Music to guide the way

It has been so long since I regularly practiced this craft I (allegedly?)love that I no longer have music to write by. It's been so long, in fact, I cannot recall any selections which I once fancied. One maybe, "Silver Spring" by Fleetwood Mac, but even that I think came later, during a different period in my life. No, the time when writing consumed the greatest time in my life was around the turn of the century millennium, before I even had an iPod. These were mix discs created from my compact disc library. Jump ahead a few years, when still regularly putting finger to keyboard, songs downloaded from services of questionable legality.

Now my service of choice is Spotify. The playlist I am employing right now, "Songs for A Dark Room," is the closest to what I think a new writing playlist might resemble. After all, I am in a dark room, my son asleep next to me.

The original concept of this playlist actually started in my mind a couple years ago as "Songs for A Dark Road." The idea was these songs would accompany and guide me as I traveled east on a dark northern Colorado county road with only my headlights and the cosmos lighting the way. It was mostly an intellectual exercise, maybe even a romantic one. I never truly thought I would ever put the playlist to the test. At the time, the playlist was only about four or five songs deep.

Over the past year or so as the idea has found its way home from a dark road to a dark room, the number of tracks has increased, but still only to 11. They are all songs I love in the light as well, but there's something in them, a hidden magic, that is released in the dark. Take a song like "Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating In Space" for instance. Already a fantastic song. But now turn off the lights and play it.

See what I mean?

I suppose the oddest entry is "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right" as performed by Peter, Paul and Mary. It's a Dylan song and is perhaps not as sonically dynamic as some of the other selections, but it works for me. Maybe because it fits the original idea of the list, to be played on a dark road. In the case of this particular song, a dark road taking someone away from a life chapter just ended.

Anyway, the list seems to be working for this little endeavor. This is the most I have written in quite some time. I cannot see myself ever growing tired of these songs, so if I can use writing a little here and there as an excuse to actually visit these songs in a dark room as I intended, with only the glow of the screen lighting the way, I'll take it. And perhaps as the list grows, so will my output.

"Where Will I Be" is playing right now. Fitting I suppose as I wrap this up.

It has begun...again

Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, so too has The Hokey Pokey. Sadly, the technology (as far as I know) does not yet exist that would allow fire to shoot from whatever device you are reading this on. The picture will have to do. But quite a picture, huh? I like that the phoenix appears to be being played by the peacock, which let's face it, is already pretty flaming.

I know what you're thinking - what brought me back? I had the great fortune to be able to get together with an old friend recently, and she pretty bluntly asked why the hell I wasn't blogging anymore. When I first started The Hokey Pokey, she was one of the very first to start following it, so it really meant something when she brought it up. I told her I would start again and finish a post by the end of the month. Nothing like saving it till the end, but she lives in California so technically I have an extra hour.

The answer of course is laziness. Sure I could say that since my last post I've had two children and my life is too busy, but that's utter bull honky. I'm typing this on my iPhone, so access is not a problem. No, it's laziness. With two small children I should theoretically have more I can write about than before.

Tonight the subject will not be the children. 

I told my friend I was contemplating writing about a somewhat obscure movie actor who played primarily in the 80's. That actor is Keith Gordon. I kept coming across Dressed to Kill on TV, and seeing him in that of course made me think about his roles in Back to School and The Legend of Billie Jean,two of my favorite movies from the era. But that was about the extent of the idea, and that only took one paragraph!

Then, last week in the car I heard a couple songs back to back that fit into the 80's movie characters theme. The first song was "Don't You (Forget About Me)" by Simple Minds and the next was "St. Elmo's Fire (Man In Motion)" by John Parr. The first is obviously featured in The Breakfast Club and the second in, perhaps more obviously, St. Elmo's Fire. So the first thing that struck me, besides both songs having parenthetical titles(!), was they share three cast members: Judd Nelson, Emilio Estevez, and Ally Sheedy. Now, these titles are arguably the two quintessential "Brat Pack" films, so I suppose it shouldn't have struck me as it did, but that's what popped in my head driving to Ft. Collins that morning.

I plan to start posting more regularly, and hopefully not only about 80's movie cast crossover. Although thinking about it, I bet I could easily give you 1000 words/week on the subject. As always, I welcome requests.

The Mongrelization of the Races

The title speaks to nothing this post is actually about - I just thought it was catchy.

But wait, as I think about it, I am an active proponent of, and with my soon-to-be-born child, practitioner of mongrelization. As you all know, I am white and my wife is Asian. While in the past the scariest forms of mongrelization were between black and white people and (for some odd reason) white and Jewish people, I'm sure the union and procreation of whites and Asians was not far down the list. Aren't we all happy we now live in a world where we don't have to worry about such prejudices!?

Oh wait, that's right...Um, awkward.

The title actually came to me from the film Field of Dreams of all places. With spring training in session, I guess I have baseball on the brain. But not even the greatest sport of baseball is the focus of this post.

No, the reason I have entered the fray once again is to announce my latest fiction writing exercise. I know I have promised such endeavors in the past and have failed to deliver. This one will be different. It is different because it is a bit narrower in scope and still interesting enough to hold my interest.

I am still discovering myself a writer. Unfortunately, I never stuck with it enough after school to really give myself a good idea of my strengths and weaknesses. I have found recently I seem to be better at writing scenes. This may be because it eliminates the pressure of coming up with a beginning or ending, or really a story arc of any kind. I have not forgotten the importance of beginnings, endings, and arcs, but I want to try and focus on what I can do well, and maybe from there those other elements will develop and manifest themselves.

The rules of the exercise? Like Thunderdome, there aren't any. That's not exactly true.

It builds upon my extremely short-lived exercise of using randomly generated letters to come up with a first sentence. The difference is, with this exercise, there will be 26 installments, each beginning with a different letter of the english alphabet. I am pretty sure each first sentence will be six words, but they may vary. I am hoping to complete a couple installments per week, but I will guarantee, with Gozer as my witness, I will complete at least one every week, beginning with this one. Get ready.

Here's to a light brown world.

The rumors of my death have greatly exagerrated...again

I bought a peach today the size of a softball.

But that is not what this is about.

Or maybe it is, I don't know. This may not be about anything. Of course that's not true. The very fact there is something on this page, er, screen, is something. It might be nothing more than an exercise to get my fingers comfortable with tap-tap-tappin' on this keyboard again, but it most definitely is something. Something most likely not resembling greatness, but hopefully, at least, resembling English.

I've been reading lately, and I have found the more I read, the more I want to write. Don't get me wrong, I have always been a reader. Those who know me know there is nothing I am more snobbish about than the books I
(and others) read. My cousin, who shall remain nameless, reads nothing but non-fiction. I don't know how she does it. What truth can possibly be found in such works?

I have a stack of novels I have been catching up on. I eased back into things with Blood Meridian by Cormac McCarthy. This is a book I have already read, so I thought it might be good to start with. You know, learn how to read literature again. Cormac McCarthy is probably my favorite living American writer. It is rumored to be an upcoming movie, but I have difficulty imagining an adaptation because in case you haven't read it, Blood Meridian is a hyper-violent novel.

The second novel recently completed is The Yiddish Policemen's Union by Michael Chabon. Excellent.

The novel I am involved with right now is The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana by Umberto Eco. So far so good. Next up is Cloud Atlas.

There is no reason you need to know what I'm reading, but I needed to fill space. I couldn't have my first post in almost six months be two paragraphs. Bad form.

I have a beer resting on a treadmill with Californication on the television because I love Hank Moody, and this show also makes me want to write.

The beer on the treadmill has nothing to do with me writing.

I should clarify. I always want to write, but these pop culture inspirations make we want to put fingers to plastic. At least I think they're plastic.

Are they plastic?

Beginning exercise #1 - "Naflk"

I think many of the forthcoming posts are going to be fiction-centric - at least in the short term. I have been playing around with an exercise I learned to get started. I have a program generate five random letters, and then I form a first sentence from the sequence and see where it goes. Some may go no further than a paragraph, like the one below, but one may lead to something big. Anyway, I would like to share what I come up with, even if it's short. As always, I welcome comments. And since this is fiction, the more honest the better. Cheers.
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"Naflk"

Noon, and Frank laughed krazily. That’s right, krazily. With a k. Krazy spelled with a k takes things up a level, raises the stakes. Krazy has an element of the absurd, it carries with it a whimsical, unpredictable nature. Crazy, while crazy, is not krazy. Crazy has a method to its madness. With krazy, all bets are off.

Frank laughed krazily.

But this isn't about Frank. In fact, Frank may not even be that guys name. It was noon, though. And that guy did laugh krazily.

It’s not the who we should be concerned with, but the what. What could cause a man to laugh krazily?

Fiction's fictions

The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated…


Here’s the thing about fiction: it’s fake. Profound, I know, but true nonetheless.

This is one of the things I have been struggling with over the past few years, and why I think my output has been, well, slim. I love reading fiction. I prefer it to nonfiction by quite a bit. But I have a problem with developing a strategy to write it.

The central reason for this is I can’t fully embrace any of the points of view one can choose from to tell a story. The three most popular are first person, third person omniscient, and third person limited. I have been out of school for almost ten years, so I apologize if this discussion comes across as amateurish, but I need to get this out.

First person is odd for me. I don’t think I’ve ever written anything in first person. I have inserted myself in stories, but that is not really the “I” of first person. The “I” of first person is not really the author, but rather a character the author is playing. I know this gives the author the opportunity to tell a story from a narrow point of view and with a unique voice, but I question what makes an author want to do this. Perhaps it is a vehicle for the author to imagine themselves as another person, some sort of fantasy. Or perhaps it is so the author can say things they would not usually say. Either way, it doesn’t sit quite right with me.

Third person omniscient is an artifice. There is nothing like it that exists outside of literature. This could be why it is so popular - it gives the author the chance to act as the supreme puppet master, and gives him/her greater control over the direction of the story. It is, of course, an essential construct for literary pursuits, and one that for the most part exists only in fiction. It is useful for storytellers for the narrator to know what all the characters’ thoughts and motivations are. There are non-fiction instances when an author, through outside research, has been able to glean what interested parties were thinking in particular settings, and recount all of them in one scene, but it is always after-the-fact. A person of normal means cannot walk into a room and know what everyone is thinking.

Third person limited makes for the most interesting stories, but is maybe the least real for fiction. I love stories where the reader doesn’t necessarily know what is going on in any of the characters’ heads. Or maybe they know about just a couple. I am particularly fond of unreliable narrators. But there it is, right? While the narrator may be unreliable, the author is not. The unreliability of the narrator is itself a construct of the author. This is why I find it the least real in a fictional setting. The author knows the motivations of all the characters even if the narrator does not. This is why the narrator must always be considered a character in the story,

I have this huge idea in my head I have been thinking about for a couple years that takes the idea of a narrator to its absurd end. I have no idea how to execute it yet, but I can’t shake it.

I have some ideas about tense as well, but that’s for another post. I feel I am overthinking all of these things, and I just need to put my thing down. All encouragement is welcome.

2010: The year I make contact

My thanks to Arthur C. Clarke, who allowed me to come up with such a snappy title. And my apologies to my readers who have been without a new entry in over a month. When the holidays rolled around, it seemed time got tighter and tighter. This entry is going to be a short one. I really just needed something to get me back into the swing of things again.

The title refers to my main goal this year. I would like to keep in touch with my friends and family better than I have to this point. Never before in history has it been so easy to reach out to people, and yet I find myself feeling like I speak to very few people on a regular basis.

When I say I want to keep in touch, I mean beyond posting comments on Facebook pages. The three methods I would like to utilize more are phone calls, emails, and actual in person meetings. Yes I said it. I would actually like to meet with people. In particular with my family members. All but one of my cousins on the paternal side of my family live in Colorado, and it seems the only time I see them is at special occasions. I would like this to change. Of course, this holds true for my local friends as well. My plan is to try and reach out to no fewer than three people a week over the next month or so. We’ll see what happens, but I hope at least a few of those stick and turn into something consistent.

I hope I can accomplish my goal. I will put my plan into action this week since a goal without a plan is just a dream. No man is an island, but if I must be, I want to be a big island like Australia, with room for lots of people.

Thank you, Mark Twain

Colorado recently enacted a law prohibiting texting and driving. The only thing more dangerous than me texting and driving is me driving while listening to Lady Gaga.

There are a lot of red Honda Accords on the road. How will you know it's me driving(besides the White Sox license plate frame)? Just look to see if the fella is nodding his head and bouncing his shoulders. Maybe his right hand is pointing out the flow of the lyrics. Pull up beside him and you'll see he's singing his precious little heart out.

That's me in the car when music is playing - a singing and dancing fool. (When I'm listening to NPR, not so much singing and dancing) I'm a big believer of singing and dancing in the car. Come to think of it, I'm a big believer in singing and dancing in general. I can do neither very well, but can do both just well enough. I think far too many people are afraid of singing and dancing in public and I don't get it.

I'm sure you've all heard the quote

"Dance like no one is watching. Sing like no one is listening. Love like you've never been hurt and live like it's heaven on Earth."

Mark Twain was a fucking genius. Forget Tom and Huck and those damn jumping frogs - the first two ideas expressed in that quote may be the most beautiful he ever had. I don't know if he was a song and dance man, but his heart was definitely in the right place.

To me, the weirdest thing about people not singing and dancing is I think they really want to, but for some reason are afraid. Look at the popularity of the Electric Slide, the Cupid Shuffle, and the lamest of them all, the Cha Cha Slide. When people are surrounded by others doing the same moves, they feel safe. These are people I think really want to dance. If they didn't want to dance at all, not even these dances would bring them to the floor. Why they're afraid to stake a claim to a spot on the floor and at least sway from side to side is beyond me.

Same thing with karaoke. People will go up if they're singing something in a group, but if it's solo, no way. I'll admit karaoke is much more daunting than getting out on the dance floor, but it's also much more rewarding. The best karaoke for me is bad karaoke. People who are practically or completely tone deaf up there doing their thing is priceless. Those are the people I want to party with. And you don't need to go to karaoke to sing. One of the very best ways to break the ice and develop a rapport with someone is by singing with them. I think we've all found ourselves in the following situation:

You're in the car with an individual or a group of people you don't know very well and conversation is sparse. Then, the song everybody knows comes on and boom - everybody is singing, everybody is sharing a moment, and a connection is made.

Honestly, I'm not exactly sure what I am trying to say with this post. I just found myself singing and dancing my way home from work today and I guess it caused me to reflect a little. So, if you're one of these people who is afraid to cut a little rug or flex the golden pipes, just pretend no one is watching or listening and let it go.

Thai Lunch

There is no lunch.

There's breakfast. There may be dinner.

There is no lunch.

By the time you reach what you consider lunchtime in Thailand, you've already eaten three times - maybe four - maybe more.

You eat breakfast. There is breakfast. There is a first meal of the day. What you eat for breakfast isn't like anything you've eaten for breakfast in the past. Well, maybe. You've eaten fried chicken in the morning before, but you have never eaten fried chicken that tasted like the chicken was killed an hour before it was fried and presented to you with a sweet chili sauce and rice. Not in Chang Rai at 7 o'clock in the morning you haven't.

You eat again in a couple hours. This time it's on the streets of Bangkok. You can feel the city as you spear freshly cubed pineapple out of a plastic bag with a toothpick. No, really. You feel the city. It is stuck on your face. You run the napkin presented with the pineapple across your brow and when you look at it, it's grey. Strangely, this makes the pineapple taste better. The cool sweetness of the fruit combats the sticky heat of the city street.

The pineapple takes you no time at all to eat. It's that good. Sadly, it's not all that filling, so when you turn the corner and see a vendor selling grilled pork on a stick, you have to have it. And when you finish that, you need the iced coffee next door to wash it down. The coffee is also served in a plastic bag, suspended by a rubber band with a straw to access the sweet nectar.

It's lunchtime.

At least you think it is. It's the middle of the day and it's time to eat. Then again, you are going to eat again in a couple hours, so maybe that's lunchtime. Or maybe lunch is an hour after that, when you find yourself at a house tucked along one of the alleys that make up the vast labyrinth that is Thailand's capital city, your hands completely purple from tearing open the regally ripe Mongkut (mangosteen) fruit. In Thailand it is the queen of fruits, and you eat about fifteen of them.

In Pattaya, you know it's dinner because you travel by car to a restaurant. It is perhaps the most frightening car ride of your life, weaving in and out of traffic with hard starts and stops. But once parked, the journey to the restaurant doesn't get any easier. Avoiding getting yanked into a bar by steering clear of eager prostitutes in Thailand's sex capital is just as difficult as negotiating the city streets by automobile.

Those who say it is not the destination, but rather the journey that is important, have never been to the Flying Vegetable restaurant. While the treacherous journey along Pattaya's streets is memorable, you find the destination to be far more rewarding. While sitting in the outdoor restaurant, you wonder what the cook is preparing outside the store, and why there appears to be a couple of the servers across the street holding plates. Well, when the cook hurls the vegetables over traffic to the servers across the street, and they in turn dodge traffic to present the plate to your table, you realize there is nothing ironic about the restaurant's name.(see the flying vegetable video)

This was your last meal of the day. We'll call it dinner because it was destination dining and the fare presented resembled that of a full, proper meal. There may be five or six mongkuts later, but for now, you're done.

And so you go to bed knowing there will be breakfast tomorrow. And you're pretty sure there will be dinner. But which of the seven meals between them is lunch?


There is no lunch

Fiction #2 -- "Silly rabbit, kicks are for chicks"

There is no rabbit.

Well, maybe there is. The woman in the shop has big feet. Rabbits have big feet. But literally, there is no rabbit.

You can't see her feet right now. Neither can I. Now, on with the scene.

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"Footloose" has started playing overhead. Seems an odd choice for a shoe store. Then again, seeing as it's only Wednesday, maybe not.

"What do you think?" she asks.
"Hmm?" he answers.

"What do you think?"

"I like the blue ones."

"The blue ones? I put those back."

"Why?"

"Because they were blue."

"Then why did you pick them up in the first place?"

"Because they were blue."

Bewilderment.

Fiction #1 -- "Bring me a dream"

I am leaving on a jet plane tomorrow morning for Memphis, so that has taken up most of my free time lately. This is just a little something I wrote earlier this year after asking for some first lines from my friends. The first line of this composition was provided by my old friend Michelle. It's not much, just a quick beginning, or, maybe it's done. Anyway, here it is.

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-Sho nuff, whispers the Sandman, as the dust settles onto Jerome's gratefully sleeping eyes.
Two beats.
-Well, what do you think?
-About what
-About what I said.
-I’m sorry, what did you say?
-Sho nuff, whispers the Sandman, as the dust settles onto Jerome’s gratefully sleeping eyes.
A beat.
-That doesn’t mean anything.
-What do you mean?
-What do you mean what do you mean? That statement doesn’t mean anything.
-Of course it doesn’t.
-?
-I mean of course it doesn’t now.
-Of course. So when does it?
-When you know what comes before it.
Two beats. Eyebrows raised.
-It’s the ending.
-Mm hmm ---------------Well it sounds like an ending. Dust settling on gratefully sleeping eyes – that’s an ending if I’ve ever heard one. Very final.
-Thank you.
-I’m not so sure about the Sandman using a phrase like sho nuff.
-Really?
-Really. I get the feeling he’d stay away from colloquialisms – be a bit more formal.
-So…sure enough?
-That’s what I’m thinking – but I don’t know. The Sandman - whether that’s his name, or title, or both - is a pretty sweet moniker. So sho nuff could very well be a part of his lexicon.
-You’re right. The Sandman, that’s a baaad name.
-I’m not sure it’s three a’s bad, but I agree with the sentiment. What’s it ending?

Let's hug it out

One-armed hugs are bullshit.


There are few things on Earth that puzzle me more than the one-armed hug. Either you want to hug me or you don't. I come from a long line of huggers. My Grandpa Graham was perhaps the greatest hugger in the history of man. He would hug you before he knew your name. And while I am not at his level, when I hug someone, I like to bring it in for the real thing. I don't care if you're a man or a woman, or if your ass is in or sticking out, if you want to hug me, be prepared for the big bear to get his paws on you.

I think the main reason people go with the single arm special is they feel pressure to have to hug. As such, they throw that weak arm around you, or do one of those to-the-side jobs. Those two moves are totally useless. They're useless because they're insincere. A hug is a sign of affection, and if it's done only halfway, the person is telling you they're probably only doing it because they feel they have to. This is particularly true of goodbye hugs. I'd rather someone just smile and wave. The only time a one-armed hug is acceptable is if the person only has one arm.

From this day forward, I will no longer accommodate one-armed hugs by reciprocating in kind. I have made this proclamation before, and for the most part stayed true to it. But now, 100% of the time, whether you bring it in with one arm or two, both of mine are going around you, and you can be the silly looking one with their one arm dangling to the side. And guys, if you want to shake my hand, shake my hand, but realize if you curl in to put your free arm around me, I will break grip.

I think most would agree two arms around you are better than one, so get ready America.

Consider Anthony Edwards

For younger readers, Anthony Edwards may only be known from ER reruns, and maybe as one of the detectives in the film Zodiac. But for those around my age and older, we know him as one of the iconic sidemen of the 80's. He played second fiddle in two of the defining movies of the decade, and Hollywood history is better for it.

I'd like to start with his role as Nick Bradshaw in Top Gun. Don't remember a Nick Bradshaw? Perhaps not, but I know you remember Goose. There is no movie, nay, no story without Goose. Maverick would have been kicked out of the Navy long before being offered Top Gun were it not for Goose keeping him in check. Yes, Goose participated in the antics, but he never let them get out of control. Whether taking Polaroids of MiG pilots or demonstrating "the finger," Goose knew how to straddle the line without crossing it. Goose was a family man who loved life and son, and always considered them when making decisions. Goose died tragically. He died a death that seemed avoidable had it not been for what appeared to be faulty American military equipment. Maverick was never the same after his death, and neither were we. After all, he was the man who reminded us all Goose is spelled with two o's.

Two years earlier, Edwards' star began its ascent with his role as Gilbert Lowell in Revenge of the Nerds. Up till then, his career was bit parts in movies and some television work. Though Louis Skolnick was the natural leader of the group, Gilbert was a man who stayed true to himself. After all, it was Gilbert who marched down to the homecoming pep rally and demanded his voice be heard. The football team tried to silence Gilbert by tossing him in a fountain, but he would not be denied his right to defend himself and the rest of the Tri-Lambs.

Gilbert's a nerd, and he's pretty proud of it.

A nerd though he may have been, let's remember Gilbert was the first in the house to score a girlfriend, and through Judy and her connection to the Omega Mu's, Lambda Lambda Lambda was able to pull off a stellar party and cement their charter. Gilbert's importance was reinforced when he was nominated by the Tri-Lambs to be president of the Greek Council, and in Revenge of the Nerds II when he appeared to Louis in a vision Jedi-style.

Anthony Edwards played giants among men in two of the most iconic roles in 1980's cinema. We sang with Goose at the piano in Top Gun, and we stood with Gilbert when he challenged the Alpha Beta's in Revenge of the Nerds. It is my hope the younger readers of the blog will take a moment to consider Anthony Edwards. And the older ones, to reconsider him.

Cookie Logic

I honestly cannot think of a cookie I don't like. And if there is one, I haven't come across it yet. There are definitely some I enjoy less than others, but if you put some cookies in front of me, chances are I'll partake. Big or small, soft or hard, chewy or crunchy, me likes cookies.

One of the curious things about cookies is they are difficult to qualify, they cannot be put in a box (actually they can be, but more and more I find they are packaged in bags. Girl Scout cookies - they come in boxes). Are they a dessert, or are they a snack? I think most of us would agree they are a combination of both. They're versatile. What sets cookies apart from other desserts and really elevates them to the summit of Olympus is their portability. Given you're not trekking around with a giant Mrs. Fields cookie, they can easily be placed in a bag(!) and toted around town, around the world, around the solar system. Seriously, who is going to shove a piece of cake or a slice of pie in their pocket? Maybe someone looking for a good time, but probably not too many.

Cookies build bridges and encourage goodwill. How? Simple, people can share cookies. Think about it: you're sitting on the bus and the person next to you whips out that slice of strawberry rhubarb pie he's had crammed in his pocket. Chances are, you're going to politely decline the piece he tears off for you. Now consider this, dude sits down with a bag of Milanos and notices you eyeing them. Understanding the divine nature of sharing food, he offers you one. Tell me you don't get down. Of course you do. Boom, your life just got a little better. Maybe you now have a story to tell about how grandma and grandpa met. Or maybe your bus ride just became a bit more bearable.

Cookies are magical.

Not in a Merlin or Harry Potter way, but in a there's a goddamn Muppet named for them sort of way. Jim Henson was on to something when he dreamed up Monsieur Cookie. Think of the charmed life Cookie Monster leads. His only existential crisis centers around when and where he is going to score his next sweet morsel of baked goodness.

We can all learn something from Cookie.

Prologue

I call it The Hokey Pokey because it's what it's all about.

I would also like to encourage you to put your whole self in and shake it all about.

The fact I have even written this much is a huge step forward for me, and I am happy you are here to participate - not in the writing of course, I did that earlier, but in the stepping. I apologize if the prose is clunky, but I am a bit out of practice. That is the main reason for embarking on this endeavor - I need to write.

Many of you have probably never read anything I have written, and that saddens me. Please don't feel bad, I blame myself. I really haven't written anything of any substance since I graduated college. I cannot promise everything I write in this forum will be substantive, but I hope this proves to be a gateway.

I am going to publish a new post no later than Monday of every week. There are no rules that are going to govern my posts. I'm sure a lot of them will simply be my thoughts and observances on various subjects, but I know there will also be fiction. Probably not entire stories every time, but plenty beginnings, middles, and endings.

This initial post is to welcome you on this magic carpet ride, and to encourage you to participate by posting comments. And once it gets going, I encourage you to share this with people you think will enjoy it. Thanks for coming and remember, this is what it's all about.

PG