a bad panelist. But I do have an imagination, so bear with me as I attempt to fit in where I clearly don't belong. [Sidenote: If this gets me investigated for murder charges based on coincidental outcomes, I'm gonna be pissed.] I can tell you that I wouldn't want my murder mystery to be something common, or something- pardon the pun- exposed to death by crime drama shows on tv. And that probably eliminates 98% of the plots I could possibly come up with. If I were a gambling man I'd easily not bet on this genre surviving another five minutes based on my math, which is why I chose writing as a hobby and not statistics. But if you held a gun to my head and said "Plot a death in a week or you're history!"...well, I'm not cool with history either, but I'm sure I can think of something. I'd have to go with something along the lines of a scientist who discovers a parasite that can cure cancer, but a jealous rival scientist steals his formula and creates a mutated version that feasts on ordinary human cells when ingested. Ooooh! Scientific things! (Also not a specialty of mine.) The mad scientist starts introducing the mutation through drinking straws, and suddenly an entire shopping mall's customers are dead within two weeks from some "unknown malady" while the cool hero scientist guy is on vacation after saving his test patient's life. When he comes back he's inundated with talk show appearances and media requests, turning his assistant into an unwilling secretary of sorts, and suddenly his name pops up as a suspect when his lab is under siege by the feds. He has to find a cure for the new set of dying people while backtracking his way through the antidote for cancer so he can come across how it was created, which leads him to the rival douchebag, who has taken the good guy's assistant/secretary/burgeoning love interest hostage in an underground lair/meth lab. A battle ensues between the good and bad guy, lots of CGI and Hollywood chemical pyrotechnics happen, and ultimately good triumphs over evil. But the bad scientist has already struck a deal with the government to provide his "new, low-cost cancer cure for low-income patients", because SEQUEL! as our hero rescues his assistant/new lover. I literally just made all of that up, so don't ask me to fill in details or fix plot holes. I write blogs and poems...I'm not cut out for this kinda stuff.  "Write a story or poem about the full strawberry moon (it occurs on June 2 this year). Be creative and have fun."Also something I know very little about. I heard about this the other day...maybe from an old friend on Facebook who's all into lunar weirdness or whatever. Didn't we go through this last year with the "Blood Moon"? Is there some kind of astronomy festival going on every year that I haven't heard of since the dawn of the internet that is causing these moons? And why do they sound like drinks that should be served at the Enterprise's bar on ladies' night? "I'll have a Strawberry Moon for the lady here, and give me a Crown and Pop-Rocks." Is this why we stopped funding NASA? Because you know once we start operating a fully-functional space station on the moon, and that Elon guy with Tesla or the dude from Virgin (Richard Branson?) commits to legit travel there, the first place that opens for business is gonna be a bar, and they're gonna need a bartender. And who wouldn't like a refreshing Strawberry Moon? Two shots of vodka in a glass with strawberry puree, a shot of triple sec, a spritz of tonic and a lime garnish? Boom! You're over the moon in a few minutes! And I just made that up too while sitting here.  "May 31 is Walt Whitman’s birthday. He wrote: “I do not ask the wounded person how he feels, I myself become the wounded person.” And he also said: “The poet judges not as a judge judges but as the sun falling around a helpless thing.” When it comes to writing or reading poetry or life in general, what do you think of his above quotes?"I also have very little experience reading Whitman (sorry, I know what I like and I tend to stick with what I'm familiar with). But I can definitely speak to the topic of being wounded, and of understanding the process of words that hurt so much even when you're not the intended victim/recipient. And this isn't an elitist discovery. The cheerleader who's happier than god-know-what all the time has a reason for thinking the Top 40 station's #1 song is about her. That emo kid knows the singer feels his pain in the song he thinks no one's heard but him. And the quiet girl in your math class rages out to metal because it speaks her language. It's an ancient topic. Empathy is a subject that should be directly taught...it's pussyfooted around all the time, in examples bordering on "Here's how you should feel when 'x' happens." But no...humans aren't born like that. We're unique. We don't all act or respond the same way. I don't cry at funerals or weddings, but if a story touches me a certain way I'll sniffle and weep. And we all have triggers. We may act hard, but deep down we know what will break us in private...some are better about it publicly than others. I cried the night the very last episode of "Friends" aired years ago, and I shed a few tears last week when I was at my mom's and it re-aired. Moments in life can do that on an instant...much the same as other moments prepare us to be emotionless, and/or stronger for others around us. And this is where I circle back to empathy. You can look at a plant and not know it from the seed, but the seed went through a traumatic process. You don't have to understand the person to get that maybe they've been through some things you hope you'll never have to go through. Sometimes we get so blinded and sidetracked with our own dilemmas that we just don't care enough to see things beyond the perspective of what's right out in front of us. You can read words and think "Oh wow, that's cool!" or you can put yourself in the place those words were meant to put you, and see it from the author's perspective. It's always the latter that makes everything mean more, and that's something that anyone who writes anything should look at as a tool for enhancing what they do. I admit I think I'm guilty of not having that talent when I write, but as a person I'm learning that more and more as I get older. Ok, I know I rambled a little, and I contemplated briefly going with "Building A Mystery" , but I settled on this because I think it was the first time in my life I began to actually care for someone other than myself in a relationship sense...you could say it taught me empathy. I started dating a girl, Tracy...when I met her she gave me all the bullshit back to me that I gave her. Sarcasm, honesty, truth...and it was fun. But I knew I shouldn't have started seeing her, because I was gonna have hernia surgery and wouldn't be able to be a "fun boyfriend" for awhile. And I didn't think rationally or seriously. But she did, and opened up to me in ways I wasn't used to or imagined girls would to someone. She'd been through a lot of abuse via an ex-boyfriend and parents that didn't seem to give a shit. And here's me, haha, cool, cute girl  . Tracy would've stuck with me through damn near anything, and I was pretty dumb to see it because I was too wrapped up in my own merrymaking. But when I think of her, this is the song that plays. We're all wounded in our own ways. "You tell 'em, that's just my battle scar. I want to kiss you, and knock 'em down like we used to... You're the marigold." Lyrics.  It really feels like forever since I last blogged...but I have to tell a story about something coming full-circle to me. If you know me, you know I'm a fan of comedy and of late-night television. I remember one of my first nights as a teenager, probably 13, sneaking out of bed to watch television (I had trouble falling asleep even then). All the lights were off in our apartment, and I crept into the living room to watch David Letterman. I may not have understood all of the jokes or his wit, but I was more in awe of him than I was of the fact that if I got caught what kind of trouble I'd be in. And I kept doing it, for as long as I could keep myself up without getting busted. There was nothing like him on tv at the time...not on network tv! We didn't have cable, and cable now isn't like what it was 25+ years ago. So the humor was fresh, new, subversive...it wasn't a joke; you were in on the joke that wasn't necessarily supposed to be a joke. And that was Dave. For me, at least...I was in on something I wasn't supposed to be in on. My first night back in Buffalo at my mom's was Dave's last show...and there I was, by myself in the living room, trying to be quiet and taking it in and hoping someday I'll be as funny, or weird, or something. It was a sublime evening. #ThanksDave Speaking of comedy, you guys know I love Saturday Night Live, and one of my all-time favorite performers is Tracy Morgan...who lived through a horrific car crash last year. He gave an interview on Today about it, and it breaks my heart. This guy lives comedy. He speaks it. He embodies it. And he's been through a lot in the past year. I don't care if you don't agree with me...he's hilarious. And I can't wait until he comes back.  I finished off this thing called "Slurred Emotions" . It's not great...it's no "Cabin Fever" . There are legit crazypants moments and gestation periods of shudderness awaiting me. But it's done, I did it, and I'm already thinking of another notebook- the inbetweener one- that when I find it, will be going up. And maybe then I'll move on to current stuff. And finally, yo...I hate to slag on my hometown, and I know this shouldn't be funny, but it was when I was still a resident and now that it's still happening it's even more funny. Old people crash cars into buildings. And I know Buffalo can't be the only place where this happens, but the rate that it has occurred is alarming enough that someone made a friggin' map for it. The WNY cars-into-buildings epidemic .Ok, I know you guys have better things to do right now...like me, I need to eat something. So that's what I'm gonna do. Then I'm gonna try not to nap, and hopefully not be mortified by this in a few months or tomorrow morning. Peace, nothing to do with me, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
 "Do you find yourself modeling your writing style after your favorite authors? How do we create our own unique voice?"Hey y'all! It's been a hot minute since I wrote an entry that I'll actually post (Spoiler Alert: I wrote one a few weeks ago that won't see the light of day because, well, that's how I feel about it and this is my blog, so my rules and whatnot)...but I've been lurking behind the scenes and trying to stay upright and busy. And when I say "upright", I'm not kidding...my antidepressant meds make me wanna enjoy life more from a nauseous position while laying face-up with my head elevated. Some might call it "comfortable"; I say nae- the desired outcome is far from the expectations and exceeds the preferred limits of side effects. But anyway, I feel fit enough to rejoin- at least for today- the writing community. And I like this prompt...I've liked a lot of prompts the last few weeks, but once you slip off the blog grid for awhile it's hard to jump back in. I've probably said that a bunch of times before, but you'll have that with me. There are a bunch of ways to approach this particular prompt. For me, there are two aspects at play: 1) Not wanting to rip off my favorite writers; and 2) Writing from the voice inside my head. Number one is obvious...if you and I are mutual fans of the same authors, you'd know immediately if I was biting their style. I'm very conscious about that. There are writers I respect and admire, but having done this for so long, to mimic or ape their techniques would be an injustice both to them, and to the people who read me. When I first joined WDC, a woman took me on as a sponsor and quickly got me promoted to Preferred (yellow case) and compared my poetry to Bob Dylan...and at that point I hadn't listened to much of his music, so I was kind of surprised. I just wrote whatever was in my head at the time, and I was fortunate enough to find a place to post it online. I wasn't trying to be anyone else besides the person who filled up notebooks with his heart, blood, and feelings. It'll take me a lot to admit in that respect that I've done fairly well for myself. And that leads me to number two. I may have also said this countless times, but I write as if you and I are havin' a conversation. You're asking me via prompt, and I answer. It sounds pretty simple. This is how I'd talk if I had an extra second to think before I speak, with the added bonus of a backspace key in case I botch something up. That's how this goes; that's all of what I know...when I started writing as a teenager, I didn't have many literary influences. I wrote down the thoughts bouncing around in my head. It was purely a release. And now, being older and having been exposed to different styles and abilities, it's almost harder to shut out other voices I agree with or feel kindred to. I have to dig further down within myself...peel the layers of the onion skin off, so to speak, so I can get to whatever it is I want to talk about. I used to have a wild fancy that someday kids would study my poems in their English classes the way I was educated and forced to study some of the greats in literature. "Open your textbooks to "Cabin Fever" , class..." (shameless plug). I don't think I sound like anyone else but me. And I don't want to. Anything can be coincidental, and I'm aware of that...but my poetry, and my blog, are both in my voice. You could call me up on the phone and ask me the prompt, and what you hear in response is probably what I'd type out...save for a few ummms, ahhhhs, and some dead air space. "Put on a cape and declare yourself the super-duper hero of something...properly conjugated verbs, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, run-on sentences, maybe the best photographer...whatever sweet place you are ready or not ready to claim as yours. Tell us all about it! Shape yourself or shake yourself into this new role... I have faith in your abilities."With all due respect, I am far from a hero at anything. I'm guilty of thinking too much before I react, which makes me a bad candidate in emergency situations. And when I do react first, it's usually the wrong instinct that takes precedence. <insert something here about karma and bad decisions> The truth is...I'm not great at anything. I'm really good at a lot of things- stuff of little importance- but I'm past the time of me thinking I could be the apex of something substantial. I still try to do well at whatever I get myself into, but I'm very selective about it now (almost to a fault) and I'm well-versed in adjusting to when things don't work out the way I thought they might. It's not a skill so much as it's just survival on the barest terms. I've been through a lot...whether it was brought upon myself or not, it doesn't matter. Rarely do I ever complain about it, and I won't start now. At the end of the day, it's my head on the pillow and my thoughts circling around inside. I guess my superpower is living, when everything else I've touched has gone away. Haven't heard this song in awhile...when I was in 3rd or 4th grade I had a folder that was the Synchronicity album cover, and it was the coolest thing I owned at that point in life. And to this day, I feel kinda like this.  I haven't been totally inert lately...I did write a piece for the upcoming issue of The Blogging Bliss that centers around May being Mental Health Awareness Month , and I contributed a new poem to Lyn's a sly fox 's "Love Shouldn't Hurt Poetry Contest" ("Trojan Horse" ). I don't much enter contests anymore, but this one is kinda close to my heart for certain reasons and I hope you'll check it out. I finally finished up the judging of March's official round of the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" . I want to thank my guest judges... Fran 💜 💜 💜 , ElaineElaine , and Lyn's a sly fox . It's not an easy task, and I'm grateful for their help. Join me in congratulating the winners...the Official 30DBC Honorable Mention is Prosperous Snow celebrating  , and the Brother Nature Honorable Mention goes to Cubby~Cheering House Florent!  . 3rd Place (Blogging Merit Badge): PandaPaws Licensed VetTech ; 2nd Place (Blogging MB and 25k Awardicon): Charlie ~ ; 1st Place (Blogging MB and 50k Awardicon): skeason . A great bunch to be associated with. Finally, most of you guys know I'm a fan of late-night talk shows, and this week will mark the end of David Letterman's tenure as one of the most influential hosts of all-time. His brand of comedy was the perfect anti-thesis to Johnny Carson's, and he has made a lasting imprint on countless comedians and talk show hosts to this day. If you're so interested, here is an article from Merrill Markoe ...a co-creator and head writer of Letterman's show. Well, that pretty much does it for me...it's all over but the editing I guess. Peace, it's my destiny, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! |
| "Do you need to agree with the lifestyle and personality of a writer/artist/musician/actor in order to like their work? How much does a celebrity's life outside of their work affect your overall opinion of them?" Nope. A kind good day to you all...but no way. Let me take up a few minutes of your day to explain. Talent recognizes talent. (But if I hear another sports commentator say "real recognizes real", Imma lose my damn mind.) Great works always come with backstories. And so do the people who create them. I don't care. I don't need to agree. My main concern is if the product is consumable, and by that I mean "I can still watch/read/listen". If not, peace. But if so, I'll pay attention to their opinions. Ain't like Thom Yorke or Eddie Vedder or Jason Bateman is comin' by to save my ass from my problems anytime soon. But why do I know those names? They put out some kind of meaningful art in the last ten years. They took often unpopular political stances. My feelings haven't changed; stay relevant, make great art, and weed out those who don't believe in you. Do I sometimes disagree? Yeah! But my opinion means zero to celebs. As I usually do to them. Your opinion shouldn't and doesn't matter. Be who you are first. Be authentic. If the nuts-on-his-chest Nickelback guy sells out his friends and forsakes his Canadian roots, what do I care other than they made one good song before they sold out ? The point is that my personal success isn't tied to a celeb or their beliefs. Be a good person, and people will like you. Write good stuff, and people will read it. Be an asshole, and you get what you deserve. Especially if you're famous. And most of us aren't.  "The month is ending and we’re headed back home for good. Of all the places you’ve gone, activities you’ve been involved with, people you’ve met, and souvenirs you’ve bought (and which will stay behind), what will you miss the most?"Seriously? It's the end already? I wasn't prepared for the start, and I'm not ready for ElaineElaine and Andre and Brother Nature to end it all now. But it's been fascinating. I'm grateful for all that took part...from Dragon is hiding  , who taught us a lot, and skeason , who could play security any day I wind up AWOL, to the eventual reappearance(s) of Andre, and everything in-between. Great bunch of ship-mates. Cheers to Elaine, Joel, ~Minja~  , Charlie ~ , Lyn's a sly fox , and all of the rest of you I'm too tired of not being tired to name. I don't have a favorite moment. I won't not miss this either. I was mysteriously pushed overboard, we saw a mermaid, and strange faces were exhibited. That could sound like a solid week in some books. If that's my month, I'm cool. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to the official May round of the "30-Day Blogging Challenge ON HIATUS" . I don't need a blog monkey; I already know how to drink vodka in excess and toss/fling poop. I need a good ol' "sit down and shut up!"-ing.The one pure beauty of owning a large collection of music is being hit with a gem you've forgotten about while walking around. Yesterday was that day for me. Sometimes iTunes just knows what you need to hear.  I probably have at least 40 different tabs open- stories of personal interest, WDC posts, other things- and all I wanna do is take a nap. And not a crappy "lay there and pretend to dream some shit until you actually nap and dream scary shit" nap. I need a good, solid two hours of undisturbed nappage. Will I get it? Prolly not. But I'll try. Oh yes I'll try. And that's where we ended up today, kids. Me playing along strong with IDGAF and your eyes complied. I am not a celebrity, so therefore I don't endorse this, or the opinions expressed. But smoke 'em if ya got 'em. Peace, rah-rah-rah, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! Kate Beirness is my idol...what of it? |
 "We’re going to a party/festival! The party can be anything you like: quiet, loud, formal, informal. Tell us where we’re going, what’s happening, and what you’re wearing."Well alright now! Maybe I'm dreaming this whole thing up; I'm not sure. Apparently I had to be rescued the other day because I turned up missing and was only found after ~Minja~ checked out her porthole and saw a body. Maybe I'm still in care. Maybe we're all back on The Mothership, and we're heading for home...I don't know; I'm not a fun patient. The festival? We're Canalside...on the cusp of Lake Erie. During the first summer the free Thursday concerts moved there from downtown Buffalo and Niagara Square. While it was great seeing the packed Square with thousands out looking for fun, it was very congested...at the finally-being-redeveloped Canalside, a sprawling expanse, there is so much more room to spread out and enjoy a concert festival-like atmosphere. For pretty much free...just don't bring a cooler, because buying food and drinks helps keep it that way every week throughout the summer. Charlie ~ came out in his dopest attire, complete with a feather sticking out of his fedora and a tight pocket square in his formal jacket. Brother Nature wore a Canadian flag like a cape. Jeans, boots, and a flag/cape are not always good life choices, but I can't speak for what passes as a good idea on the west coast of Canada. Andre just wore a giant oversized diaper...because sometimes you just have to go, and if you've been to an all-day experience, you know you could wind up waiting longer in the pisser line than the beer line.Me though? I can't find my hat. I must've lost it when Andre pushed me overboard on Deck 10 during a smoke break the wind kicked up over the Finger Lakes. I guess. I dunno. So I'm going sans hat to the shindig, which means my dookie attempt at dreadlocks will be in full effect. It's one thing to wake up in the morning and think they look almost kinda awesome; it's another when you have to leave for something and nope the fuck right outta those thoughts. I've been too lazy with them, and they need to go, but there's no time- there's never enough time- to always get the desired look down. So my freak head is flying with IDGAF as the co-pilot. Besides, I'll look good in the morning, right? I got one of them hair-ties around my wrist, so I can do the awkward hipster messy man-bun if I need to. Won't be the first time. The fest itself is just nuts, especially when you're stuck in a 9-5/8-4 you're slowly hating by the day. Everyone comes out for the big names...not just the "woo hoo party chicks" who use a free concert as an excuse to get shitfaced on a Thursday, but actually almost everyone.The Mothership had landed; we were just grateful to see it dock in our city. We were the star children. And then we had to go home; walking some of the cobblestone streets until we stopped at Pearl Street to pee and reassess. And had some ridiculous pints. And made new spontaneously-combustible friendships from talking trash off the balcony. At the end of the day, always go see George Clinton. Even if you're rocked off the side of a boat (in all the metaphorical ways). Always go to Canalside if you get the chance, because you never know who you might fall in love with musically. Just take my advice. The flowery orange and white swim trunks I wore that night that I can't fit into now and have since donated will thank you.  RIP, floral orange swim trunks.  "April 27 is 'Tell a Story' day in the United States. Scotland and England celebrate this day on October 27. Celebrate 'Tell a Story Day' by telling a story...it can be fiction, non-fiction, a tall tale, or folk lore. If you want you can tell a story about why the British holiday and the U.S. holiday are exactly six months apart."Sorry. Canadian sooory. I don't have a good story today; I just wasted my one good story of the day up above there. But I have a bang-up live version of Hawksley Workman's "Your Naked Body On The Beach" that comes with him telling a good story...Thank you soooo much...you feel like hearin' a story, like I feel like hearin' a story? Anybody got a story or anything? Ohhhh goodness...stories of love, well, I was driving a lot and it's spring afterall and when you're driving a lot along farmers' fields and elsewhere, spring has hit the animals and they're out in the fields doing the things they do, and then, there's us...and I'm only hoping we're doing the things we wanna do too. Is that true? Ummm, this is a song that you may never have heard, but it belongs in a place in your heart. And that place...give it here...is like, just home from the dentist. When I was younger I had superior teeth to my brother; I never had any cavities, and he always had cavities. And I would make fun of him, and I would make fun of him, and he would get angry with me. My brother didn't...whistle very well either; I don't think that had anything to do with the bad teeth. They're not bad to look at; it's not, like, he spent too much time without a facemask. It's more like, well I don't really know but he certainly is a very good-looking boy; he got the looks whether he got the teeth or not. And I guess that's all that matters when spring rolls around and animals are sniffin' out the best ones goin'... Then he breaks into a lovely live version of this, complete with cha-cha-chas and vocal inflections one could only hone after live performances of a song he was too scared to release because his original demo sounded so flat and lifeless. We all have another thing to learn from this.  "Let’s put on our editor’s hats and help someone who has handed in his novel’s manuscript. Even before the middle, you find out that the central problem is extremely weak, so weak that it doesn’t even make sense (to you) for the writer to have written as much as he has. In which ways would you assist this writer, or else, what would you say to him?"Nope. Not my job. Don't want it. I can't be that guy. I've been a dirty SOB sometimes and exampled dispicable behavior, but no. I won't tell someone who's been in the heat of writing their own thing that it's wrong. I wouldn't want someone to change my thoughts around, and granted, my experience is with poetry and blogging, so I don't know about novels...but if you tell me I should change a line because you think of something different that will change the intention, I'll tell you very nicely to kiss my ass. But what sucks? I worked once with a creative genius here on the dubbyadc, and she was just a fuckin' kid but we would rework each others' items like remixes. We had a great collaboration thing going. It was amazing. We had a good back-and-forth, with no pressure, and we would just email ideas and...balls...I never (at least I don't think) saved any of them. I could go Zero 7 on her most "Climbing Up The Walls" words. I had liberty to add a verse, and editing license. And then she went away and so did my will to collaborate with anyone on anything. The point is...it's really hard to take people out of their original emotions when they write something. Novel, poem, whatever. I write when the moment strikes me and if you wanna play around with it, ok, but I'm not changing anything in the original if it means conceding. I'm crazy selfish that way. Don't change my words because it's what you don't want to hear, and don't work with me if you don't like the outcome. I get weird sometimes. I put that upfront. And I come with a pedigree and my own issues. I'm still trying to figure out the work-with-me/help-me-out dynamic. It happens all the time. Why am I such a deviant? Ugh. But anyway, I'm getting back on the eff out this place to either nap or play with P15 more. I'm going with napping. Or maybe not. Peace, loose booty doin' the bump, and GOODNIGHT NOW!! RIP, Buffalo legend. |
 Log in to Leave Feedback |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
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
Thank you!
