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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

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Archives for July 2015

Dumb Bloggers, Teenagers & The Tales We Tell

July 4, 2015 by Jack Steiner 2 Comments

one slip
Thirty years ago I spent the 4th of July wandering around pubs in Jerusalem barely aware of how the things that happened that summer would impact my life.

Sometimes I wonder what sort of impact having modern technology would have had upon my summer. The $40 dollar telephone call I made back home was the only time I spoke with my parents all summer long.

A five-minute call to say we had arrived and I was fine was the extent of real time communication other than the few letters we exchanged.

Mom was good about writing with regularity, but not me. I don’t think they got more than a six or seven letters, if that and since they often took more than a week to be delivered some showed up a week after I had returned home.

Since we didn’t have cellphones, tablets or laptops we didn’t spend our time with our heads bent over anxiously poring over text messages, emails or Words with Friends.

The Curse Of Homogeneity

Back then we didn’t suffer from the curse of homogeneity. We walked down streets that weren’t populated with stores and brands that looked the same in Tel Aviv as they did in New York, Omaha or Chicago.

You knew you had left the states and you felt like it too.

I paid close attention to the cash I had brought with me because if you ran out it wasn’t a simple matter of trying to convince your folks to cough up some more Shekels.

It was also different because I paid for almost all of my trip out of pocket so I was more conscious of the cost.

Thirty years later I ask myself if I am prepared to send my own children on the modern version of the trip and wonder if they are ready to go.

My teenager will be eligible to go next year but I haven’t figured out yet if I want to send him.

Not because of cost or safety, but because I wonder if he is ready for something like this.

He is more sheltered than I was then, some of that is because the world is different and some of it is because of how he has been raised.

If if doesn’t happen I won’t engage in self-flagellation for not having the cash to send him as much as I will for not preparing him for such a trip.

But I won’t waste energy wondering and worrying about it now because it is too far away to spend that much energy on and much can happen in a year.

Not to mention that it doesn’t have to happen next year, it can take place during high school or college. Although if push comes to shove I lean towards getting him there in high school.

Dumb Bloggers

It is the middle of the week and I am sitting in the rear of a coffee shop avoiding going back to work by pretending that people watching will lead to some kind of breakthrough for a story I am working on.

“I am a writer, not a dumb blogger. My words have real meaning.”

If he had been with us on that trip to Jerusalem we would have said he was a ‘preppy’ and probably made some crack about him being part of The Socs In The Outsiders.

His snotty attitude chapped my hide. I was tempted to go slap him.

“Fists are for real men, stay golden Pony Boy.”

I liked that line and I didn’t care if it made sense to him or anyone else but I did and do care about prison so I kept my thoughts to myself.

Besides I have spent far too much time teaching my children to ignore the nonsense that other people like to spew from their mouths so I didn’t respond.

Hell, he made such an impact upon me that it took almost a week for me to remember it happened and had I not decided to spend a few minutes writing today I don’t know if I would have remembered him at all.

****

But I did sit down and am writing so I decided that if I was going to write just for the heck of it I might look at my stats and share some of the posts that people have been clicking on more frequently here.

  1. What Is The Most Important Page On Your Blog
  2. The World’s Strongest Penis
  3. Other Places I Write
  4. There Are No Coincidences

Number three is a good reminder about the Impermanence of blogging.

Every time you link to the guest posts you run elsewhere you have to remember to periodically check those links aren’t permanent.

If a blogger decides to hang up their keyboard you may find that your link is no longer live and instead of people seeing you are a well-respected authority who has written all over the ‘Net your readers will discover a big empty hole in cyberspace.

Pro Tip: Save your guest posts on your own blog. If they are good enough to run elsewhere they are probably good enough to run on your blog too.

The Tales We Tell

The downside to not having had modern electronics on my trip was I didn’t record things with as much detail as I sometimes wish I had.

My memory is better than most people but I am human and fallible so I wonder what has been lost or adjusted.

If the difference is in the details than the difference might be more significant than I would like it to be.

I spend the majority of my time in the present with a focus on the future and an eye to the past.

Sometimes I want to go back in time and revisit some of the thoughts from that moment and compare. Maybe it would be good and maybe it would be helpful, I don’t really know.

As a writer I want those details because I think it might help flesh out some of the tales we tell with more fact than fiction.

But who is to say that fact would make the content more creative or compelling than what we have to work with today.

Filed Under: Blogging, Children

Problems Only Bloggers Have

July 1, 2015 by Jack Steiner 14 Comments

oldm7mnhdic-stefan-kunzeviral
Non bloggers never worry about stock photos and whether they are appropriate for the post they are writing/

They don’t worry about permission to use those photos or concern themselves with whether they are allowed to write about a certain topic.

They don’t ask themselves if they should pray to the gods of blogging to make their post go viral or hope that some magic entity will discover their writing and offer a book or movie deal.

Nor do they concern themselves with labels and wonder if they are a tech blogger, parent blogger, dad blogger, humor blogger or any other blogger label because it doesn’t matter.

They don’t worry about tech issues blowing up their blog or taking time they don’t have to research, pray and hope they can figure it out on their own.

Non bloggers aren’t approached by friends and family with requests not to blog about conversations or incidents they experienced together.

You won’t ever see them arguing with someone about whether a story they wrote is fiction of if they included parts and pieces of reality in it.

Nor will you see them worry, wonder, debate or argue about the value of comments and commenting on a blog.

Today I Need Your Help

Today I need your help because I am having some tech issues with the blog and I can’t fix them without your input.

Some of you have been having trouble commenting here and I haven’t been able to figure out why. I know it has happened because more than a few of you have written to let me know.

I turned off one of the commenting plugins because I am 90 percent certain the issue is tied into that particular plugin, but I would like to be able to turn it back on.

Why?

Because that plugin enables functionality that I think enhances the experience for everyone here.

Not everyone is affected by it, so I am a bit confused by what is going on and that is why I am asking for your help.

What I want to know is what browser you are using when you try to comment. Are you on a Mac or a PC?

Faking Your Own Death Is Problematic but figuring this out shouldn’t be, at least I hope not.

I look forward to seeing you in the comments.

Thanks!

P.S.

Feel free to share your own thoughts about problems only bloggers have in the comments too.

P.P.S.

I tell my kids we should be cognizant of the difference of big problems and little ones.

In the grand scheme of life this is a little problem, it is irritating but it is little. If it is the only one I have for the next 20 years I’ll be grateful.

But that is unlikely and since my AC hasn’t been replaced it is not, so it is 109 inside my house and I am no longer a lovable curmudgeon, but we’ll leave that alone for now.

Don’t feed the bear, he bites.

Filed Under: Blogging

Faking Your Own Death Is Problematic

July 1, 2015 by Jack Steiner Leave a Comment

Forest dream!

“He is dead.” Three words. That is all they had for her. “He is dead.” Flat, unemotional and yet they still echoed inside my head. She didn’t cry. She didn’t scream and She didn’t flinch. She didn’t do anything.

Several years ago a man was convicted of murdering his wife. The jury foreman said that they had found the defendant to be lacking in remorse and that he had not acted like a man who had just lost his wife should. The foreman said that it was this inconsistency in the defendant’s behavior that had really sealed his fate and that if he had shown some emotion and acted more like a human being they might have voted differently.

That bothered her because she knew from experience that they could not know how to act, would not know what a normal response would be because there was no normal response to death, especially something that was sudden or unexpected.

What you see on television or in the movies is not necessarily what happens. The fainting, screaming and or wailing is good drama and it makes it easy for a screenwriter to cheat but it still doesn’t mean that it is real. And reality is the point of this.

See the issue is acceptance and all too frequently the mind refuses to reconcile the truth that is placed in front of you with reality. “He is dead” is not something that you automatically digest and consume. The mind has numerous methods of protecting us from things that might harm us and one of those little items is need to process the information, to sort through it and absorb it.

Or maybe not. Maybe it is all a lot of crap that they try to sell you so that psychologists can make more money. Back in college in my basic psych course she had studied this guy named Festinger who had coined the term “cognitive dissonance” as well as some kind of “Cognitive Consistency” theory. Basically they referred to behavior that was either inconsistent with your stated beliefs or some kind of B.S. that said your attitude adapted to adjust to your behavior.

Whatever. It really didn’t matter what she knew for certain was that people would justify their behavior no matter how heinous or how nice. People would always rationalize their actions and few would think twice about what they had done.

Under the bright blue North Carolina sky it was easy to remember the day they called. She was confident that her mother had made the arrangements to call her and to tell her that the boy was gone. She would have done it with love and affection with the sole intent to help her little girl move on but it was one more foolish mistake in a series of missteps between mother and daughter.

Unlike her mother she did not accept life at face value and did not believe everything that was handed to her. At one time she had been that innocent and there was a certain joy in holding onto that kind of naivety. But she had been stripped of it.

The boy was responsible for that. It was hard to love and care for a drowning man and not change and she had. That period of her life had forced her to learn a number of hard lessons and one of them was that people lie. They deceive, they dissemble and they manipulate things to fit their reality.

So when the call came it was easier to just listen and not react. Because what do you do when your biggest nightmare walks out of the closet and into the daylight. Even so it still felt like someone had kicked her in the stomach and for an untold amount of time she had laid on the floor listening to angry cries of a busy signal from a phone that had not been hung up.

It was the incessant beeping of the phone that made her get up and move. The call had left her feeling completely unsettled, but it hadn’t made her forget the hell that the boy had put her through or the anger. And that anger made her determined not to waste any more tears on him until she had details of what had happened.

Two long distance phone calls to old friends were it all it took to confirm that the boy was still alive and that the phone call was fake. In spite of the good news and her vow not to waste any more tears she still found herself staring at a tear streaked face. The call had done nothing to help her move on. If anything it reminded her that sometimes our past can still reach out and hold onto us in the present and that was not a lesson she was prepared to learn.

There was an old saying that people plan and god laughs. In the old days when he had believed in god he would shake his head at people and say they just didn’t understand.

When they would ask him what he meant he told them they couldn’t possibly be smart enough to understand god’s plan and then he would talk about how silly a remark it was to make.

Even though he believed in god he never believed in the kind of benevolent hands on god the people talked about. In his eyes god was more like the Federal government, a being that provided an infrastructure and protected the people from bigger stuff.

The bigger stuff had always been like alien invasions and asteroids or other catastrophic moments. Of course if you had asked him to explain why that didn’t cover war, pestilence and terminal illnesses he wouldn’t have had an answer.

But that is what happens when you ask a young adult with limited life experience to offer explanations. Sometimes it is just not well thought out.

*****

The plan to fake his death wasn’t one of those things, at least not in its entirety.

It was a combination of good intentions gone wrong and plans that went sideways.

The point had been to protect her, to keep her from getting caught up in something stupid that he couldn’t avoid. He had been young and dumb when it had all started and never expected to be concerned with someone else.

She had met him during the middle of it all but he had done his best to make sure she didn’t know anything. It hadn’t been easy and there had been more than a few times where he wondered if maybe he hadn’t been as good at hiding things as he had thought.

“Women always know when men are trying to hide something from them.”

“Baby, I have nothing to hide from you. You are my girl and you always will be.”

She had smiled and hugged him back.

He knew she wasn’t stupid and was probing but he was certain he had calmed her nerves and made her comfortable. If she hadn’t been she would have keep pushing. Her temperament never would have let her relax and eventually he would have asked her if she intended to nag him to death.

It would have been a joke. She would have made a face, he would have smiled and they would have moved on like they always did.

But it didn’t go down like that.

Maybe if there would have been more time it would have, but that was the sort of speculation people who looked back used and there was no time for that.

But then again maybe he was wrong.

It was hard to think about that time. Hard not to feel robbed of opportunity and something special.

Things had moved so quickly then, there hadn’t been time to think everything through. All he had was enough space to figure out how to make sure she was protected.

He had moved quickly to make it happen and then done his best to disappear.

And now all these years later he was back, wondering if there was a way to reclaim his name again.

Editor’s Note: I took part of a post I wrote years ago and added to it. Haven’t decided if I’ll leave this fragment alone or do more with it.

Filed Under: Fragments of Fiction

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