My, My, My

Heard a song the other day that stuck with me.

Colin Hay, former front man for Men at Work, has released several solo albums since the band's heyday in the 1980s, but I hadn't heard much from him on the radio.

He's made tour stops at the Majestic Theater in Madison (a killer place to see a show with about 300 of your best friends), and I've considered going to hear him play the old Men at Work songs.

But now I'd be more interested to hear his solo stuff. A couple songs off of his "Going Somewhere" release are pretty good, including "Waiting for My Real Life to Begin," and the one below, "Beautiful World."

I recently posted a song by the Soweto Gospel Choir on this blog, as a remedy for Mondays. Or...any days, for that matter. I think this Colin Hay song falls into the same category.

Simple. Effective.

"I watch the sun as it comes up,

I watch it as it sets.

Yeah this is as good as it gets."

—Colin Hay, "Beautiful World"

Please Merge...Merge!...Merrrge!!

*pock*...*pock*...*pock*...*pock*

I turned and saw the semi truck plucking off the orange construction barrels we’d just put out to close the right lane on the interstate highway.

The signage and lighted arrow board directing traffic to merge into one lane are effective only if the drivers are awake, and the alarm for this driver was each *pock* that must have shaken him awake as he clipped the barrels, one of them lodging under the truck’s bumper.

“Better make a dash for the ditch!” I thought, as the semi slowly, finally, began to shift into the left lane.

— • — • —

My entry in the 100 Words Challenge, with the prompt, "ditch."

Not So Much a Dolphin, As a Carp

I remember when I had gills.

Not, like, literally.

If I actually had gills, I'd be in a museum somewhere.

I grew up across the street from a public swimming pool, and spent many hours of many summers swimming, diving, and generally trying to impersonate the Man from Atlantis. (bonus points if you can name the star of that show without looking it up.)

After several levels of swimming lessons, I'd had enough training to work as a pseudo-lifeguard, and spent a few hours (very few) in the chair one summer. If I would've been more serious about it and taken a few Red Cross classes, I could have bought a tube of zinc oxide and a whistle and tried out for a role on Baywatch.

Point being, I've been comfortable around water for more than 75 percent of my life. However, I haven't swum since...well, since before Baywatch went off the air.

Sure, I've splashed around a little, dove into a couple of Great Lakes, partied by an inland lake and become an official Polar Bear. But I haven't really swum.

My new gym has a pool.

Which is a ginormous reason I switched.

Tonight I was reminded that swimming lessons and lifeguard-ish training and summers spent living underwater occurred years...nay, decades...ago.

I still love the water. But I no longer have gills. I still have a decent freestyle stroke, but can't sustain it nearly as long as I once could. And I used to be able to swim two full lengths of a standard swimming pool underwater. (is that 100 feet? I think so...not sure.) Next time I attempt an underwater swim, I'll be thrilled if I make one length.

If I try for two, I may never return to this blog. (unless the Baywatch babes rescue me in time.)

I realize one's early 40s are perhaps slightly different than one's teens, but I'm (slowly) working my way back into shape (take about 50 pounds off of those Polar Bear photos, thankyouverymuch).

I have no desire at my age to become a lifeguard...

...but it'll be much more manageable battling the winter blahs with laps in a swimming pool.

"Only when the tide goes out do you

discover who's been swimming naked."

—Warren Buffett

New Perspective

My surroundings have changed.

Tonight I moved my writing station from a long-term temporary location (aka the dining table with a view of the driveway...and the television), to a more semi-permanent (if you will) space-saving desk, with a view of trees out of one window, and the street going past my house out of another.

I'm writing this at my new ladder desk, named such because it has basically two stilts going up the sides for legs, a flat workspace for my laptop, and two small shelves above, which are currently empty. If it were a bit more sturdy, I might be able to climb each "rung," and escape from this last-minute blog post.

It's fun to change the scenery once in a while, and people like to show off their work spaces. When mine becomes more organized with favorite creativity tchotchkes, I'll post a photo. We may spend a good chunk of our weekend shifting desks and categorizing our substantial library of books. (seriously. it's gonna be a hoot. I promise.)

And after this daily blogging exercise ends tomorrow, I shall return to this new space with the hopes that my writing takes...a step up.

(ouch. that one even hurt to write. I can imagine how it was to read.)

"First, I do not sit down at my desk to put into verse

something that is already clear in my mind. If it were

clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need

to write about it. We do not write in order to be

understood. We write in order to understand."

—Robert Cecil Day-Lewis

High-Class Words

high-class words

blue-collar writers

have rights to white-collar words

like declivitous

"Reporters used to be blue-collar;

at the Globe now, it's practically

required that you have a trust fund."

—Howie Carr

This haiku inspired by Michael Perry,
a blue-collar writer who uses all
of the right blue- and white-collar words.

As American As Apple Pie...and Haiku

Recently, I was introduced to a new poetic form called American Sentences, which are haiku-length poems created by Allen Ginsberg.

Instead of seventeen syllables spaced out over three lines, American Sentences are simply that...sentences. Ginsberg chose to distinguish from the vertical Japanese text by instead going across, linear.

Unlike an authentic haiku, American Sentences do not require a seasonal reference, but are mere snapshots of a moment. Although...many of the haiku I've written don't qualify as authentic, as I don't always focus on nature or the seasons.

The creator of the American Sentences website wrote one sentence every day for several years, prompting me to consider launching a 100 American Sentences in 100 Days campaign in the near future.

But for tonight, a couple of examples:

Tapping the keyboard so close to midnight leads to next-day crankiness.


The brown carpet stripes don't compare to the Atlantic City boardwalk.

"Poetry is the one place where people

can speak their original human mind.

It is the outlet for people to say in public

what is known in private."

—Allen Ginsberg

I'm Gonna Let It Shine

I love gospel music.

Grin if you will, stop reading if you must, but...
...I love it.

I've written about it here before, but continue to return to the topic because some days are simply gospel music days. Doesn't matter if you believe what they're singing or to whom they're singing it. The voices, the rhythms, the enthusiasm, the soul with which the songs are sung...all make for an infectious, uplifting style of music.

I've seen a gospel group from Milwaukee come up and rock a small church in Reedsville, and I've driven down to Summerfest for an afternoon of gospel music.

I've also seen the Grammy-winning Soweto Gospel Choir a couple of years ago in Appleton, which I wrote more about after the concert.

Not sure what put me in a Soweto mood today...perhaps the quickly approaching Monday. If you need a boost to propel yourself through the start of your week, might I suggest clicking on the video below?

"Rock 'n' roll came from the slaves singing gospel in the fields.

Their lives were hell and they used music to lift out of it,

to take them away. That's what rock 'n' roll should do—

take you to a better place."

—Meat Loaf

You Do The Math

Simple math tells us that if A is greater than B, and B is greater than C, then A is greater than C.

One could use foods as the variables: if pizza is greater than pot pie, which is greater than cabbage, then always order carry-out before making kimchi.

Or sports teams. [Note: the Detroit Lions are always...always...the C in this equation.]

This math does not, however, apply to people.

I am not greater than you, and we are not greater than them, and they are not greater than us.

We are all...equal.

The simplest math of all.

— • — • —

My entry in the 100 Words Challenge, with the prompt, "greater."

Syllables

Syllables

is it too meta

wasting lines whining about

counting syllables

"Well we really meant you to visit Paris in May,

but the rhythm required two syllables."

—Vernon Duke

Small Town, Big Laughs

[via]

Did I tell you we saw Michael Perry last month?

(Of course I didn't. I wasn't writing much on here last month.)

We saw Michael Perry last month.

Jessica's a big fan, and has read all of his books, and taught a couple of them in her English classes. I've read parts of one she loaned to me months ago...enough to recognize he's a great storyteller with a diverse background and a killer vocabulary.

If you read his books, you will laugh.
If you see him in person, you will laugh even harder.

In his writing, as well as in person, he always has the right word. His stories are tight, descriptive, heart-warming, and funny as hell.

He spoke at Stage North in Washburn, Wisconsin, and we bought tickets online the day of the show, a spur-of-the-moment decision during our late-summer getaway to Bayfield and the shores of Lake Superior.

We planned our day's activities and the drive down to Washburn with time to spare, hoping to secure a third- or fourth-row seat and optimal vantage point.

Turns out Stage North holds only about 130 people, so while we did, in fact, get our third-row seating, there were only eight rows total. How we found tickets the day of the event is still a mystery to me, after the night we were treated to.

Perry walked on stage in a T-shirt, jeans, and work boots, with a few pages of leader notes taped to the floor at his feet from which to jog his memory, and told stories for an hour before taking a break, and then came back 15 minutes later for another 45. Nearly two hours of "The Clodhopper Monologues," as they were titled, described as "country standup."

He talked about life on a farm in a very small Wisconsin town (and whether the word is pronounced "manoo-er" or "ma-nerr"), his job as a volunteer firefighter and registered nurse, his writing process and ties to New York City, involving agents, editors and publishers.

Aside from his three books, he's written for The New York Times Magazine, Esquire, Salon.com, Men's Health and others. While he may have some big-time connections, he remains genuinely and sincerely small-town.

But always, always...big-time funny.

I'm reading "Population: 485" right now. Give it a read. And if you find one of his speaking engagements within 100 miles...

...go.

"And for the love of Pete, don't moo at the cows.

This is the habit of outsiders."

—Michael Perry

Harvest Moon

Tonight, we were supposed to watch the Super Harvest Moon rise, but heavy cloud cover prevented the gigantic orange moon from appearing, and instead all we saw were sporadic hazy glimpses of a smallish white moon.

Boo.

So we celebrated the beginning of autumn with candy corn.

Now here's some Neil Young...

"And Fall, with her yeller harvest moon

and the hills growin' brown and golden

under a sinkin' sun."

—Roy Bean

Inspiration, Art, and Grilled Cheese

I spend time...sometimes much of my time...searching for inspiration.

Writing inspiration.
Life inspiration.
Inspiration to become inspired to find writing and life inspiration.

I find it in the wheelbarrows of writing books I own.

Or listening to a published author discuss writing process.

Or the moon. And the stars. And the sun.

Or a good grilled cheese sandwich.

I find inspiration in the quotes I post at the bottom of these blog entries. Sometimes, that's my favorite part of blogging, and writing my column, is searching for a quote that ties in, however tangentially, with what I've written.

Tonight I opened the book, Page After Page, by Heather Sellers, and found a little inspiration. Or at least encouragement that I may actually be what I sometimes don't believe I am: an artist.

Sellers writes, "The qualities that make me an artist are the ability to obsess on minutiae and the ability to feel intensely. These qualities also make me prone to being swamped by a mood and getting sidetracked by obsessive worrying."

She continues, "When an artist has a mood, it's always a Big Deal. This is how the work gets done. This is also how the work doesn't get done."

Those paragraphs clinch it: I'm an artist!

Don't have to hand me a paintbrush or stick of charcoal to prove it.
Or even a pen or a keyboard.

Just give me something to obsess over.
Then I'm more artistic than Pablo Picasso.

"We should be taught not to wait for inspiration

to start a thing. Action always generates inspiration.

Inspiration seldom generates action."

—Frank Tibolt

In The Spotlight

In The Spotlight

golden orange orb

propped low in the evening sky

a backlit drive home

"Nobody of any real culture, for instance, talks nowadays

about the beauty of sunset. Sunsets are quite old fashioned.

To admire them is a distinct sign of provincialism

of temperament. Upon the other hand they go on."

—Oscar Wilde

Just Sit Down and Write!...Anywhere.

Content.
And platform.

As long as I've been a blogger, I've often paid more attention to one of the above than the other. (I'll let you click through my blog to determine which.)

I search through Blogger, Wordpress, Tumblr. I play around with templates, sidebars, colors, gadgets, widgets.

And then I wonder why I'm up until 3am, and my blog still hasn't been updated.

That tends to be my M.O. when it comes to any type of writing. I'd rather read books about writing or compare books about writing or browse writing forums or discuss writing than actually...you know...write. These other activities make me feel like I'm committing to the craft, but they don't fill notebooks or Word docs, do they?

Same with blogging. Dozens of times, I've considered switching to Wordpress, but have become frustrated when trying to set up some of its more advanced features. After reading a couple of articles about how hip and cool Tumblr is becoming (perhaps by the founders or stockholders?), I perused that site as well.

While texting with a tech geek buddy of mine, I explained my goals to update the look of this blog, or start a new blog or...

...and he shot back with, "Content is more important than platform."

I hate it when he's so correct. And so succinct.

The exercise of this month is bringing content back to this blog. Perhaps sooner than later, some of it may actually be good content.

And maybe someday it'll move to Wordpress.

But for now...content.

"The Republicans have a me too candidate

running on a yes but platform,

advised by a has been staff."

—Adlai Stevenson

Nature Makes Insomniacs

The howling wind in the trees jars him awake every night at 3am, scraggly, leafless branches scratching against the windows and walls of his dirty attic room.

Damn wind! he mutters as he lies on the lumpy, twin mattress, staring up at the ceiling for the third week. Night after night! He envisions a tiny adobe hut in the middle of the desert, the nearest tree miles away in downtown Scottsdale. Sleeeep. I need sleep. He smashes the pillow against his face and waits for sunrise.

***

The coyotes howling at the moon jar him awake every night at 3am...

— • — • —

My entry in the 100 Words Challenge, with the prompt, "jars."

Priorities

Priorities

some days blogs and words

wait in line behind pizza

laundry and the laze

"Among my most prized possessions

are words that I have never spoken."

—Orson Scott Card

Bessie Was A Looker Back In High School

Do cows have social status?

I'm not asking if they amble back to the barn after milking and spend their free time updating their Facebook and Twitter, but...

...are there cool cows, and uncool cows?

Driving past a muddy, fenced-in field earlier this week, I saw two cows sitting together in the slop, barely a couple of feet from each other, while another stood in front of them, also huddled close. Several other cows trudged elsewhere in the one-acre pen near the barn, and there were at least two more sitting alone.

How do these cows decide who to hang with when they're not having their udders yanked?

Are there cliques like there were back in high school? Are there nerd cows and jock cows and brain cows and party cows and goody four-shoes cows? Do some cows stay home every night chewing their cud while others stay out until...well, until they come home?...just in time for their 4am milking?

All of these thoughts flashed through my head in the five seconds it took to drive past a farm in Kiel. And after reading this, I hope they flash through yours the next time you see a herd (gang...clique...whatever) of cows.

I need to remove myself from the rural, I think.

"Single-mindedness is all very well in cows or baboons;

in an animal claiming to belong to the same species

as Shakespeare it is simply disgraceful."

—Aldous Huxley

Go, Packer(s), Go!

OK, Packers fans, listen up! This blog post is for you.

It's also for Niners fans, Lions fans, Ravens fans...Lakers fans, Spurs fans...and on and on.

This post is for airing English language pet peeves (but just a few, because if I aired them all, I'd never finish this post by midnight), and first on the list tonight is the "s" on the end of many sports teams.

If you're a fan of the Green Bay Packers, you're a Packers fan. Not...a Packer fan. It might sound a little clumsy, but the "s" is correct.

I run into this often when designing ads at the newspaper I work for. When bars have drink specials listed in their ads, I word them as "Packers Specials," or "Packers Drink Specials"...always writing Packers as plural.

Sometimes they'll call to correct the ad. "Take that 's' off of Packers," they'll say, sometimes with a tone of superiority as if they've caught a serious error.

I've stopped trying to explain to most advertisers that the "s" belongs there, and instead repeat to myself the old business maxim that the customer is always right. Even when they're very...very...wrong. (Hey, I'm not the one paying for the ad!)

Many of you reading this are not Packer fans...you're Packers fans.

My buddy isn't a Charger fan, he's a Chargers fan.

I'm not a Lion fan...I'm a glutton for punishment.

Got it?

— • — • —

Sticking with the bar theme, a supper club ran an ad several months ago, advertising a specific drink that, if you don't live in Wisconsin, you may not have heard of.

The bar owner advertised Old-Fashioneds (which are delicious, by the way; I recommend it with Southern Comfort and sour). When the ad appeared in our paper, a few bar patrons pointed out the error we'd made in the ad, which caused the owner to call and alert us to our mistake.

Several customers laughed at my spelling, certain that the drink is an Old Fashion.

It is not.

I prefer to hyphenate my Old-Fashioneds, but I've seen it just as often without the hyphen. Unfortunately, I've also seen it advertised dozens of times in other newspapers as an Old Fashion. (what is that, like bell bottom jeans?!?)

Regardless, you'll never catch me sipping an Old Fashion, watching the Packer game.

Got it?

— • — • —

Another nit to pick in this post is the difference between back yard (n.), and backyard (adj.).

Associated Press style defines the terms as above...the noun is two words, the adjective is one word. (unless my Stylebook is out of date and they've updated this entry.)

"My back yard will soon be filled with billions of snowflakes, and I plan to hibernate through the winter. Before summer bids its final farewell, however, we should have one last backyard barbecue."

These examples are correct to me, although in Mitch Albom's latest column, he uses "backyards" as a noun. I've heard from more than one source that you should consistently use "backyard" in all instances. I haven't yet adopted that thought, but am open to persuasion.

— • — • —

One more tiny peeve down here, and I'll start making a new list for the next English language entry I write.

When referring to someone with a title, I capitalize every word only if the full title is used:
"We've got to address our budget issues," said Stony Brook High School Principal James Bruckmeier.

But I don't agree with the example: "The board voted to send school Principal Thomas Stenson to the weekend seminar." I prefer, "school principal Thomas Stenson."

The capital P in principal looks out of place in that instance, but I have found in the AP Stylebook an example that reads, "...school Chancellor Thomas Stenson," and others have disagreed with me as well. But I've also found an ally or two.

— • — • —

This is the kind of stuff I ponder for fun. I'm a total grammar geek, word nerd, punctuation dork. Sometimes I find a reliable source to back me up...other times I argue my case solely because it feels right to me. But I'm not perfect by any means.

Maybe I'll write my own book, and then I'll be correct 100 percent of the time.

Gregg's Stylebook, by Gregg (who has so much style...especially when sipping an Old-Fashioned.)

"I never made a mistake in grammar but one

in my life and as soon as I done it I seen it."

—Carl Sandburg

500 Words...Go! (Aren't You Finished Yet?!?)

I've been taking inventory of all of the Web 2.0 writing projects I've participated in...or at least seriously considered, even if I didn't pull on the water wings and jump into the deep end. And they all seem to have a general theme attached to them: Write your ass off!

Don't feel like writing?
Write, anyway!
Not feeling inspired on a particular day?
Make something up, and write it down!

The most obvious one is the one you're reading: write a blog entry every day for a month. Every...day. All month long. If you miss a day? Looooser! Thanks for playing, try again next month. It even has a fancy name to make it sound more official...NaBloPoMo, National Blog Posting Month. (sounds like a banquet you should wear a tie to, no?)

NaBloPoMo was inspired by NaNoWriMo, which is National Novel Writing Month, in which you write a 50,000-word novel during the 30 days of November. This is the deep end I haven't jumped or dove into yet...I've only dipped my toes. My best effort crashed and burned before I reached 10,000 words.

One year I'll write a novel...in a month. That's 1,667 words a day to cross the finish line, and if you don't do it, you're someone who's attempted a novel in a month, not written a novel in a month. Harsh.

Another writing exercise is one I mentioned a few days ago: 100 haiku in 100 days. If the day is drawing to a close and you haven't written that day's haiku, you better stare at an oak tree until you're struck with 17 syllables of poetic revelation!

These writing processes focus solely on getting words down...not necessarily good words. Just words. The idea is that out of the piles of rubble, you might pull a sentence or paragraph or theme that can be dusted off and polished. (I'm lucky if I find the occasional serviceable prepositional phrase...but I keep plugging away.)

Another writing tool is Write or Die, by Dr. Wicked. (makes writing sound even scarier than it already is, doesn't it?) This program makes you set a goal (1,000 words) and a time limit (14 nanoseconds). If you don't meet your goal in the allotted time, you...um....die, or something. (I'll find out when I download the desktop version. If my blogging comes to a sudden halt (not that that's ever happened on this blog before), you can assume I've gambled and lost at Write or Die. Yikes.) At the very least you lose your gym membership, or they come and take away your pet for a week. I dunno.

[side note: isn't a parenthetical nested inside of another parenthetical one of the most gorgeous visuals on the written page? I digress.]

The goal is the same. Write words. Good words, bad words, misspelled words. Just...words.

Writing a blog entry every day...whether it's an essay, or a three-line poem, or a photo-laden post...leaves little time for editing. Some days you pull up a blog screen, scribble down your thoughts and hit Publish. And then you come back and read it a few days later, cringing at how loose and rambling some (or all) of your ideas are. (This may be a perfect example of such an entry.)

I believe in the benefits of writing every day, even though I've rarely kept such a schedule.

And I believe in the benefits of all of the writing exercises I've listed above, which is why I continue to attempt some of them. The community of other writers attempting the same thing can be a great motivator.

I've been a NaBloPoMo loser a handful of times...but I've also been a winner a few times, too. Sometimes life gets in the way, and the best you can be is a 28 or 29 out of 30.

The secret is to get back in front of your computer or pick up that pen and, as Goldberg always says...

...just write, just write, just write.

Whew!
Tomorrow's blog post will be much shorter (and hopefully more coherent) than this one. Goodnight.

"Being a writer is like having homework

every night for the rest of your life."

—Lawrence Kasdan

Over The Falls In A Barrel

During our late summer escape to Bayfield, Wis., about a month ago, one of the sights Jessica and I had on our list of must-sees was Copper Falls State Park, which was recommended by two friends.

Blanketed by gray, dreary skies on the drive up on Thursday, we postponed the visit until Sunday, assuming we'd make a brief stop, stare at some water falling down into a pool of other water, ooh and ahh a little, snap a few photos, and continue our drive home.

Not...so...fast.

Inside the park, we discovered a scenic, hilly, mile-and-a-half trail that contained several falls, a section of cascades, and more nature than perhaps we were ready to explore at the end of a long weekend. But it was a gorgeous hike on an impeccably maintained trail, and we're both eager to return.

If you're driving up Highway 13 in Ashland County next summer, I recommend a couple-hour visit. I promise the views are more spectacular than my photos.

"Many a calm river begins as a turbulent waterfall,

yet none hurtles and foams all the way to the sea."

—Mikhail Lermontov