Randomness on Television

I can't believe that it has been more than a year since I last blogged. Therefore I have a lot of little things crowding my mind.

One of the things is that I love watching television. I know it's not PC or cool to admit it, but there you have it. I hate reality shows. They are a mindless wasteland that circumvents the talents of writers, actors, and others who have perfected their crafts to entertain us. I miss the days when there were more shows on that make use of clever and witty dialog delivered with perfection. Oh, yes, there are some that still come to that standard, but they seem so few and far between. Thank God for The Big Bang Theory and reruns of shows like M*A*S*H, Frasier, The Golden Girls, Roseanne, and Barney Miller. These shows helped me hone my writing chops.

On the other hand, there are a couple of reality shows I do watch. Both address issues in my own life and I use them as inspiration. One is The Biggest Loser, even though the quality of the show has dropped as they cut the show from two hours to one hour per episode. I miss getting to know more of the issues facing the contestants as they go on their weight-loss journey and how they deal with them. The other show is Hoarders. I am a low-level hoarder and this show inspires me to clean and organize. Beyond these I don't do reality shows.

Of course, television is currently loaded with the Presidential race. This is at once entertaining and very alarming. The Republicans seem to have made a platform out of pandering to the lowest common denominator among their constituents -- or perhaps even a but below that. Those candidates seem to be actively trying to say the stupidest, most racist, most outrageous things to garner attention. It is almost like watching a group of young boys trying to show off to get the attention of a girl. Then you add Donald Trump's temper tantrums and I suddenly think this is Kindergarten

Not that the Dems don't have their issues, but at least they aren't dipping their toes into racism, misogyny, and hatred. Even those who are attempting to take the high road seem destined to descend into finger pointing.

Is it any wonder that after all of this I sometimes feel the need to take refuge in an episode of Arthur and let my inner child take over for a half an hour? There the biggest enemy is dealing with a few growing pains. What a burden they seemed to be back in the day and yet now we would gladly return. Back then the only presidential election we cared about was whether Mr. Howell or the Skipper would become president of the island.

Little Orphan Laurie

No matter how old you are when it happens, when your parents are both gone you are an orphan. You have lost the two people whom you have known your entire life. The relationship between parent and child is very intimate. After all they have dealt with you through every thing -- poop, vomit, blood, tears, illnesses, accidents, dreams, failures, Christmases, birthdays -- far more than anyone else in your life. When they are gone there is a huge hole that they used to fill.

A week ago I passed the anniversary of my mother's passing. It was just two years ago and I still mourn her loss. This year it was punctuated by the loss of Lauren Bacall, Robin Williams, and the father of a friend. All the old feelings came back and I was laid low with a deep depression.

You don't "get over" the passing of a parent. The grief lessens with time and you learn to deal with the loss. You find things to help fill the hole. But it never totally goes away. I think that is why people have  created such elaborate death rituals over the centuries. It is not just to send off the one lost from the tribe, it is more of an acknowledgement of the enormous change that is happening in ourselves with adjusting to their loss.

I was talking with my friend and next door neighbor who helped me through my loss and I voiced that I was still realizing that in the last few years I was holding myself together and doing for Mom. Now I need to rediscover all of that energy that has had no place to go, turn it around, and use that energy for myself and the future I want to create for myself.

I made one last promise to my mother -- that I would finish my book and get it published. That is not just her dream, it is mine. In spare moments here and there I have been rewriting and editing. Now I need to take all of that time and energy I used in caring for her and put it in to finishing my book. When I tell people about it they want to buy it and read it so it may very well be the avenue to the future I want to build for me.

Mission identified and accepted.

Catching Fire

There is nothing quite so frightening as fire. I found that out for myself last week when my house caught fire. It was the middle of the night when an electrical outlet shorted out. Fortunately I happened to be awake and saw the flare from the arc and heard the pop. I got out of bed and rushed to put out the fire by dabbing it out with a kitchen towel.

It was only then that I called 911 to get the fire department. They came and made sure that the fire was completely out. It had been small enough so that I was able to stay in my home -- with no electricity. I was shaking from the adrenalin rush and was unable to sleep, even after the hour it took me to get the cat inside.

When morning dawned I was faced with finding an electrician. Naturally, when one came I found out that my home needed a complete rewiring so that the 57 year old wiring wouldn't keep trying to burn my house down. To do this in the standard way would mean having to remodel the entire interior of my home. There was no way to afford that,so I went with the less expensive total rewiring option and now have shiny metal cords running through the house along ceilings and walls. It isn't the prettiest way to do things, but oddly, it is already beginning to feel like this was the way it has always been.

It was one of the scariest things that ever happened to me -- and yet amid all of this there are so many blessings. I am blessed that it was a small fire. I am blessed that I was awake when it happened. I am blessed that I was able to put the fire out quickly. I am blessed that the fire didn't spread. I am blessed that the electrician was able to come and do the work right away. I am blessed that a wonderful angel came forward to pay the bill -- and that others also offered help. I am blessed that the cat is fine and that I only suffered a bruise on one foot from tripping over something. I am blessed that I didn't lose any of the food in the fridge . . . It goes on. . .

Being fortunate isn't about never having bad things happen in your life. It is how you view them in the aftermath. It is how you handle the event. Shit does happen to everybody in varying degrees.

I have chosen to re-frame everything in my life in terms of love and gratitude, with a strong side of prayer. If someone is rude to me I try to remember that beyond me their world could be falling apart. If someone cuts me off in traffic I try to remember that they could be rushing to the side of a loved one (or a bucket of chicken). Then I thank God that being cut off did not result in an accident.

So, basically, strange and crazy as it sounds. I am thankful that my house caught fire. You just have to hear the reasons before you decide I need a straight jacket. Or a padded cell. I'll be visiting my therapist tomorrow, so I've got that part covered.

What's In A Name? Beyond The Boobs

Everyone knows that both men and women have private parts that they tend to name. These parts are the ones that demonstrate the difference between men and women. As I was sitting in the bathroom today (which is where I do my best thinking), I began wondering about this.and why I should limit it to the Honeydew Twins (a couple of nice melons).

Choosing a name for other body parts is not something that comes naturally. You have to take into

Clinton and Reagan

consideration the natural traits of said part, which part it is, your relationship to that part, and your own sick personality for wanting to name your body in the first place. Have I totally over-thought this? Oh, yeah!

The first was my belly. It is far to much a major part of my life and it is big. Far bigger that I would want. So she became Bertha Big-Belly. That was easy. Now, the butt. Not as big. Overall, probably the closest I come to having anything that could be called "skinny." This one wasn't as easy, but I had it. "Back-sida Ida."

I reached into 1920s slang to call my knees "The Bees." The bees knees was a  phrase that was used to indicate something wonderful. The Bees have been a wonderful source of support all my life.

After that they started coming more easily (and at times strangely). My hands are Clinton and Reagan (left and right respectively -- Hillary and Nancy). My arms are Huggy Bear and Snookums. My feet are the Walkers. That is not just a name, but an encouragement to keep doing just that. My legs are Starsky and Hutch. No reason -- it just sounds fun.

My head and brain are the A-Team (although some days it shifts to the Twilight Zone).


This is about where I decided where I should really stop before someone decides that I need to be institutionalized.  I named just one more -- my face. I have chosen to call it Kenley..This is an homage to the two people who gave me this face -- Ken and Shirley.

By the way, did I mention that I have OCD? Not officially, just as a hobby. Next up? Traffic lights I have named.

Oh, how I wished I was kidding.

Republican Misogyny and Equal Pay

I am amazed at how the Republican party continuously manages to sink to new lows in their attempts to pander to the Tea Party on the far right and make it sound plausible. They have gone so far out that if the world really was flat they would have fallen over the edge quite some time ago.

The recent act of congressional Republicans to vote down equal pay for equal work (the Paycheck Fairness Act) -- or more precisely equal pay for women. It was a misogynistic move that should have every woman in the country questioning any Republican values or beliefs they may hold. Why should they be loyal to a group of old white men who don't give a crap about them? Well, they shouldn't.

The Republican party has now sent a very clear message that woman are worth less (read worthless), that all those single mothers out there struggling to pay the bills don't really matter, that women  don't work as hard as men. Most of the women I know work harder than most of the men I know. Women generally put more into their jobs and then go home to run their households and  raise  the kids. While husbands of younger generations are stepping up more than the older ones, there is still a gap when it comes to taking care of home and family.

In the past the argument was made that deserved more pay so that they could support their families. It was a lame argument then and it certainly hasn't improved with age. So now conservative activist Phyllis Schlafly has one again shown that Republican thinking is mired in the past -- the loooooong past.

This dinosaur of a woman trotted out that old idea that a woman who makes more money won't be able to find a husband. This argument is so old that it became fossilized back in the 50s.  Women no longer need to marry for financial security. The vast majority of women marry for love these days. Period.

Let me point out here that not all of us are in the market for a husband. Just like there are confirmed bachelors out there, there are also confirmed spinsters. Not to mention lesbians who also just don't fit this stereotype. Since we have no intention of looking for, let alone finding, a husband. This doesn't even begin to include the fact that more households than ever before are headed by women. By Ms. Schlafly's heavily flawed logic, those of us who are not seeking a husband should then be paid the same as men.

This logic is just as insulting to men since it presupposes them to be insecure jerks who can't handle being considered "real men" without a bigger paycheck. Now if I were looking for a husband I don't think that a man this insecure is exactly the person I would want to have children with, let alone raise children with.

The true measure of a man is not found in the size of a paycheck or penis. It is found in the goodness of his heart, the integrity of his actions, and the fairness of his judgement. Of course, no man is perfect, but he should be able to be confident in his manliness without demeaning a woman.

Schlafly also chose to argue that women don't work as many hours (in my experience they often work more) and insist on a clean, comfortable office among nice people. I assume this means that women are higher maintenance employees than men. I find this a strange argument after all of the years that women have worked, and continue to work in farm fields and sweatshops.

Her bottom line came down to this -- that the best way to empower women is to provide better job prospects for their men. This is another amazingly bizarre twist of logic. It wipes out a good 50 years of women fighting for empowerment. You do not empower someone through someone else. It just doesn't work that way.

I admire women who have stayed at home to raise their children and did not HAVE to work to help pay the mortgage. Should things take a bad turn and these women lose their husbands to divorce or death I want them to be able to make a decent paycheck and not have to scramble to find another man just to survive.

This thinking that a woman is nothing without a man is as outdated as foot binding and corsets. And men deserve a woman who wants to be with him for who he is, not what he can do for her. Men and women are not two halves of a whole. They are two wholes.that compliment one another and create a balance.

A friend of mine recently posted on Facebook saying that after the Republicans voted down the Paycheck Fairness Act she couldn't believe any woman could conscionably vote Republican.  One of my brothers corrected her from woman to human being (I'm so proud of him!). My response was that a human being wouldn't, but a sheep would (my homage to George Orwell).

We should all empower one another, and no one at the expense of someone else. There is enough respect to go around. The Republicans could start with an honest vote and not just voting against hte Democrats. And vice versa.

Source

The Bygone-Era Bear -- Writing Down Memories

Many people write memoirs. This is not to same as writing an autobiography though. An autobiography is an all-encompassing and generally time progressed account of one's life. A memoir can be short or long and recount a single event or thought or a series of connected events. I started thinking of this topic when I was looking at an old friend a couple of days ago.

I have known him for most of my life and he has been my most constant supporter for all of those years. He is a wonderful listener, great at mopping up tears, and he is never stingy on the hugs. I am, of course, talking about my toy bear. His name is Pooh (but not Winnie-the). He is named in honor of that very famous bear of very little brain.

Yes, I still have my bear. He still hangs out on my bed, although he has been relegated to the foot of the bed rather than the head. He is the head of a whole group of bears that have entered my life in years since. There is the bear I was given after surgery years ago to help me cough. And the bear I received on a job for a job well done. Bears that were gifts from friends. They are his posse and keep him company while I am busy being an adult.

He is old. Very old. Most of his tongue has worn away, part of his plastic nose is missing, there is a splotch of blue paint on the back of his head. Dear Pooh has been through numerous surgeries as I have mended the areas were his fur has worn out. He definitively has that Velveteen Rabbit thing going on. There is a little patch of fabric under his tail that is as new as the day he came out of that ugly Christmas box that was yellow with red figures on it.

My pairing with him was brought about by my godparents (the first set, I had two pair) after my first bear had died tragically in a vomiting incident. That was back in the days when stuffed animals were not washable. It had been a horrible few months during which I had tried to transfer this relationship to other stuffed animals to no avail. When this Pooh arrived (basically he is really Pooh Too) it was love at first sight and we have been together ever since.

Perhaps part of the reason that I was so drawn to thinking of Pooh so hard in the past couple of days is because my godmother passed away recently after a lengthy battle with Parkinson's Disease. I haven't seen her or her husband in many years, but through the best toy I have ever owned they were always a part of my life.

Why do I still hang on to this piece of the past? Because he has been such an important part of my life. I was an only child and he was the closest thing I had to a sibling. It embarrassed my grandparents to know end when I would drag him along to go out to dinner and then insisted the he also have a booster seat to sit in. My mother allowed it because she knew how bored I would be during dinner with four adults.

Pooh was the only emotional support I had during my parent's divorce and nasty custody battle. He was there for me when my mother went back to work and I spent long hours alone. He was always there for everything. Now that my parents have both passed away and I never married or had children, he is still a strong constant in my life. I may no longer need to hold on to him to sleep, or talk my problems over with him, but he is a bit of reliability and stability in my life. Just seeing him spending his retirement years at the foot of my bed gives me a feeling of emotional security.

Pooh has always supported my dreams, both realistic and foolish. He kept me company through my early writing attempts and never tried to talk me out of my dreams of being a writer. For a short time I tried to turn his life into a story -- in it he drove a VW Bug and lived in a house on a corner. While that tale never took off, he didn't take that personally. He has never told me to lose weight, or find a boyfriend, or wear more (or less) makeup. He always accepted me just the way I am. Writer's warts and all.

There. That was a tiny memoir. Now what are you remembering these days?

The Poor on Poverty

There has been an awful lot of talk by Republicans about cutting back on programs that help the poor and so-called "entitlements." These "entitlements" are programs we have paid into for years. "Entitlement" suggests getting something for nothing. People receiving these benefits have all put into the pot the same as everyone else.

Let me back track just a little. I have heard the poor called lazy in these discussions and that is why their benefits to help provide food and a roof over their heads and a chance to see a doctor when sick. These people have the image of the poor just sitting back and raking it in. Having become very poor myself I can attest to the fact that you cannot be poor and lazy at the same time. It just takes waaaaaayyy too much work. Let me illuminate those who aren't knowledgeable:

While looking for a job, keeping home and family together, and the usual daily duties that we have all accumulated, we are also filling out mountains of paperwork to prove that we are poor. This does not just happen once and we are set to go. We have to repeatedly fill out the same paperwork every few months to make sure we are really still poor (this is because of the people who do try to abuse the system -- only about 2% of recipients -= and we rail against them not the system). We have meetings we have to wait for. We are in a constant scramble to figure out where the next bit of help will come from.

We spend hours on the phone trying to unscramble the problems that are bound to occur in making sure that any bureaucratic system is bound to encounter. Paperwork gets misplaced, computers get data entered wrong, and things can get inadvertently over-looked. The people who run these systems are only human and are often overworked since their places of employment are understaffed -- often due to budget cuts.

Medicaid didn't cover some treatment you had been advised that they would, or they changed the rules without telling you and won't approve your prescription for insulin, or dropped you for a couple of months for reasons unknown. While the Internet is loaded with pics of people on food stamps (now SNAP) benefits with fridges loaded with food, the truth is that it doesn't quite cover the total food bill. So we scrounge and spend time getting help from food banks that aren't able to keep up with the demand of additional poor and declining donations. In addition to food, those same benefits do not cover such crucial items as toilet paper, tissues, shampoo, soap, or deodorant.

We spend hours on the phone searching for help in other ways. We call churches and other charitable organizations to find help with rent, car repairs, household repairs, clothing, and so forth. These things are not covered in any way by government programs (some assistance if you have children). I am currently face with a list to see if I can find help purchasing new glasses. Apparently the Medicaid coverage on glasses is so small vendors lose money providing such items. So I must find some place that has a charitable partner to help out.

Instead of waging a war on poverty, the one that started during the Depression, there seems to be a faction out there (primarily Republican) who are out to wage a war on the poor. Most of these people also seem to be Christians. They are Christians who seem to ignore the parts of the Bible where we are encouraged to help the poor. We are taught to have compassion for those less fortunate. However the love and compassion for others for these people only extends to those who don't need help other than a ride to work or when moving.

Let me be clear here. I have been looking for a job for more than two years. I have been hit with a slew of health issues (seven surgeries in six months). And I work everyday. Not just Monday through Friday. I work seven days a week writing for two websites. Since this is freelance, this work is not covered by minimum wage laws. I love writing and doing this work, but it just doesn't pay anywhere close enough to live on. So I keep looking for a job. At least a part time job to help pay the bills minimally. Because of health issues I can't work on my feet or I would be serving up fast food in an instant to get my income going.

Being poor is not some sort of free ride for people who don't want to work. We work. We work hard. For the most part we are people who want a job and will take one if offered. These programs are not an "entitlement." I have paid into them with my tax dollars for over 30 years. They are not an "entitlement," they are a safety net for when things go south. Thank God it is there. And thank God most of you will never need to use it.

I don't ask for pity. I ask for respect and to not be judged adversely just because I have hit a REALLY rough patch in my life. We need these programs and NOT for lazy people. If I hear anyone calling the poor lazy again I am going to have to take them out (verbally).

Lesbian Lessons

For years there have been millions of debates over gay rights and slowly people are starting to realize that gay people are just like the rest of us. . . well, hell they are the "rest of us." People are people. And weird things happen to people.

I am not gay. I have wonderful friends who are. I have no problem with anyone's "gayness." Well, gaydar" for me to pick up on the fact that she belonged with another woman years before she made history by coming out of the closet. For me it was a huge relief when she did.

okay, one problem. It is Ellen DeGeneres. Dear, sweet, funny Ellen. Oh, not with her now. Back when she first had her own sitcom and was playing it straight. Every time they had her character in a straight love situation it freaked me out. It just didn't feel right to me. I have just enough "

Earlier this week I had cataract surgery on my left eye. My friend Randi has been doing chauffeur duty. On the day after surgery we went to lunch before my day after eye check. We were sitting at our table at IHOP when another woman stopped to chat with us for a moment. Neither one of us will turn down a good chin wag with anyone, so we chatted.

After a few minutes of chatting I realized why the woman was talking with us. She was a lesbian and she thought we were a couple. Usually people mistake us for being mother and daughter. Randi is considerably older than I am. In this case she was also totally clueless. I was getting a chuckle on the inside. The woman was very nice and fun to chat with, regardless of the reason. Since she didn't address this directly, I didn't choose to correct her view. It didn't matter to me.

She veered into gay rights once just briefly, but since she assumed we were on the same team, she didn't need to preach to the choir. After she had gone on her way and Randi and I had taken off for the doctor's office I told her that we had just been mistaken for a lesbian couple.

"Oh, I don't care about that!" she said.

"I know, I just thought you'd be interested to know what was going on there. You know, the subtext," I responded.

We chuckled a little. It was interesting to get an idea of how some people see two women who don't wear makeup or high heels. It also gave me some sort of insight into a part of my father's life.

My father, though 100% Scandinavian, was very Semitic looking. He was mistaken for being Jewish on occasion. During World War II he was in the army and one of his fellow soldier went out of his way to make my dad's life miserable. It turned out that the soldier had assumed that my dad was a Jew. Once that misunderstanding was cleared up the guy thought dad was just fine. Something that really ticked dad off. Years later I was telling my Jewish chiropractor about the incident and took a picture of my dad in for him to see.

"Oh, my God! He looks like my uncles!" he exclaimed.

Being taken for someone you aren't at face value can swing both good and bad, harmless and harmful. It is based in stereotypes and erroneous thinking. In the wrong hands it can feed hate and fear. It can have devastating consequences. In the case of Eileen, I like to think that what she was mistakenly sensing as lesbian, was really a sense of kindred spirits.

If someone has assumed that I was a lesbian and treated me differently because of it, I have not had such an overt experience of discrimination. I fervently hope that this is because we are learning to accept people for who they are.

I don't wear makeup because even the hypo-allergenic stuff bothers my eyes. I no longer wear heels because I once actually broke a foot falling off of them and being overweight makes them uncomfortable. I am a feminist, like many women in my family over the past couple of centuries. I haven't dated in a while but am not totally opposed to doing so should a nice guy with a sense of humor, a good heart, and an open mind came along. None of this makes me a lesbian, but may make it appear so to someone else.


Looking back on the incident I have just one lingering feeling -- that Eileen would probably make a good friend.

Also, you never have heard, and never will hear, me say "that's so gay." Except for that one to make a point.

Dancing With Pavlov: Trying to De-Condition Conditioning

Okay, this sounds terribly psycho-babblish, but I did study a lot of behavioral science in college and I did work for a number of years in industrial psychology and sociology, so I come by it honestly. Of late I have had a major face plant right in the area of conditioned response. Most of you will have

heard of the Russian researcher Pavlov and his team of dogs that learned to respond to the promise of food at the sound of a bell. I am currently trying to woof down the reverse course.

Over the last week and a half I have had cataract surgery on both eyes. While they are in there they insert a lens to help improve vision overall. So I am no longer exactly nearsighted. And herein lies my problem!

I have been wearing glasses every single day of my life since the fifth grade. It is totally ingrained in me to reach for my glasses upon waking in the morning, to push them up if something in the distance isn't clear, to look over them to get a good look at something small, and to remove them at night. Now that I no longer have them I am still acting as though I still have them.

I hunt for them on waking until I remember I don't need them. I try to look over non-existent glasses to get a better look at something close up. I have punched myself in the nose any number of times trying to push those same invisible glasses up. I claw at my face to take them off at night. Worst of all, not being able to see well enough to read.

Okay, it will get better. Behavior modification is not outside of my psychological repertoire (though personally I am more of a Jungian, by why confuse you more?). My eyes are still in the process of healing and they will change a bit more. They will settle down to a new normal. Chances are that I will need glasses again to correct astigmatism and that pesky not being able to read thing. I have bought a cheapy pair of readers so that I can see for the most important reading in life -- like checking my blood sugar and taking insulin. But still I struggle.

I think it was easier being conditioned to that rather than to recondition myself. Partly because I was so young the first time around that just about everything in my life was about becoming conditioned. Now I keep wanting things to go along smoothly and having to learn to see the world in a new way is anything but smooth.

I have discovered a whole lot of new things with these new eyes -- that there are cobwebs on the ceiling that I hadn't seen before, and the inside of the car windshield is badly in need of being cleaned, and that my eyes are more sensitive to the changes in my blood sugar than I had previously realized. The last one could be a good thing. It may help me keep a closer "eye" on my sugar level.

Like most thing in life getting what I always wanted -- to not need glasses -- is a mixed bag. At the moment it is difficult because of all of the things I need to re-adapt to these new things. On the other hand I love being able to lie in bed and look out the window at more than a blur. There are beautiful visions ahead of me. I just need to de-condition my previous conditioning and stop responding to that bell that just isn't ringing any more -- at least for now.

On the New Age spiritual level I am wondering what it is that I am now willing to see that I wasn't before. Time for a good meditate. Om. . .

Zingers - Love or Hate?

There are things that are politically correct and things that are not. Over the past few decades we have learned the face of bigotry against different races, religions, gender, gender identification, and disabilities. For the most part we agree that we must be kinder in the way we treat people in these areas. The one area that we are still struggling is the way we treat fat people. It seems that it is still open season on us, despite the fact that the bulk of the country is overweight (pun not intended but appreciated).

There is a fine line between telling a joke and making fun of someone. A lot of people don't know where this dividing line lies.

First of all, for all of the idiots out there -- you don't need to point out our fat to us. We have already realized this fact from the sobbing sound the scale makes when we step on it. Also, don't think that humiliating us is what it will take to get us to lose weight. If that actually worked this would be among the skinniest on earth rather than the opposite. You also need to look in the mirror. You could be the pot calling the kettle fat.

There was a recent kerfuffle on line about a guy who took a woman's photo from her blog that showed her holding a sign that said "This is what a feminist looks like." He reposted it with a comment that it was just as he figured -- indicating that only fat women and perhaps women without the perfect airbrushed look would be a feminist. Yeah. Tell it to former Playboy Bunny Gloria Steinem. This kind of crap attitude is a large part of where feminism stems from. But I take this guy with a grain of salt. He is undoubtedly the loser he was accusing this woman of being. Hello! Pot, it's the kettle calling!

Oh, yes, you could be handsome and well-muscled as all get out. But inside you are small, gnarled, and distasteful, possessing the need to make others feel like less so that you can feel like more. Humor should not come at someone else's expense. You delude yourself by mistaking the desire to hurt under the mask of the desire to be funny. Shame on you!

Now, I can take a real joke. I love Gabriel Iglesias's five (and now six) levels of fat -- big, healthy, husky, fluffy, and DAMN!!!! More recently he added Aw, Hell No! to the list. Now I could delude myself into thinking I am any of the first three. I, like Gabriel, am fluffy. I have verged on DAMN!!!! at one point, but have lost a few lbs. to get back. I did not do it for vanity's sake. I did it to improve my health and mobility. Of course I still need to lose weight and want to, but it really is easier said than done.

Just recently I got into a fit of joke telling about my weight with a Facebook friend and fellow writer.  I was having a blast. I love being funny. So I copied my jokes and will share them here with you:

My figure is more like Jabba the Hut's than it is like Princess Leia's. The whole look worked better when I was younger and not so, ummm, spongy. (This was in relation to the fact that I have three Princess Leia costumes hidden away in an old suitcase.)

Last time I tried to wear a halter top in public five guys went blind. And that was with a jacket over it.

I thought of buying myself a tent to wear, but the sporting goods store didn't carry my size.

I didn't wear a costume for Halloween one year and everyone thought I was going as Miss Piggy.

I went as the Flying Nun and people took bets on just how high the wind speed would actually have to be to get me off the ground. An F5 tornado was the final consensus.

I tried to go down to the Mall one Halloween as a skinny person but the police kept trying to break up the crowd.

Last time I went to the beach some guy with a harpoon showed up. I had a whale of a time.

Last time I went to the beach some guy with a harpoon showed up. I had a whale of a time.

I went jogging without a bra once and gave myself a black eye.

People used to try to give me support by telling me to keep my chins up.

If you laughed, good for you. The intention behind these was good-natured fun. It was also done through a bit of self-deprecation. People like Gabriel Iglesias and I can do that  because we understand that we are pointing at ourselves and not others. In like kind, he will make jokes about Hispanics and I won't. Since I am not Hispanic I do not have the background to go there. I could, on the other hand, go to what it is like to date a Hispanic. 

One of the keys to being funny rather than hurtful is to make it accessible to people. Make it key into their experiences or the experiences of the people close to them. The power of intention also comes in here. My jokes are not intended to hurt anyone. I point the finger only at myself and hope that other people, especially the fluffy ones, can identify and maybe feel a little kinder toward themselves.

And to the poster child for feminism -- you go girl! Leave the jerks out there in the dust where they belong. For the guys who get it -- bless you for you are truly men. 

YouTube for Writers

There are many tools available to writers out there. One that you may not have thought of (but I hope you have) is YouTube. When you stop and say "what would it be like to do. . ." there is an excellent chance that someone did and filmed it. You don't want to use exactly what you are seeing, but use it as a seed you plant in your imagination and let it grow. Chances are that you will come up with something even better.

You can learn what it is like for people who own an exotic pet, how to build a variety of different things, cook, clean, be a jackass, and innumerable other things. Having these things as a visual reference can be much quicker than reading through pages and pages of text. Now is you need to do in-depth research and lots of precise facts you are better off with reading all those pages, but for a quick burst of knowledge a video is just the thing.

I am always hearing writers saying that they are at a loss for an idea for their next project. Another thing you can make use of YouTube videos for is story ideas. While I get the occasional idea for articles I write, it can also make great fodder for coming up with ideas for fictional stories. There is no guarantee that you will come up with a story idea, but think of all the fun you will have doing the research.

You can also scout locations this way. View a variety of world locations to prepare believable descriptions of where you characters live, work, or travel. You can research what people in China say when making a dog barking sound. Find out what it looks like to drive into a telephone pole, jump from an airplane, or descend into deep cave. 

A word of caution here, you can get mired down in looking through videos. Unless you are just browsing randomly for ideas, knowing precisely the sort of thing you are looking for can shorten you searching. Also knowing that you have been looking for too long means that you are on the wrong track can help. Bail on your search and try a different angle. Be sure to use plenty of key words to help narrow your search. It may take some time, but you will learn to tell when your search is going nowhere and stop yourself from wasting more time in fruitless pursuit.

Sometimes the best way is to do an overall Internet search for your topic and then zero in on videos that come up in that search. Along the way you might find other pertinent ideas and information that you may not have realized that you need.

At any rate -- happy watching!

X-Files

I'm not really big on journaling. I know that many people swear by it, but I find it time consuming and I tend to devolve into a list of what I did that day. I can do that by just keeping my to-do lists from each day. When I was a teen they tended to be focused on the latest boy I had a crush on. While that served a purpose, it wasn't all that helpful to me as a writer.

However, there are three things that I do write down and keep a log of.

One of these is a diary of the odd things that happen in life -- big and little -- that don't fit in to the normal pattern of things. I can go weeks, months, or even years between such things. And I do mean odd. If you have been reading my blog you can probably tell what some of them are. For example, I will write about the time I saw a UFO, found a python in my bathtub, locked my keys in the car while they were still in the pocket of the shirt I was wearing, or was charged by a buck while raking leaves in the my yard. I will also keep track of the cat throwing a dead mouse in my face while I was still asleep in bed and of the past life regression therapy I went through. These things are an important encyclopedia of life.

I don't need to keep track of what I had for breakfast or what I felt about it at the time. I do want to capture those offbeat moments. They can even be the more sedate that getting stung by a wasp on the pussy while in my own bathroom. They can be about the day two friends and I went into the mountains and set my mother's ashes free to return to the Earth Mother.

My journaling is for the extraordinary moments of life. The real keepers. These are the moments I will return to when writing in the future. Those other moments happen daily and I can reach out to them at any moment.

Another thing that I will journal about are dreams. I am not into taking them all down, but the ones that stand out are important. I don't need to make a note of the dream where someone was watering my
piñata, but I will keep track of the one about a girl who lost her memory and was only healed by the appearance of the family cat. That is the stuff of literature. I will also keep track of ones that give me insight into myself and my relationship with myself and others. These can teach me not only about myself, but how to write a meaningful dream sequence.

A recent example would be the dream I had in which I had taken up cohabiting with Patrick Jane (The Mentalist, played by Simon Baker). My father (who passed away 14 years ago) was in our apartment having a fit at me for living with him and not being married. I defended myself to him (which was difficult in real life) and my right to be loved. He finally stormed off and I turned back to Patrick, complete with all of my own insecurities about whether it was really possible for anyone to love me. There was another woman somewhere in the picture so I finally asked him if he really loved me. He looked very deeply into my eyes for a long moment before responding "Yes, I do." I was thrilled.

I awoke from this dream with some warm feelings about Simon Baker/Patrick Jane that lasted temporarily. What was more important was that some part of myself that was represented by him had given myself a level of approval that I was desperately needing -- so much so that I shut down the negative voice (Dad). 

The third thing that I will "journal" is the story ideas that come to me. Sometimes they come fast and furious and other times not at all. This is a way to keep a well of ideas to refer to when I need a new idea. I don't need to worry about not having an idea because I have a large record of them. This is especially important with the approach of each November and National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo).

NaNoWriMo is the annual challenge to writers for them to write a book (50,000 words) in a single month, Many of the writers who do this approach the month of November with trepidation for not having any ideas. This will NEVER be a problem for me. To all of those baffled Nanos out there -- yes, I am willing to share.

Some of these ideas can be kind of strange, but I catalog them all. I will undoubtedly never use them all, but they are there for me should I need them. I do a similar thing with article ideas, but that is recorded by bookmarks for websites.

You will never find me straight journaling about doing the laundry, but you might find me creating a humorous essay about it. That is a different blog post.

Weirdness Rules

People often call me weird. I take that as a compliment and wear it as a badge of honor. It means that I am unique, one of a kind, unusual, entertaining, and my own person. I walk to the beat of a different drum. I dance to music no one else can hear. I am me -- the only person no one else can be.

Most, if not all, my writer friends lay claim to the label weird and also wear it with pride. Some are weirder than others. When you are a writer you spend a lot of time living in your head (and heart) and that is bound to have an effect.

When we get together on Facebook we can get pretty strange. We have one thread with almost 32K comments that is about just about everything. The weirder the better. It started out normally enough, but somehow it took on a life of its own and has been going for almost two years. Some people will just drop by and type in a random word. Others drop in just to say hi. Some complain about their day jobs. It is where many of us compare our weirdness or declare our love of weirdness.

It doesn't all have to be weird. We also accept the labels of geek, nerd, crazy, freak, nut job, dork -- well, you get the point. So why do we accept these?

Well, first of all, few of us were among the so-called "normal" kids in school. We suffered the labels when we were young. We thought that they excluded us. It took us years to realize that those words really exalted us. It meant that we weren't average, boring, one-size-fits-all people. It meant that we had a lot more to offer the world than just joining the ranks of 9 to 5ers.

We aren't special. We aren't better. We are just . . . different. And we have learned to appreciate that about ourselves. It took some serious adaptation to get here though. Perhaps that is why writers have a reputation for being drinkers. I think now we are more likely to have other forms of medication. Like Abilify, Red Vines, and coffee. In my case I often go for the three P's -- Prozac, Pepsi, and popcorn. I would love to add pizza to the list, but then I would also need to add Prilosec.

But I digress. We watch too much television. We read too many books (is that really even possible?). We get into a Facebook thread and get caught up in playing silly word games with each other. Some of them are as simple as word association. Others are like the one I recently got caught up in. We started by discussing the word moist and how much people liked or disliked using it. (Now there is a hot button issue for you! ) The discussion eventually devolved into trading movie and television titles with the word "moist" replacing a word in said title.

As strange as it seems (and believe me it did get strange), we were actually working. Such games with each other works the mind, breaks down barriers, and leads to greater creativity. It is also a great ice-breaker and a way for us to get to know each other.

From there we get into the geek version of trading recipes -- we recommend books, websites, and writing tools to one another. This whole thing is unisex. It matters not the gender. We are writers and all equal under the pen.

As the character of Jenny said in the first season of Sabrina the Teenage Witch said, "But I like weird. I love weird. I bask in the glow of weird!"

Villanelle -- Writing to a Specific Form

Most of you have probably never heard of a villanelle. It is a 19-line poem composed of five tercets and a concluding quatrain. It is a rhymed poem with only two rhymes and two lines that repeat alternately throughout the poem. Sound intimidating? I assure you, it is.

 I know that the bulk of you reading this are never going to write a villanelle, or even poetry for that matter. I am just using this as an example for how your writing -- or anything else creative you do -- can actually be enhanced by having to work within  rigid structure once in a while.

Back in my poetry days I was faced with writing one (ultimately several) and I was a bit taken aback. How was I going to do this?

Having to write to a prescribed form is always difficult. You must take your creative genius, which is vast and wild, and cram a bunch of  into a little box that it doesn't seem to fit inside. It is kind of like learning to pack a suitcase with a maximum of stuff -- you have to learn a new way to fit everything together.

I struggled a lot with this. First of all was coming up with a topic. So I thought about my favorite things. I love rocks and once wanted to be a geologist. So I took that as my subject. Two rhymes only is tricky because you want to choose rhymes that will give you a lot to choose from if you can. So "rocks" was obvious for one and "stones" worked for the other.

This being settled upon I took a sheet of notebook paper and laid out the rhyme scheme I needed to follow:

A1
B
A2

A
B
A1

A
B
A2

and so forth. This helped a great deal -- like having a road map to where I was heading. It turned out that once I created the first tercet I realized that I had finished a good share of the poem because of the repeating lines.

I wriggled uncomfortably and twisted and turned many a word to get the lines just right. At times I felt like I was sweating blood. In the end I was amazed at what I had before me on the paper. It was far better than what I had hoped for.

Mother Ship (a Villanelle)

Here on our great starship of stones,

We oft forget the importance of rocks,

These are the mother earth’s skeletal bones.

The desert wind of the Sahara moans,

Blowing sands that scour pyramid blocks,

Here on our great starship of stones.

Boulders huddled like ancient, hunchbacked crones,

Gathered for one of their gossipy talks,

These are the mother earth’s skeletal bones.

Elegant towers of wind-carved sandstones,

That rise above shepherds tending their flocks,

Here on our great starship of stones.

Down charming streets paved with smooth cobblestones,

Up lichen-covered stairway walks,

These are the mother earth’s skeletal bones.

From the gold and lapis on royal thrones,

To pebbles lining the gullets of hens and cocks,

Here on our great starship of stones –

These are the mother earth’s skeletal bones.

This was my first time writing a villanelle. I entered it into the contest and won first place. When it was read out loud to the members of the Poetry Society of Colorado at the annual awards luncheon there was an audible "wow!" at the end. It made of the struggle worth it. 

By having to follow a tight framework I had had to amp up my creativity to a new level. I had to dig deeper, reach further. I found there the writer I was working to be, the writer I wanted to be. 

Gems and jewels are made from high amounts of heat and pressure. So don't be afraid  of the pressure and constraint. It is good for the writer's soul -- and you never know when you will strike gold.