Dark Blogging

I have a friend who blogs quite regularly. The posts are typical slices of life – glimpses into day-to-day activities and family stuff. Not boring at all, more like ‘comfort blogging.’

Heart in Darkness

Also the delivery of these scenes, the writing, is good. Sometimes joyous moments are recounted, and sometimes concerns about family members and friends darken this writer’s heart. Either way, it’s a good read. And at some point I think they mentioned the term “dark blog.”

Now I’m not sure what actually happened, but the premise was that this friend was starting a secondary blog, to write about private things. Things that weren’t meant to be shared with anyone. Or perhaps by anyone who could actually identify the author.

Now, this friend’s current blog does mention plenty of private things, but they are different. Not too different from some things I blog about. Sometimes painful things. When I post in this space, of course I know it’s public, but there’s still a sense of anonymity. Crazy idea, that. My justification is that I can be more of myself here. On Facebook I have to be a bit more careful. I have certain family members, peers, and some young people that I don’t want to offend by cursing or ranting against uptight conservative Republicans. ; )

But if someone stumbles across this blog and sees my flinging of the fucks and more, well – I didn’t actually invite them here. It’s not like I’m flaunting it.

And of course, the above is really some degree of bullshit. I have linked my blog on Facebook, and it’s also part of my email signature line. So, perhaps the invitation takes a more passive-aggressive approach – I dunno.

But the point is kids – I like the idea of dark blogging. A place to really examine what gives me anxiety, stress and even shame. I know what that is, it’s called a diary. No one is supposed to read a diary; it’s just the private musings of the author and beyond that, no one else.

But we take to the internet, the most public of forums to express the most private horrors. The vastness of the Ethernet seems like a safe place for confessions. I think it’s because we really want someone to read our thoughts. For commiseration or validation, or even punishment – we crave that connection that we can’t get with diary.

I will say that – and wow this makes me feel old – but those young kids are braver than I. Either they don’t care about filtering, or decorum, or whatever, but it feels like their blogs, vlogs and social network postings are SO much more personal than what I’m capable of, for good or for bad.

Maybe it’s because Gen-X,Y,Z have figured out at a younger age something very, very important:

Don’t worry about what others think about you! 

By not caring too much about what people think, I'm able to think for myself and propagate ideas which are very often unpopular. And I succeed.
- Albert Ellis

Or something a little different, but still applicable:

“Fashion fades, only style remains the same – Coco Chanel

And of course:

Conformity is the jailer of freedom and the enemy of growth.
- John F. Kennedy

Lining up and Falling into Place

Mini-Golf, replicating the alignment of the heavens.

At your left you see several brightly colored golf balls, lined up as if someone created a funky design. Which is fine, if one had lots of time on the min-golf course to play around with the balls. Usually the courses are busy at the height of summer, as it was on this day last August. 


But this design was not made by a bored golfer, it was the random way our balls landed after we each took our first strokes at this hole.


Pretty cool eh? Yeah, I thought so too!

Once upon a time, I was watching the flick Lara Croft: Tomb Raider starring Angelina Jolie and some other people. The movie had some cool action, and a convoluted plot. Part of the plot I remember, something important, or dire was going to happen once all the planets aligned - an event that was astrologically rare, yet conveniently going to happen during the time frame of the movie's setting.

Aside from coveting Angie's eyebrows, my take-away from this was that I knew that "on-the-verge" feeling. Yet in my case, this alignment wasn't a portent of a disaster. 

I've had the funny feeling during these last several years that I was very close to becoming...myself. Yeah, that's a good thing. I can't describe, or remember really, what made me have this feeling, but I swear I could feel a "click" now and then, as if some puzzle finally fit in place, or some ratchet-y thing had settled in the correct groove.

All this self-actualization or navel gazing wasn't just about my amorphous state of being or my faith, or my health, it was really about something more concrete: my writing.

I have had some wee successes now and then in this area, like the time I pumped poor Eric O. (former owner of Blogcritics) to tell me EXACTLY what a PR dude (he's actually the Director of Publicity) from FOX said about my 24 write-ups. It was a bit pathetic, like a girl interrogating her friends about what her current crush said about her. And E.O., bless his patient heart, kindly sent me the emails where the FOX guy said some sort of compliment about my writing. No, I can't remember what he said. Pity. But still, it was a good, good moment.


There's been a few other moments, that I won't bore you with now, but the point is, I felt pretty convinced I was on the cusp of something grand. 


And then the proverbial (and some literal) dung hit the fan, and life got complicated.


I've had forgotten my cusp-y, verge-y feelings and right now my successes are vastly different. Woohoo, I answered that email finally! Cooked a meal instead of take-out! Remembered everyone's appointments this week!


And the successes I hope for are more like: Cool, I finally fit into these jeans. Or, most of the rooms in this house are presentable for guest viewing.


But those other goals, they are still viable. I think my stars will align again, I think things will happen when they need to happen. I have to have lots of patience.


Kind of like a golfer.

I Blame it on Facebook

I really do. If it weren’t for that damn addictive (and I don’t even play Farmville!) social networking site – I’d be blogging much MUCH more.

The thing is, it’s not that I spend that much time on Facebook. Not an inordinate amount anyway. I go for days w/o reading or posting. OK – at least a day without FB – but the matter is not the time spent – it’s what I’m doing there.

Expressing my feelings is what.

All those giddy/profound/pissy or just plain dumb Facebook postings have taken the place of my typical blog entries. Mostly my Facebook postings are little slices of the mundane – “I had the best sandwich for lunch” or “I just took a walk and now I’m a ball o’ sweat” and so are many of my blog entries. But here in this space (swanky space don’t forget!) I don’t have to compete with everyone else’s mundane stuff. And, I don’t have to read the glowing reports of a social event that my peers attended and I couldn’t get to. (Or as it sometimes happens, wasn’t invited to – oh the shame)

So here is for the real good stuff. Or for the mundane. It's all the same.

The Spin, the Sizzle, the Story

When I watch a movie, read a book or invest myself anything involving a story; I find myself increasingly absorbed by the telling of the story while the plot, climax and denouement become secondary interests. I know that storytelling has been around since figures were carved on cave walls or symbols scratched onto papyrus. Were there favorites among these artists and scribes?

And when histories and fables were passed on by oral tradition, surely some performed better than others? I do know of this Jewish guy, before the glory days of the Borscht Belt Catskill comedians, who excelled at stand up. (Although he often sat down among his audience.) He could craft a story that had crowds enthralled, asking questions, wanting more. He'd perform tricks too, well not really tricks - no Houdini stuff. He caused a bit of a stir at a wedding once - switching jugs of water with wine - something like that.

But the thing is, the basic theme of his stories was not so unusual, it was his delivery that impressed folks back then. Even today, he's quoted often. Good stuff from that carpenter/story teller. Good stuff.

And still, it's the process that intrigues. Why will one filmmaker use lots of bridging shots, and another favors the slash cut? CGI? Animation? Gritty urban dialogue or drawing room monologue?

This all goes to my frustration towards the average consumer and/or critic. When someone dismisses an effort, let's say a film - for example M. Night Shyamalan's apocalyptic The Happening - they might say, "goofy plot", "not enough gore", "woeful clunker of a paranoid thriller*". OK, fair enough. To each his own and all that. Personally I hesitated after hearing all this panning. So, I ended up seeing The Happening on the small screen. Well it was amped up a little bit. Surround Sound and a 40" flat screen.

But here's the point. Shyamalan's work is fascinating. The story itself was flimsy. That didn't bother me. Flimsy has it's place. But it had so much going for it. Zooey Deschanel's eyes. (Yeah, her big sister Emily is the title character on Fox's Bones.) Anyway, Zooey's got a crazy kind of flat-affect delivery, but I find it charming. Her eyes though, they were really sooo - appealing in The Happening. She could express so much with just her huge eyes. Also - the falling bodies. Amazing shot, that. Chilling in a -- straightforward way. Hey, I could go on and on. But I'm trying to keep to a point, as hazy as that's starting to become.

There is an old adage among the admen. "Sell the sizzle, not the steak." So does that imply that the message is better recieved in a slick package? It just could be so.

*This from The Wall Street Journal's Joe Morgenstern

The Random Tuesday in July

The following is I came across it this evening, totally looking for something else - but thought it was interesting.

The Haves and the Have-Nots

Now, I'm not espousing one party or government over another. But this - well you certainly can't call it a 'newsflash' - piece has merit because we can't forget that the extreme economic disparity that exists in the U.S., it's...what - shameful? Unnecessary? Just throwing in a little conscience.


And, the Wants and the Needs-

But all that lovely Socialist chat aside - let's talk about me.

I want to:

Take Sir Brewster's advice and go rent The Seven Samurai (or Shichinin no samurai) by that Kurosawa gent they always rave about.

Justify the coolest shite I bought at Marine Specialties in Provincetown, by finding a home for it. I tell you, I had to have that Czech medicine bottle, and that pillow, and those couple of cobalt pieces - Don't you Just Love a Bargain? (Ha, wrong store!).

Write.
Write about my vacation. (Well, you know where I shopped at least), write about the upcoming television season, write about the environment, about the most sublime oatmeal-walnut-raisin cookie, share the experience that is guitarist Dan Byrnes...delve deep into the lake of love, the subtle currents, the cold shocks, and all the sunny goodness that make up that emotion.

Set more time aside to play Lego Indiana Jones on the XBox with the boys. They love watching me f*ck up. I always jump too far and land in the water with the crocs or in the mine shaft or I accidentally whack Indy with my saber/wrench/shovel. (and then he whips me). Good times.

I need to:

Get the Young Prince motivated for summer reading/book reports

Buy new pillows for the trailer. Some of them have been around since the Carter Administration. Ok, maybe just one. And maybe it's only since the Sr. Bush's time -- but man...it's old!

Ditto the pillowcases

Sort out those damn pesky hospital bills

Call Bryan for some network help

Write those reviews.
Write those emails
Write anything.

The Reading Luxury

Yes, it is a luxury to just sit and read, and read, and -- well it's a luxury to be able to just sit and do anything pleasurable for more than a half hour. And reading is the topic currently.

I just finished tonight, Armistead Maupin's The Night Listener. I have a vague recollection of this coming out as a film, but never saw it. Anyway, the story is incredible. Actually that adjective that I meant to use for "great, awesome, compelling", actually is more apt then I realized. You have to read this to see what I mean, but just remember the word, incredible and it hits home. Definite recommend.

Previously, I enjoyed the sad satisfaction of finishing Brother Odd by Dean Koontz. I actually started a separate piece on authors that surprise me, and Koontz is in that category. But let me just touch on the story. There's this dude - a sort of a wise-ass but kind - young man who lives in a small desert Southern California town. He lives simply and works as a fry-cook at a nearby diner. He has a swell girlfriend, a great boss, and some other dear friends, and he sees dead people. Yep, just like that twerp in The Sixth Sense. Luckily the sheriff understands Odd Thomas's secret, and even recruits Odd for various freaky-deeky cases.

Anyway, Koontz ended up liking this character of Odd Thomas enough to create a sequel or two, or series...and so that brings me to Brother Odd, which places Odd at a monastery/convent/school. The dead and other creepies follow him, of course - and the story is well told. But this telling, it's something special. Something beyond just spinning a good yarn. There are pieces in the pages that make your heart do funny things. Not in the sense of stopping while turning a page, but more in the fashion of "how can he possibly be able to convey this much hope and love without resorting to quoting from Shakespeare's sonnets or at the very least, a tear-jerker Hallmark Card." But really, I shouldn't be so surprised at the texture of Koontz's writing, I've seen this from him before, but certain passages from Odd are extra-amazing. I was struck deeply while reading this last installment, and I'm hoping that when I get around to my little piece on surprising authors, that I can dig up the proper words to explain what the fuck he's capable of.

And there's been some non-fiction too. A nice treat was Truth and Beauty by Anne Patchett. This is the story of the friendship between Patchett and the poet Lucy Grealy. Fantastic writing, even with a somewhat depressing subject matter.
Lastly is James Rollins' Black Order. I had not heard of him when my brother-in-law lent me Amazonia, which was a very good read. Very good up till the part where I inexplicably stopped and still have not finished. I have not heard Rollins mentioned anywhere, but he's got at least two hits on his hands. Black Order is tense mystery thriller type, mixing sci-fi with ethics and morals, and I so would love to see this made into a movie.

And what's funny, but I don't have the energy to start a whole 'thing', is that several of these books touched, even rather deeply, on quantum physics. Whodathunk?

Eat, Pray, Love - Repeat.

I’ve been reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s Eat, Pray, Love and I am not only fascinated with her story, I’m compelled to be a better writer. Rather, I wish I could write better, now, instantly. That compelling feeling is more of a knee-jerk reaction, nearly a jealousy, but not quite.

Her words are lyrical, yet earthy. She makes you want to befriend her instantly. She makes you want to travel to those wonderful countries – seeking out gurus and chefs and old men and young children who cannot speak English, but what does it matter?

Gilbert also makes me not want to have a divorce, nor a sad messy love affair. Her anguish over those lost loves is conveyed with a visceral despondence.

Oh, and she makes us hunger, mostly for that glorious pasta and pizza, but steadily a desire takes hold for enlightenment, self-actualization and contentment.

And I'm not even finished yet.

Bravo Liz - Bravo.

Just Because We Can, Does that Mean We Should?

Many of us are writers. Some of us have our work formally edited, and at the very least we edit ourselves. How many times have we realized or been told that a word, a phrase, or a whole paragraph just has to be cut out? It hurts, doesn’t it? Sometimes we feel like greedy children (who seem to live by the opposite of the credo, “less is more”). No, we want – we need that pretty word, that perfect analogy. But luckily common sense or editorial vision tells us that things are better without the side bar story – you know, the one with grandma’s wart removal technique.

But whether its warts or excess verbiage, some things do need to be cut out. I’ve been training in Kenpo karate for nine or ten years now. What I’ve learned could be easily fit in a tea cup, and what I’ve forgotten, or not quite grasped, could fill a freight car. But a few things have stuck, and one little nugget is why do more than you need to? I remember one time a few years back I was working some technique that involved a kick to the opponent’s body. Now that in itself is not too difficult, although I was in my 40s, and had bad knees and a questionable spine. But this particular class I was feeling good and spunky, and was attempting kicks at my opponents head. My sensei took one look and promptly questioned me, “Why are you kicking so high?” And since I was feeling like I was Bruce Lee or Cynthia Rothrock, I replied, “Because I can!”

Uh – no. That’s not what he said, but that was the meaning. His first concern was that I’d injure myself, he knew my limitations. But mainly he saw cockiness and excess, neither of which have a place in the dojo. The martial arts are all about humility, a lesson that doesn’t always sink in with enthusiastic students. Also, the arts, generally speaking, work with economy of motion. Kenpo in particular, is a fairly hard (as in impact, not necessarily difficulty), direct, spare style. There are not as many flourishes as in certain Kung Fu systems, or high kicks as in Tae Kwon Do. My fancy kicks were an unnecessary flourish.

But if arrogance in karate training were the only problem I – or the world – ever faced, no big deal. Unfortunately, there’s much more overindulgence and overkill in life, and I just don’t get why.

Hummers – for a fine example of glut – I am trying real hard to find the redeeming quality in a Hummer purchase. I did read somewhere that there’s a Red Cross program that certifies Hummer drivers to respond to disaster situations, as the vehicle is well suited for nasty off road driving. Which is pretty cool, truly. But the amount of Hummer owners that are actually certified through the HOPE program, is quite a small percentage compared to the rest of the owners. And really they do look silly circumnavigating a mall parking lot.

So, along with these superfluous behemoths on wheels, there are other things that come under this category:

Breast implants. Unless perhaps the person needs reconstruction as a result of disease or injury, why bother?

Price gouging at the gas pumps. Sure, kick the little guy while he’s down and out. (Even the Hummer owners). This is all about greed.

RFID implants on humans. There’s a lot of controversy here, and I can see the rationale behind the advancement of this technology – but still, do we really, really need this?

All I can do is close with the caveat last mentioned in Spiderman, “with great power comes great responsibility.”

Lost Words

It’s a shame when I as an artist start to resent all and everything around me. It sucks when I am blessed with the nub of an idea, but the opportunity to expand on that idea is wiped away. It’s more then frustration – for me, its grief.

I had so loved that idea that developed in the shower, while driving to the grocery store or helping with homework. I could see it develop in my mind’s eye, like a time-lapse film that shows the transformation from seedling to flower blossom. And I get excited and hurry through the rest of the task, itching to sit down and work through whatever beauty of a concept or anecdote that I had just conceived.

But something stops me. It doesn’t matter what that thing is; it could be a child’s request or a phone call. No, it doesn’t matter what blocked my path to creative Nirvana, something else grows inside me: resentment. I am losing an idea, again. I feel like an emergency room doctor in the most disease ridden, or war-savaged location on earth. A doctor who has seen too much loss, who feels like “time of death” is part of her vocabulary way more then something like, “and now you can have ice cream, and go home tomorrow.”

And just like our doctor’s frustration with lack of resources, political climate or corrupt governments, I am discouraged by lack of time, respect and privacy. Discouraged and saddened because those oh so pretty words that formed in my head hours ago are missing. Oh sure, if I got that one good idea, chances are I’ll come up with another one. And I do! But I still hold a little empty place in my heart for that sweet turn of phrase that spent only the briefest of moments alive in my right brain.

Time of Birth: 11:46 AM
Time of Death: 11: 52 AM