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

Triberr

The Problem With Blogging Conference Speakers

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Microphone

The problem with blogging conference speakers is that we expect them to be experts on a particular topic and most of the time they aren’t. We sit in our chairs and hope that at least one member of the panel will be able to shed some insight and distill their words of wisdom and oftentimes it doesn’t happen.

It doesn’t happen because they aren’t experts in the field. They don’t necessarily know more than you do about blogging and how to be successful at it. Sometimes they are far less capable and talented than you are but the difference between them you is that when the call for speakers went out…they answered.

They stood up, raised their hands and said that they would fill a time slot. Bully for them and boo for you.

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You can call this Digital Envy if you wish. Blog Envy is real and every time I write about it I receive a ton of feedback. In part that is because bloggers love to talk about blogging but this isn’t about that. This is about my frustration with conferences that require a substantial registration fee to go hear people who aren’t experts in the field speak about it. I can’t say that I blame the speakers for volunteering their time. If you are trying to build a name for yourself this is one way to do it. You gain good exposure and you obtain a new line for your resume.

My grandfathers would have told me that this is all narishkeit and they are probably right. Narishkeit: (nar-ish-kite) foolishness (a nar is a fool) Why should any of this matter to me and is there a real reason for me to care.

It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat.
Teddy Roosevelt Citizenship in a Republic,Speech at the Sorbonne, Paris, April 23, 1910

Old Teddy, he of speak softly and carry a big stick fame is correct and I am duly chastised. It is easy for me to poke holes in the fabric of the conference, to complain, critique and comment upon the shortcomings. It is harder to answer the call for speakers with a 500 word essay on what I want to talk about and why it would be a mistake not to include me in the line up.

And the beauty of hindsight is that it allows me to say that it was a mistake not to solicit a spot for BlogworldLA. I could have done so and I didn’t and I take responsibility for that but that doesn’t mean that I don’t believe that there is a problem with speakers. That doesn’t mean that I don’t think that some people are filling space nor does it mean that I am envious.

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There is a time in every mans education when he arrives at the conviction that envy is ignorance; that imitation is suicide; that he must take himself for better, for worse, as his portion; that though the wide universe is full of good, no kernel of nourishing corn can come to him but through his toil bestowed on that plot of ground which is given to him to till. The power which resides in him is new in nature, and none but he knows what that is which he can do, nor does he know until he has tried. Essay on Self Reliance- Ralph Waldo Emerson

And lest you think that I take myself too seriously I would have asked the Ukulele Orchestra of Great Britain to open up for me. I would have told them to play the theme to Shaft and then walked up, cool as can be and begun speaking.

Or perhaps I would have opted for this one

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And with a little bit of luck and some hard work I would have shared words that would have moved you. There are stories that I could have told and slides that I could have shared but it is not going to happen this time around and the only one to blame for that is me.

But that is the beauty of blogging. The chance to share our triumphs, failures and teaching moments with ourselves and our readers. We only get so many somedays so the best we can do is make tomorrow today.

He Screamed & So Did His Dad

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It is not supposed to be like this. Life isn’t supposed to mirror a bad sitcom or resemble a silly movie. The things that happen there are exaggerated for comedic or dramatic effect. Yet I find myself wondering when fiction morphed into reality.

The baby is coming…soon. It is not supposed to happen today or tomorrow. The magical due date says that D-Day is two weeks away. The books and docs say that it could happen sooner but that it probably won’t. I try not to read anything into her facial expressions but every gasp, grimace and groan makes me look for the bag and keys.

Real life isn’t like the movies. Those things are possible, but unlikely…right. There won’t be any speed records set on the way to the hospital. Nor will a motorcycle cop pull us over only to be convinced that we need a police escort to get there on time because no baby is going to be born in the front/back seat or any other place of the this beautiful blue Honda CRV. It is brand new, just a few months older than the child it will carry.

I live and die a thousand lives on the freeway. The commute between house to work and work to home has become grueling. What happens if the baby comes during rush hour. No, it won’t happen that way. No need to worry because that is a movie. Besides there are two more weeks and a baby shower this weekend.

A unisex baby shower that is. The guys want to know what happens there. They offer to serve as the designated driver just in case the father-to-be drinks too many beers. But that won’t happen. No sir, dad-to-be is in Secret Service mode. Every trip into the outside world  is carefully planned. He scans the area looking for danger and makes sure that no man, woman, child or beast comes close to the belly of the mom-to-be. During a trip to the mall he spots a man running wildly towards them and throws a block into the midsection of the runner that would make NFL coaches proud.

Relax. Breathe. It is ok. The baby is fine or so he is told. It is easy for mom to be. She carries the baby. Nature has given her secret knowledge and he isn’t privy to it.

Kids in the mall are screaming. Moms and dads of young children are covered in mysterious substances. They seem unaware of the goo as well as deaf. How can they not hear that screaming.

Night comes and sleep beckons. Tomorrow he will go to the highway  patrol to learn how to install the car seat.

A hand shakes his shoulder and a voice says “my water broke.” What, where, when and why aren’t I wet he thinks/asks.

Time passes and he is standing next to a boy who looks like Doogie Howser. Doogie tells him to hold her legs and tell her to push. She doesn’t need to be told. One look makes it clear that it would be dangerous to suggest it.

A head emerges but it is not clear yet what the sex is. This beautiful baby is covered in muck and goo. Dad remembers someone saying that babies looks like Winston Churchill and giggles. “Push harder, we need to find out if we have a boy or girl.” The air is thick with anticipation.

He screams and so does his dad. A son is born and life has just become simply amazing.

This was a post for the Red Dress Club which is now known as Write on Edge. The prompt is:

This week we asked you to let narrative take a backseat. We asked you to step back into a significant moment in your life and bring us back the sensory treasures you found there, the feelings, scents, textures, sounds, tastes, and colors of the moment.

I think this needs work. Time constraints prevented me from devoting as much time to it as I would have liked but for the sake of practice I jumped on it. I would rather try and fail than not try at all. If you are interested in reading past submissions you can find a list of them below:

The Greatest Hits of Music Monday+ One Writing Tip

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It is time for another edition of the Greatest Hits of Music Monday. Music is a constant presence in my life and were a genie to grant me 7 wishes two of mine would be for musical talent. In more specific terms I would gladly love the ability to sing and to play many instruments.

As always you are encouraged to play along in the comments by sharing your favorites. Alternatively you can sign up for my fan page and join the discussion there. Don’t forget it is International Talk Like A Pirate Today.

  1. New York’s Not My Home– Jim Croce
  2. Photographs And Memories- Jim Croce
  3. These Dreams– Jim Croce
  4. Father & Son– Cat Stevens (his politics drive me crazy, but I love some of his old stuff.)
  5. Tea for The Tillerman- Cat Stevens
  6. The Wreck of The Edmund Fitzgerald– Gordon Lightfoot
  7. Sundown– Gordon Lightfoot
  8. Hurt– Johnny Cash
  9. Help Me– Johnny Cash
  10. Ring of Fire– Johnny Cash
  11. Hero Of The Day– Metallica
  12. No Leaf Clover– Metallica
  13. Unforgiven– Metallica
  14. El Dorado– Iron Maiden
  15. The Number of The Beast– Iron Maiden
  16. Let It Be– The Beatles
  17. Eleanor Rigby– The Beatles
  18. Norwegian Wood– The Beatles
  19. Picture– Kid Rock w/Sheryl Crow
  20. Rockstar– Nickelback (video cracks me up)
  21. All My Rowdy Friends Have Settled Down– Hank Williams Jr.
  22. Old Love– Eric Clapton
  23. Crossroad– Robert Johnson
  24. Forever Young– Gregorian
  25. May It Be- Enya

And now for your writing tip. Just write and stop worrying about whether you are eloquent, profound or insightful. Just put pen to paper and good things will happen.

Worth a second look:

Just Try It!

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The dark haired beauty tells me that she refuses to go to school unless I carry her from her bedroom to the breakfast table. I glare at her and tell her that I am not her servant. She giggles and I walk out the door to visit her brother. I offer three suggestions for breakfast and he nixes all of them.

“I don’t like those choices.” I tell him to get used to not liking things and suggest that if doesn’t want to be hungry he’ll learn how to eat what we have. “Dad, is the reason you give me so few choices because we are poor?’

Lightning shoots from my eyes and flames from my nostrils.  “We are not even close to being poor and if you don’t develop some gratitude I am going to find a way help you”

He nods his head and I ruffle his hair. “My job as your father is to teach you how to be a productive member of society. That means that sometimes I am going to do things that you don’t like.” He looks up at me and says that he is not sure if he likes where this is going.

I laugh and talk to him about gratitude and appreciating what we have. We flip back to food and he tells me that he is a picky eater. I shake my head at him and tell him that I don’t want to hear that. Tell me that you tried it and then if you don’t like it we’ll see if there is another choice. I won’t accept anything less.

Generations

It is a quarter to 11 and I just finished doing three sets of curls- but not the 12 ounce kind.  I am hitting the weights….hard. Every day I spend little chunks of time lifting and doing what I can to beat Father Time to a bloody pulp.

Recently I showed my son a few clips from Naked Gun and Airplane and realized that he doesn’t appreciate those movies the way that I do. That is not a bad thing. I wouldn’t expect him to get all of the jokes which is part of why I showed just a couple of selections. But what I did realize was that these movies are dated in ways that I hadn’t thought of.

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A few weeks back there was an unofficial reunion of the high school swim team. Every time I look at the pictures I am shocked by the faces that look back at mine.

These aren’t people who look like recent graduates or new members of the workforce. They are grown up faces that belong to people who have some life experience. That is not a bad thing, just something that continues to surprise me. What it really shows me is that my mental image of us is stuck somewhere between 1987-95 or so.

There is still fall out from the move. A chunk of our stuff is in storage and the rest of it is in boxes. Scratch that, was in boxes. Most of that stuff is unpacked and put away but in spite of best efforts to be organized there are a few things that are missing. What I don’t know is if they are missing because they are in storage, still in a box or if they were accidentally sold/given away. Time will tell if this move is added to the list of life changing moments.

Movies

We had the privilege of seeing A Dolphin Tale this weekend. The kids loved it and so did I. However I did learn that I still haven’t figured out how to whisper. Guy sitting a few seats away from me complained about the acting not being Oscar worthy and I muttered pompous ass. Unfortunately the dark haired beauty heard this and spent five minutes demanding an explanation as to what that means. Good times.

Since we were lucky to see it as part of a VIP program we all received gift bags that came along with organic popcorn. My son took one look at it and then told me that he didn’t like it. I said ok and waited for the question that I knew was coming. “Do you think that I could go buy some popcorn?”

I turned my head and just looked at him. He looked back at me and asked “could grandpa do that to you too? I laughed and asked him if he meant stop me in my tracks with a look and he nodded his head. “Don’t tell grandpa, but that look still catches me sometimes.”

“If I try it and don’t like it can I buy popcorn?” I shook my head no and told him that I appreciated his asking but thought that it was better for him not to have all of the calories and junk that comes with theater popcorn. I am not a health nut. I try to provide my children with meals have nutritional value and make sure that they exercise, but sometimes you have to draw a line.

Would You Read This Story Part 2

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Based upon tremendous reader feedback here is the sequel to Would You Read This Story

“I Don’t Want To Kiss My Husband Ever Again”

I have a graphic memory. I dream and think in technicolor or maybe I should say high definition. My dreams are full featured spectacles. It is great when I dream about happy things, but not so good if they are sad or disturbing.

As a young boy I used to wonder if there was a way to control my dreams. I figured that it was nothing more than concentrating hard enough. So I spent more than a few nights lying in bed focused upon whatever it was that I was chasing. Some nights it was images of me chasing down fly balls in Dodger Stadium and or hitting the game winning home run. Other times it was me as a different sort of hero.

I suppose that it is fair to say that in many ways not much has changed. The boy grew into a man who still dreams of playing pro ball or of being a hero. All he needs is a chance. Although to be fair the man recognizes that some dreams will have to remain locked inside the vault.

It was the morning after and I was still in bed. It had taken hours to fall asleep. The news that she was single had a bigger impact upon me than I would have guessed it would. I didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to play memory lane. I didn’t want to have one of those dreams and wake up to discover that reality was different than I might want it to be.

The meal with my daughter and the girls was grueling. They didn’t understand that some scars don’t heal. They didn’t understand that I much preferred the safety of my own life. Being single wasn’t so bad. I didn’t worry about forgetting special dates. Never had to try and decipher whether a look or a comment meant that I was in trouble again for some other transgression.

In concept it made a lot of sense to me to say goodbye to women. I knew what I needed to know. I had served a life sentence known as marriage. I helped propagate the species. When I was instructed to go forth and multiply I did it.I listened to them.

That is big stuff, my listening. Ask those who know me and you’ll be told that I have an amazing ability to suddenly go deaf. More than one person called it irritating, but me, I called it survival.

All would be perfect, or close to it, were it not for my daughter and the girls. Did I mention that they don’t like it when I call them girls. Sometimes I like to aggravate them by talking about how you can’t trust a broad, not a single one of them.

The thing is, they know me too well. They refused to let me bait them into a different topic. They have an agenda and I am at the top of the list. And people wonder why I say I feel like I have a target on my back.

Midway through our meal Sheri asked me if I remembered what her marriage was like. I smiled and told her that she should have married me. That earned me another one of those withering looks and a sharp rebuke from my daughter.

Great, and to think that I thought that I owned the look and the lecture she gave me. But because I am rarely at a loss for words I told her that I have been inoculated against that sort of thing. She of course didn’t care. Damn, if she isn’t like me. Moments like this make me wonder if I should be proud or frightened of her.

But I digress.

Sheri jumped back into her story and asked me if I knew how she realized that her marriage was over. I was tempted to provide another smart ass remark, but something told me that it was smarter to stay quiet.

“When I realized that I never wanted to kiss my husband again, I knew that it was over.”

“Well, we share that in common. I never want to kiss your husband again either. For that matter I don’t want to sleep with him, he snores far too loudly,” I said.

I know, the smart ass remark didn’t help, but how could I let that one go. Again she ignored me and continued on.”

“When you find the kind of love and relationship that you had you don’t let go.”

That wiped the smile off of my face. I looked at her and thanked her for her opinion. Before anyone could go on I explained that it had been made very clear to me that she was done. It didn’t matter what I wanted, or what I thought. She was done.

My daughter came around the table and hugged me. She told me that she had no idea that my feelings for her were so deep and that I owed it to myself to not just ignore the opportunity.

I was surprised by my anger. I did my best not to bark at her, but I am not sure that I was successful. “This is not reality. This is not some stupid movie where I get to ride up to her ranch, grab her and ride off into the sunset”

“She gave up on us and she gave up on me.”

For a moment there was silence. It took me a moment to realize that both my jaws and fists were clenched. I took a deep breath and thanked them for their thinking about me.

Sheri smiled and told me that she was sorry. In a soft voice she said that I needed to remember that some loves never really die and that we had been victims of bad timing. “Call her. There is a reason why you are being given a second chance.”

I smiled back at her. “I’ll think about it.” And then I said a silent prayer of thanks that none of them knew how hard my heart was pounding. [Read more…] about Would You Read This Story Part 2

Are You Trying To Live Your Dreams?

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Marc Chagall

He told me that he forgave me for killing his god and I shook my head at him. “It is ok, I am not angry with you guys anymore” he said. It is fair to say that back then I was young, dumb and stupid. We, this other boy and I, had just sat through a one hour lecture about art at the Vatican which had prompted a relatively heated discussion about religion.

There were about fifty students or so in the class but I seemed to be the only Jewish kid in it. Or at least I was the only one who was willing to argue with the others and state unequivocally that they were wrong, misguided and foolish. A smarter instructor would have taken control of the conversation and shut it down, but ours did not. And so I found myself standing in the middle of the room- trying to calmly respond to a million comments from a million directions.

The boy who told me that I was forgiven was probably trying to be polite but I wasn’t having any of it. I looked at him and said, “When you god comes back I am going to personally see that this time he really dies.” It had the desired effect and he walked away highly insulted and we never spoke again.

The Ghosts of The Past

Old Jack is a sentimental fellow who roams where he will and walks where he might. Sometimes those forays into the darkness and the light lead me places that bring me joy and sometimes they bring me sadness. Sometimes I shake my head and wonder if I had any sense or if I was just an expert at ignoring it. I suppose that depends on which side of the fence you stand upon. Some will call me a prophet and others a fool. But the real question lies in what I call myself.

That is part of why I blog. I write these words here in an effort to gain a better understanding of who I am and what I want. I write these words so that I can leave a legacy for others. I write these words to remind my children that I don’t blog about the times we volunteer at soup kitchens or the moments we spend trying to help those who  are less fortunate because I want kudos or thanks.  I mention it so that in the years to come those who follow me remember that we have an obligation to help. I share it here, so that my kids, grand kids, great grand kids and whomever else happens to stumble upon it thinks about giving a hand up to those who have fallen.

I see patterns and possibilities all around me. There are doors that I could open and paths that I could walk down but I am hesitant. I want to carefully consider the consequences and then determine what to do- but life doesn’t work that way. I tell the kids to Trust Me and I go with my gut. Decisions have to be made because we don’t know How Many Some Days We Get and life must be lived.

What A Wicked Tale We Weave

The blog posts have become a collection of links to old posts and thoughts about them. There is a point and purpose and a rhyme and rhythm to this. Part of my journey is documented within these walls and I am trying to create connections between that which was, that which is and that which will be. I look at this quote and my soul is lifted by it: Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart. ~ William Wordsworth. I ask Do You Live Your Dreams Or Dream Your Life for a reason. I am curious to hear your thoughts and wonder what you will share.

It is why I ask Do Things Happen For A Reason and then return to read it again. I feel hints hiding just out of reach and clues that I can use to gain clarity. Some of these things are trivial and some are important. The kids brought up the house today and asked pointed questions. They remind me that I am the bull in the china shop and while I am confident that all will work out I admit to having some bouts of consternation.

And maybe that is why I come back here in search of the perfect blog post and determined to build connections and community. I look at the stories that I have written and smile. Song Sung Blue and other Colors, Instant Messenger and Timing are good. I see material there that has legs and I see opportunity.

But more than anything else I see ample evidence that I am working hard to try and live my dreams. I am not just writing about it or wasting away hours dreaming of what could be.I am asking and I am doing. The question is not will it happen but when will it happen,

And so dear reader I want to know, are you trying to live your dreams? Do you know what makes you happy? If you are not living your dreams what are you doing about it? Share it with us in the comments.