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.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"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.