The JackB

"When you're in jail, a good friend will be trying to bail you out. A best friend will be in the cell next to you saying, 'Damn, that was fun'." Groucho Marx

Archives for October 2014

Soft And Smooth

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The Lead/Theme Float

Editor’s note: This piece first appeared in 2011 over here. It was based upon a prompt for a writing group I was participating in at the time. I moved it over here same as I did with this one so that it would be backed up and protected like the other posts you find on this blog.

What a dream I had
Pressed in organdy
Clothed in crinoline
Of smoky burgundy
Softer than the rain
I wandered empty streets down
Past the shop displays
I heard cathedral bells
Tripping down the alleyways
As I walked on
And when you ran to me
Your cheeks flushed with the night
We walked on frosted fields
Of juniper and lamplight
I held your hand
And when I awoke
And felt you warm and near
I kissed your honey hair
With my grateful tears
Oh I love you, girl
Oh I love you
For Emily Whenever I May Find Her– Simon and Garfunkel

The words that I wish to write haven’t been willing to work with me. I have called upon them and asked them to help to convey the sights and sounds of the secret garden we once walked through but they haven’t responded.

Perhaps it is because sometimes there are no words to express the synchronicity of souls. Two who breathed as one sounds cheesy and crass. The sort of sad line that some have sought to use for less than honorable reasons.

But that wasn’t the way. There was no conniving nor consternation caused by the creation of unspoken communication between us.

The union of two was unsought and unlooked for which perhaps explains why the results were so unexpected. Or maybe that is an unfair way to describe it.

Maybe it is more appropriate to use words like herky-jerky and start stop to detail that day and those that followed.

Sometimes when I think about it I hear music and I see you softly weaving in and out amongst the crowd. I remember long legs and dark hair culminating in dark eyes that seemed to see everything.

You never knew how badly I wanted your attention or how you made my heart pound. You didn’t see what I saw or hear what I heard. Soft and smooth skin matched to a swift mind set off my desire.

I won’t say how or what it was that I wanted. Not just because the words remain unwilling but because some things remain safer in the security of silence.

Two people found something magical, mystical and mysterious. We got lost in the majesty of the moment and made more than had been before. Mountains were moved and seas were crossed and for ten thousand years time stood still.

Love was lost and love was found. And when the dust had cleared and we saw through the mist we learned that lost love is isn’t always lost¦nor is it always found.

I told you that to remember that when you think of me I am thinking of you and slowly I slipped away softly whispering that I would see you on the other side.

This was a post for The Red Dress Club about rhythm. I am not very happy with it, but we do this to practice so that we can improve…right.

Should You Blog For Comments?

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Avast maties - The "Black Pearl" is in port.
The Dread Pirate Robert is in search of Comments.

An interviewer asked me to share my dream job with them and I said I wanted to be The Dread Pirate Roberts. They laughed and told me it was inconceivable and I said I do not think that word means what they think it means and we laughed some more.

It gave me that warm, fuzzy feeling you get when you feel like you have established a rapport with someone and I figured it would provide some sort of bonus or extra credit for getting the job, or so I hoped.

As it turned out I didn’t get the position but I didn’t worry much about it because there are a million jobs out there and a million different paths to success.

Not long after I sat in a different interview and when I got the same question I provided the same response except the interviewer had never seen The Princess Bride so they just gave me a dead eye stare.

I didn’t want their to be an awkward silence so I provided the reference and we moved onto other questions including what is the most important metric for measuring success in blogging.

The interviewer listened to my response, thanked me for my time and extended her hand. When I asked why she was cutting it short she told me it was because I didn’t understand that comments were the most important part of blogging and she saw it as a fundamental flaw.

Should You Blog For Comments?

I politely expressed my disagreement and refrained from telling her a blog is the whole and the posts are the parts and went about my way.

The 17 long time readers can provide you with references to prior posts in which we discussed why comments are not as solid a metric as some people want them to be.

Comments that don’t advance the conversation, demonstrate interest or provide substance aren’t evidence people like what you are writing or that they actually read it. They are just proof someone posted a remark and sometimes it is not someone, but something that did so.

But like so many other good things in life the answer to whether you should blog for comments isn’t always yes nor is it always no.

We touched upon it briefly in a recent post and in this particular context I do see some value.

“Comments are down throughout the blogosphere adding to the loneliness a writer sometimes feels.”

Most of the time I don’t worry about getting comments because writing is an involuntary exercise like breathing. If I don’t write I won’t die but on the Steiner scale of crazy I move from a 5 up to a 3 or so I guess.

I’d tell you to ask my dear Shmata Queen but she starts at 3 so she wouldn’t notice the difference. Just kidding dear. 🙂

Anyhoo, I cannot say I don’t want comments or never think of them but writing can be lonely and it is very hard to maintain perspective about our own work.

I can’t ask people if they remember where they came from and talk about comments and writing in general because it is tied together for me. If you go back to the dawn of time when the Shmata Queen and I were both blogging she is the one who tipped me off to comments and statcounters.

It is kind of funny because she never liked that kind of stuff and I did. She is the one who initially pushed me to really begin focusing on writing again so if you love my words you can thank her and if you don’t you can blame her.

See how neatly I tried to avoid responsibility. 😉

The Reason Blog For Comments

The reason if such a thing really exists is comments provide a writer with feedback about his/her writing. It helps you understand if what you are publishing is crap that people hate or crap that people love.

There is merit in feedback and sometimes it can be both helpful and useful. Except when it isn’t.

Yeah, that is a contradiction but blogging/writing is filled with such things. I received  feedback about You Shouldn’t Blog About Sex On Halloween and a A Partial Tale of Two Liars that lends itself to this discussion.

Several people said they really enjoyed these posts and a couple asked me to expand the two liars story. A couple others told me they thought the Halloween post was a waste of their time and that I should look for a new profession.

It makes me think of a Tolkien quote.

“There are no safe paths in this part of the world. Remember you are over the Edge of the Wild now, and in for all sorts of fun wherever you go.”― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit

Once you put your words on a public page you are inviting commentary and since writing is subjective you should plan on receiving colorful comments.

And those comments don’t always show up on current posts, you’ll find people reach back into stuff like The Jerry Seinfeld Blog Post and complain that it didn’t read the way they expected or wanted it to.

Sometimes I make a point to send those people an invoice for their complaint and a note that there is a cancellation fee that you must pay if you choose to stop reading.

But what do I know about any of this anyhow. I am just a guy who thinks Blogging Doesn’t Need To Have A Point.

I’m On Fire

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Editor’s note: This piece first appeared in 2011 over here. It was based upon a prompt for a writing group I was participating in at the time. I moved it over here so that it would be backed up and protected like the other posts you find on this blog.

My seventies girl has jet black hair, dark eyes and legs that look like they could wrap around me twice. I look out the window and watch as she parks the car. She looks up at the building and for a moment my heart stops.

I know that she can’t see me, but I can’t help but step back from the window. My phone rings but I don’t have to look at the Caller ID to know that it is her calling me. It is early in the morning so my voice is husky and a tad deeper than normal.

“I am walking to the elevator now,” she says. I don’t realize that I haven’t answered her and I stare out the window and watch as she walks towards the entrance. “Are you still there or did I lose you,” she asks. I apologize and mumble some sort of excuse as to why I didn’t respond.

My mouth is suddenly dry and I worry that my breath stinks. I squeak out a “See you in a moment” and make a dash to the bathroom to brush my teeth again. I look in the mirror and say “relax” through clenched teeth. The face that looks back at me isn’t the one that I want. I see a million flaws and am certain that she’ll see them too.

I tell him again to relax and suggest that he try to be like Danny Zuko in Grease. He rolls his eyes at me and says not to be stupid.

There is a loud knock on the door and I yell that I’ll be there in just a minute. A new challenge has crept up, one that is specific to men and I am afraid to answer the door as there is no way to hide what has happened. I look at the reflection and say “think of something really sad or really disgusting.”

Even though I am not sweating profusely I imagine that I look a little bit like Albert Brooks in Broadcast News. The big distinction is you can take care of a sweaty forehead with a towel. That won’t quite work in this particular situation.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath but all I can see is my seventies girl staring back at me. My “problem” hasn’t quite disappeared but I can’t keep her waiting any longer so I try to imagine what Roseanne looks like naked. That does the trick and I walk to the door and open it.

My seventies girl glides into the room and I wrap her up in my arms. I feel her squeezing me and listen as she whispers in my ear. I am as happy as I have ever been.

I am lost in the moment and barely aware that I am running my hands up and down her back and hips. She takes my hand and leads me into the room. I hear music but the stereo is off and so is the television.

This moment feels like the culmination of a lifetime of waiting and I find it all intoxicating. She smells so very good and fits so perfectly in my arms that I can’t imagine not spending my life like this. At this very moment the earth truly is standing still and if she should ask me to get the moon I will do everything in my power to make it happen.

She is sitting on the edge of the bed looking up at me. I look down and watch as she traces patterns across my stomach. I am lost in those dark eyes and transfixed by her smile. I want this….moment…to last for as long as possible.

We aren’t using words any more but there is no doubt or uncertainty coming from either of us. Her hand moves from my stomach to my leg and I feel my whole body twitch.

I am on fire….

This post was based upon a prompt from The Red Dress Club.

If you are interested in reading past submissions you can find a list of them below:

Sometimes You Find Yourself Up Against It

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Surf's up!
A different man than I might find being up against it to be more enjoyable than I do. He might enjoy showing the surf that he could take the pounding merciless pounding to be demonstrative of being tougher than the next guy.

I know this because once upon a time I was that man, but I am not anymore. These days I would be far more pleased to show how resourceful I am, to demonstrate a mixture of wit, wisdom and cleverness.

Better to outfox and or outsmart than outlast when you can.

But the hardest part of being being up against it is that it is hard to catch your breath and make those smart decisions and it is even more challenging when you are fighting the waves because they have wit to match up against.

Out on the court I can always find a way to get to the man I am guarding or being guarded by. If I don’t have the athletic ability to out do them I always find another weakness to capitalize upon.

More importantly I choose to play for as short or as long as I wish but sometimes you don’t get that choice.

5 songs

  1. Whiskey Lullaby– Brad Paisley
  2. All I Ask of You– Phantom Of The Opera
  3. Minnie the Moocher- Cab Calloway
  4. This Is Radio Clash– The Clash
  5. Southern Cross- Crosby, Stills & Nash

Almost 2 PM and my whole body aches and that includes the mental part as well as the physical.

Spent two hours playing ball last night to try and chase the demons away, the not so silent whispers that taunt me late at night and question why I am here again. The voices that suggest that I made a huge mistake last October when I left and came back.

Out on the court I do my best to exhaust myself and I take the small victories where I can get them. Block a shot, steal a pass, hit three jumpers and a game winning lay up all against younger players.

I recognize it for being silly but I tell my kids when you are up against it and feel trapped you need to find one thing that makes you smile and focus on that. Focus on that one detail and that smile will help you regain your footing.

Later I am so tired I lean against the shower wall and let the water pound my back. My son tells me I look like I am exhausted and I smile.

“Did you win dad?”

“Yeah, not every game but most and I hit the game winner and left.”

He asks me a few more questions about the night and asks me what my favorite part of the game is. I tell him I almost always prefer the little things that add up to wins, rebounds, defense and passing.

“So if you focus on those things how did you end up taking those shots?”

“If you never shoot you make it too easy for the defense. They need to respect you and know that you are not so predictable. Sometimes you win by doing the thing you don’t do often, not just the stuff you always do.”

Joshua Tree National Park Elmer Tree (Yucca brevifolia); Desert Queen Valley NPS Photo by Robb Hannawacker.
Joshua Tree National Park
Elmer Tree (Yucca brevifolia); Desert Queen Valley
NPS Photo by Robb Hannawacker.

Joshua Trees make me smile, always been partial to the name and the desert.

Staring at the photo takes me back to last October and a million memories stream through my mind. It is a parade of images of things that happened not just then but many years before as well and the moments I associate with provide a fabric and framework I can lean against.

That is because they serve as the reminder that I have a perfect record at overcoming being up against it and a reminder that I am where I am right now because it is the card I had to play and the puzzle piece that fit for the moment.

During the hard moments it is not always easy to remember they don’t last or to find the value in them but I try. I try to look at them and find the gold nuggets that are stuck inside the dirt because it helps me pass through them.

Some tell me it is meant to be and others say it is nonsense but I say regardless of who is correct the struggle lends depth to my writing and has helped to create a stronger writer.

And a man who wishes to improve his ability to tell a story, to add texture, layer and depth has to be appreciative of such things.

Still if you ask me if to choose between a blow job or being beaten with a stick I’ll take the blow job because that stick isn’t going to add any more character and the blow joy might take the edge off.

About Writing

In the midst of it all I find myself thinking about the words I share here and the dearth of comments. Comments are down throughout the blogosphere adding to the loneliness a writer sometimes feels.

And it occurs to me the words in the picture above might serve as a good anchor for a post about comments and blogging.

In between those thoughts I stare at the photo of the lighthouse and wonder what life was like when they were manned by people who lived in them and what they might have seen.

More moments, more life, more living–that is what makes it all worthwhile.

You Shouldn’t Blog About Sex On Halloween

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How We Roll - 52 Stories - Pt 1
Halloween is about almost here and the kids are starting to get more than a little excited about it but not me. I am too busy trying to leave a simple wisp of toilet paper on every roll in every bathroom.

It is not really the kind of thing you want to put on a resume because some people consider it discourteous to let the person(s) that follow you in the restroom have to change the roll but if I wanted to I could come up with a good explanation.

My initial thought is to tie it into performance art and creativity. Something about modern art that is phrased in such a way that no one wants to dispute it because they don’t want to appear to be culturally illiterate.

But the smarter move is to make it cultural and or to tie it into a disability.

I am not really serious about the toilet paper thing, but the kids and Halloween, yeah that is serious.

When Are You Too Old To Trick Or Treat

Steiner the minor is going to turn 14 and I told him this is most certainly the end of trick or treating for him. He didn’t think that was right so I explained that my parents told me I was too old when I turned 13.

He asked me if I would have felt the same if we were living at the old house and I told him there wasn’t any doubt about it. Of course he doesn’t really remember that there really weren’t that many kids in the old neighborhood so he might have had outside influences pushing him the other way, who knows.

I didn’t tell him that when I think about finding a new home I picture Halloween there because there is no reason to share it now. Unless there is a dramatic change we aren’t moving today or tomorrow.

You can blame Halloween for influencing part of the story about two liars.

******

My daughter told me she wants to see pictures of me dressed up in costumes as an almost adult in college. I am not quite sure whether she came up with almost adult or that is my subconscious talking but there really aren’t many floating around because I stopped doing it years ago.

I don’t know why I did, can’t think of any one reason that made me but if I had to guess I’d probably blame it on a lack of cash. The coffers were typically too empty to drop $50 for a party.

And since my fraternity always threw Halloween parties I discovered that not being in costume was a good ice breaker. The girls that came to the bar almost always asked me why I didn’t dress up and that opened up conversations for the rest of the evening.

Since we are talking about fraternity parties and girls I suppose I could march right into the discussion about why you shouldn’t blog about sex on Halloween.

Hell we could move right into the talk about how some children are dressed in inappropriate costumes that should be worn just by adults.

It wouldn’t be hard to do either. Some of the costumes my daughter and friends are talking about are questionable, mostly because they are desperate not to look like babies and that creates some issues.

Issues meaning the costumes I see in various stores don’t make me happy. My girl is 10 going on 30, emphasis being on 1o. She likes to try and tease me about what  life will be like when she has a boyfriend but she truly isn’t interested now.

Whew.

 You Shouldn’t Blog About Sex On Halloween

I don’t know if there is a time to blog about sex or not. I suppose there is and I guess that I have but right now I am just writing.

That is because I am trapped in a moment where the creative juices aren’t just overflowing they are explosive and I ride that wave as often and as far as I can.

It is part of why I am thinking about the dreams that do not die and the stories that should be told. Got Bob Dylan singing his Wedding Song and it just reminds me of the power of storytelling and music.

One of the dreams that do not die is to tell a bigger story, to take the ones that swim unseen in the depths of my mind and to set them free. I have done a poor job of giving them free reign and even worse.

I like to tell myself that I haven’t cut loose because I have been up against it for so long I have forgotten to take a moment to breathe but that is not entirely true either.

A man who likes to dream about wearing a cape and having superpowers (shut up, it is still cool when you are almost middle aged) should be willing to do it.

More importantly the guy who jumps off of cliffs and learns to fly as he falls is a natural fire dancer so the time has come. And I guess it is tied into why I see the sort of surf inside my head that makes you skip going to school and or call in sick for work.

When the waves are rolling in you can pretend you hear the thunder or you can get on your board and get out there.

Life is made to be lived, not dreamed.

A Partial Tale of Two Liars

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Sunset

I once knew two liars.

A girl and a boy who came of age during a time when science was considered truth and magic was considered to be the province of con men, charlatans and snake oil salesmen.

The two of them grew up in separate towns, went to separate schools and for a very long time lived separate lives.

Lives that were filled with the normal ups and downs and experiences people have. They loved and lost and lived and laughed.

All of these things were done apart from each other which made perfect sense because they grew up in separate worlds and had no reason to be aware of the existence of the other until the time came when they had no reason not to.

The intersection between their lives turned their worlds upside down and inside out. It forced them to reconsider all they once knew as true and made them question all they thought they were as individuals.

Had they lived during the age of magic they wouldn’t have questioned any of these things. They would have accepted the things their hearts knew as truth even when their heads questioned them.

But they didn’ grow up during the age of magic so they relied upon what they knew to be true science.

Science provided logic, reason and rational explanations for why people were as they were and did as they did. But even though science ruled the day magic still owned the night and under the moonlit skies its influence was more profound.

One such night the boy kissed the girl or the girl kissed the boy and a fire was lit.

*****

For a long while time stood still and they held each other close and made the sort of secret promises you make to those whose hearts and souls you have seen.

They walked hand in hand under that moonlit sky and swore they would never let go of each other and they believed every word they said.

Yet when the day came and science regained control the boy began to wonder if maybe he had been confused. The girl was smart, beautiful and had dark soulful eyes that made him melt but he wondered if maybe he had fooled himself.

He wondered if maybe her soft touch had made him think thoughts that were less than clear and he pulled away from her.

The girl called out to him and told him not to fear. She promised if he held onto her they would figure it out and swore she could protect his heart from the pain he feared would come.

For a long while he did and she did and so it went until they did not.

Neither knew when that moment came or who truly let go of who, just that it did.

*****

The boy didn’t know how much time had passed between the last time the girl and he had their moment under the moonlit sky.

She was gone. Hidden behind the walls she had built around her heart to keep him out.

He wandered through forests and deserts searching for a way back in. Under black skies filled with creatures of the night he walked daring those who crossed his path to allow him to unleash his anger upon them.

The sun rose and the sunset and still he had no idea where the key was hidden or how to breach the walls. He had tried everything he could think of and then one day he decided he needed to build his own wall to protect his own heart.

She wasn’t going to be the mistress of no love by herself, no he would be the master. He just needed time to build the wall as high as he could and once it was there would be no entrance.

*****

At least that was the plan.

He was going to protect his heart by keeping her out.

What he didn’t know what that the girl had been watching him. She had seen him pass by the windows and doorways of her castle. She had heard him cry out in pain and in anger.

Sometimes she had waved at him and once or twice called out to him but he didn’t see and he didn’t hear so he didn’t respond.

It hurt her heart to see him like this and so she thought about doing something to really get his attention but when she decided to reach out all she saw was the wall he had erected and so she thought she wouldn’t take a chance to hurt her heart when it was clear his had no place for compassion.

At least that was the plan.

But under a moonlit sky the wizards and witches of the world took action. During the night when magic ruled they hurled lightning bolts and fireballs at the walls of the boy and girl and left giant gaping holes and craters in them.

Giant openings that forced the boy and the girl to come out from their hiding places so that they might attend to fixing them and as the wizard and witches planned the boy and girl ran into each other.

Had they met under the moonlit night the plan would have been perfectly executed except like many plans it ran into a hiccup or two. Because when they saw each other it was during day.

Under the sunny science ruled day they shared an awkward hello and an even more awkward hug. They exchanged a few words and lied to each other about how happy they were.

But what they didn’t say was what happened inside.

They didn’t talk about the butterflies they felt or how their hearts danced with joy and cried out for each other.

The wizards and witches watched from their mountain hideout. The wizards shouted at the scene and told the boy to kiss her. They said take a chance.

The witches shouted at the girl and told her to turn her face towards his and to take a step closer.

But science ruled the day so when the boy saw the girl lick her lips he didn’t think she was encouraging him to kiss her or consider that maybe she wanted to be kissed.

Suddenly the head witch shrieked at the head wizard to take her hand. He listened without thinking and together they cast a spell that caused a cloud to cover the sun and increased the influence of magic.

The wizards and witches chanted spells in the background and just when the feared it wouldn’t work the boy reached out and tried to kiss the girl on the cheek.

When the girl saw this she turned her face so lips met lips and the proverbial fireworks went off.

Behind two walls the forges which had been silent for so long started to work again. Cold dark places were lit by small flames that quickly turned into roaring fires.

A great cheer was heard from the wizards and witches and then voices.

You know this isn’t going to last. The spell will wear off and the boy will respond to the influence of science again.

Silly wizard, we know this. The girl will resume her beliefs too and hers will be even stronger. She will see this as a mistake, a moment caused by hormones. She’ll convince herself that she did this to reward him for the sadness she believed she caused.

The wizards were horrified by this.

You mean he’ll learn he got lucky because she felt badly not because she wanted to be with him! That won’t make him happy. It will infuriate him. The wall will be rebuilt higher and stronger than ever!

Foolish wizard. He won’t know this because she won’t tell him. We need him to always believe that he can find her and reach her. That fire will never go out for either one of them. She spent hours thinking about him during their time apart. But she won’t admit that to him or herself because without confidence it is going to be reciprocated it is too hard.

The wizards nodded their heads.

Is she really so foolish as to believe that he was with her solely because she did what others did not. That is not what this is about for him nor was it ever. His focus has always been upon other things.

For a while the wizard and witches exchanged comments and banter and then two voices broke through again.

We have no worries about their individual abilities to break down the walls. The truth is they have always had the ability to walk through the walls each other built. We know this to be true because once we were them.

The wizards and witches looked at the head witch and wizard.

She will always give him a reason why she cannot be with him until he demonstrates to her the reason why she cannot. And when he does she will join her hand in his and never let go.

The head wizard looked at his wife and smiled.

If he has to work twice as hard as I did to get you he will working long indeed, but the riches of the reward are incalculable and immeasurable. You have enriched my life.

The head witch smiled back at her husband.

We are both luckier than could be imagined.

Now he must continue to walk his path and we must do what we can to help them remember that magic is not dead.

For the moment they will continue to be two liars who pretend they don’t need the other, but the time will come when they are together during night and day.