10 Minute Rule

I spent a number of years reading and then waiting for the books of the highly acclaimed Song of Ice and Fire series to come out. Over time the stories grew to such acclaim that the series was made into an HBO series called Game of Thrones. Television waits for no man. We have passed the point where the TV series has extended beyond what Martin has written. I thought I was wrong about that, but when Martin visited and interviewed the master, Stephen King, it was clear that Martin is not even remotely close to done with book six: Winds of Winter. Here is what this means: The TV series will finish the Game of Thrones long before the books do and the endings may or may not be similar. That is new territory for me. I have never been involved with a written series that is as yet unfinished before the TV adaptation ends its complete arc. The Walking Dead doesn’t count as it departed from the script relatively quickly and still follows the essence of a storyline that is so far ahead of what we’ve seen on TV that it may never catch up.

So what does it all mean? I’m not sure. It makes me question what I’ve been writing in a whole new way. Perhaps I need to develop the same talent King efforted to transmute to Martin–the talent of writing faster. Perhaps I need to work more and develop my craft in a way that is condicive to A) creating something TV studios want and B) finishing the arc before any real adaptation begins. Martin hopes to avoid the Robert Jordan curse of dying before the work is ended, but at this rate it seems woefully unlikely that he will publish more than a book a decade and he claims to have two more after Winds of Winter. Each of those promises to be a 1500+ page omnibus. I’m excited and live in utter dread of the idea at the same time. I don’t know a writer who can bring the world of Westoros to life the way he can and given his schedule, he can hardly live long enough to do so.

So, yeah. I guess I need to get better enough to finish it myself or just get over it. Egotistical? Yeah, but the other alternative is prayer, and I’m already doing that. The other thing I’m doing is watching the end of Season Six with rapturous glee. Tomorrow night is Game night and I cannot wait.

I watched Ted 2. I think its important to watch the worst humanity has to offer in order to appreciate things that are good. Ted 2 is not good. In fact it is fairly racist, inane, and barely intelligible. At its core the film attempts to tackle the notion of personhood, even going so far as to invoke Dred Scott. f course this was followed by jokes about Arizona State (referred to as HPVU), crazy homophobia, and a ridiculous amount of marijuana. Overall, the movie sucked. It was another nail in what should be the Whalberg coffin, but I’m pretty sure he will be successful always. Hell, I laughed.

I wound up in a conversation today with my paramour about challenging yourself. It was about her, but of course made it about me. If I can take anything from the film its that I can recognize when people settle into bullshit. We have a capacity as humans to do incredible things. We built planes, wrote epic stories, created the internet. We also invented snapchat, made the kardashians incredibly wealthy, and, well, Justin Beiber. That is to say that we have the capacity to do nothing but useless stuff and fail to challenge ourselves whatsoever.

When you don’t push yourself you become stagnant and then you die. I’m not about that just yet, so I need to push myself.

Some Thoughts:

1. One thing I learned above all else: I need to change my ring tone. Whalberg ruined it.

Ever wonder why we stand in front of the fridge? To me it feels like a microcosm of everything going on in the universe of our lives. Beyond that door lies the possibility of pleasure and guilt and every complication in between. Standing there at the door feels like standing at the precipice of something. Do I surrender to pleasure? Do I face the consequences? What should I do?

Then again, it might just be an ordinary stainless steel fridge full of the food I put in there to make the stuff I wanted, or more to the point, to make the stuff the people in my life want. When it is empty again I’ll fill it up with their wants and needs and maybe throw in a few things for myself. Nothing too extravagant, because that isn’t healthy and, again more to the point, it takes away from what I can give to them.

I suppose life is like that some times.

Some Thoughts:

1. I don’t buy Mila Kunis as a mom. Not. One. Bit. Her entering the ‘mom’ phase of her career is not a good sign for her or for Hollywood. What are we saying about leading ladies if she is being cast in that role. That isn’t to say that mom’s cannot be young and beautiful, because they can. This is more about typecasting and the historical effect it has had on women in cinema.

I hate taking medicine. I despise the notion that everything I need to be a perfectly healthy specimen isn’t inside of me already. Likewise, when I get depressed or run down or just out of ideas I hate actually doing work outside of my own writing. The correlation struck me today. I recognize at once that reading and working with other writers is quite a bit like taking medicine. I draw courage and inspiration from other writers. I draw motivation from people busting their humps to get stuff done. It is, in a sense, the very medicine needed to get my butt in a chair and writing.

I’ve spent most of this morning digging through digital piles of student writing. I’m making notes on all of these stories and trying to remind writers of the core goals of story and how to really shape their work in a more effective/appealing way. As I make notes I find myself more compelled and motivated to sit down and write. Helping them craft their message heals the part of me that has for so long been unable to craft my own.

This doesn’t directly apply to essays, of course. I don’t give interesting enough assignments to be inspired by what comes back to me. That too ought to change over the course of the next semester. I feel like I get no benefit from reading an essay about something neither I nor the writer actually cares about.

Finding this bit of energy about writing feels fantastic. I wish I could figure out a similar formula for physical activity.

Here is what I believe: Islamic terrorism is not being carried out by true believers. It is being carried out by soldiers. These soldiers are in the service of a hostile regime that thrives on the controversy it creates. Sure, they base a lot of what they believe on their interpretation of the bible, but news flash, so do we as ‘One nation under God’. We don’t have a real grasp on what these forces want other than chaos, wealth, and attention. In truth, we have reshaped the military-indsustrial complex around these types of conflicts and gone ‘all in’ on the fictional side of things by making sure our miltary-esque games and movies pay lipservice to the idea of ideologues and extremists as the new bad guy.

I’m tired of Islam being the boogie man. I respect that our current administration is focused on eradicating the organizations and not the religion itself. The shameful interpretation of the religion is highly reflective of the socio-economic state of the people carrying out these attacks. Moreover, you can see the same scenario in Chicago where young men are killing each other on live Facebook streams (Twice now? Seriously?) because they have so little that it is simple for them to fall under the influence of gangs. They use their colors as an excuse to eradicate anything that is a threat to that brand, these leaders use the Qu’ran as an excuse to maintain their power structure.

The Orlando nightclub shooter was a lone wolf attacker. He did what he did for his own reasons–and those are far more complex than, I love ISIL. He was not funded by nor a member of a terrorist organization. He is no more a member of the group than I am a NY Giant, though I totally rep that set as he ‘repped his set’ in the name of his set. Only, they were not really his set. They are and will remain an easily reachable excuse to act a public fool.

Some Thoughts:

1. I gained back six of the eight pounds I lost on that health trial. Want to guess what I learned? Moderation is effective, but awareness is far more effective.

Not a lot to say tonight, so there might be a few more ‘thoughts’ than usual. I am emotionally drained but don’t know why. I’m mentally drained and don’t know why. I’m considering picking up Dr. Lipman’s book, Revive, but before I do, maybe the answer is as simple as changing some basic things in my life and trying to find more ways to enjoy said life one moment at a time. One suggestion to myself: Less screen time and more time with a book in my hands. That is always a good thing.

Some Thoughts:

1. The State Farm commercial where they hope there are no more accidents is real, but not how you think. See, they rely on the fear of accidents without wanting to actually pay out, so this fantasy of a commercial is the real deal–for them.
2. My dog has grown very old and is not nearly as bright anymore. This is yet another night he’s wandered out the doggie door and forgotten how to get back in.
3. Jared Kushner, Trump’s son-in-law, is quickly becoming defacto air to the Trump company and, perhaps more importantly, is his new top advisor. Supposedly the 35 yr old billionaire (he was born that way) knows how to connect with the ‘millions’ who will vote for Trump and is in a better position to provide input then individuals such as fired campaign manager Corey Lewandowski.
4. I’m curious as to why makeup around the eyes–especially black eyeliner is so attractive. Cannot figure that one out. Could it be as simple as familiarity? TV stars all do it, so when we see it in public we just expect it to be attractive–kinda like why people find Kardashian’s attractive when they really aren’t.

1. Congrats to the Cavs and congrats to Lebron James whose story comes to an amazing conclusion here tonight. I know he isn’t dead and has more work to do in his life, but his basketball story is over. He’ll play more and he may even win more championships, but he was born and raised an Ohio kid. He grew up watching the Cavs be terrible, then be decent, then run smack dab into the Jordan years, then be terrible again. Finally Lebron was drafted straight outta high school and into the Cavs who he built into a Finals caliber team… and lost. He left, saw his jersey burned in effigy by fans and a target of a straight up curse by the team’s majority owner (the founder of quicken loans, btw… we won’t go into the type of a-hole that guy actually is). He came back to get the city a title and went to the finals the two years he was there–winning the second time against what still appears to be the better team. So, yeah, that is the whole story. The rest is epilogue.
2. Trump. Yep, he still sucks and still continues to capture the hearts of millions of Americans. However, I am in possession of a significant amount of doubt of just how many people are feeling Trump. Here’s the thing: The media won’t say Trump isn’t a story, because they need him to be a story. However, I believe he is not a story–just like Bernie (who I adore) was never really a threat to Clinton’s nomination. The fact remains that there was no story to the democratic nomination process and the insertion of Sanders’ rhetoric created something the media could seize upon as a different message, much in the same way Trump’s bid to make America great again did. Now, speaking of that particular slogan, there have been several notable takedowns, including this one. You gotta love how that dude riles us all up.
3. ten and out.

Being a dad is incredibly hard. There is this guy, a dad like me (but not like me, y’know?), who has a blog called daddy doin work. He’s been on a commercial and several other things talking about how it is raising kids. A lot of men talk about how it is raising kids. I tend to wonder how much of what the say is real and how much is made for tv. I tend to wonder that about people’s kids in general, because I feel like I have a very different set of dudes living under my roof and, honestly, sometimes I feel like I am fighting a losing battle. Sometimes I feel like I don’t have the understanding of how to win or even what winning means.

My kids are difficult. They are rambunctious and athletic and loud. Each has a decidedly different personality and level and style of intellect. This has created a number of interesting situations in my life. For example, I am a coach to my kids and having them along with a handful of other talented kids around has led to many friendly and not so friendly rivalries in the town. For a turn I was caught up in all of that drama. Then I decided to purposefully go out and connect with these rivals and play together, just to see how it is and how my kids are when they aren’t the coaches kid. It led me to understand that these kids are talented in some ways, but perhaps not nearly as much as I want them to be. It also led me to understand that they are well behaved and engaged when I’m not the boss. Finally it led me to recognize that those animosities and rivalries largely exist independent of the kids and become about the parents and how they see themselves and interact and what they find important and are threatened by, judged, and compared to. That is a blog for another day. This is about this daddy doin work.

So what I learned about my kids in relation to father’s day is that they respect and love me and follow my lead to a certain extent, but they also look to me for entertainment as much as direction. Even when they act out it is more often about boredom and me not giving them enough activities than it is about any real lasting anger. When I was a kid I had five or fewer friends and maybe one who would ever visit. I found stuff to do on my own, because my parents worked all the time. My kids don’t know that life and, since I’m basically their ‘Cruise Director’ as the love of my life puts it, they don’t know how to handle themselves day to day without me.

I need to nip that shit in the bud.

Some Thoughts:

1. This is the essence of Stephen Colbert. Please remember to sprinkle a little over your life each day.

Issac Newton was the shit. Few people know that the scientist once created a language. I suppose when you invent calculus some of the less notable stuff you do just gets straight forgotten. Isaac Newton lived in a time where people were about something. Sure, there was a significant portion of the populous that wasn’t but there were enough that were engaged in learning to push the science and society forward. I worry we aren’t there anymore. I worry that the people who make the most money in the world are the people who are not advancing society but feasting off the bored and undirected like carrion birds.

Often I find myself numbering among the bored and undirected. Today I followed my children blindly into a game called Clash Royale and played my blackening heart out. I should not play again tomorrow, but I might. It might be the game that I play until something better comes along. It might be the thing I do to avoid spending an extra hour honing my craft or bettering my body and mind. It might be one of many things that separates me from Newton.

Then again, I might recognize all of this and decide I am better and want to continue being better than a P-ZED. I’m not sure, but I need to find out soon.

 

Some Thoughts:

1. Recently I have been struggling with the concept of professional recognition. I am well aware that many of the initiatives and strategies I brought forward throughout my career have been misattributed to other people. This happened at multiple schools. My former mentor once reminded me that If I got into teaching to be recognized then I was in the wrong business. However, I do get a bit pissed off when people continue to see things that I’ve brought to the table as the longstanding work of someone else. It gets even more annoying when those people decide that its okay to take credit. It is not. In fact, it gives me the courage to cut those folks out of my professional life entirely.

There is an arrangement, I think. The dead stay beyond the pale while the living keep to the light. There are places where the division is harder to see, places like hospices and cemeteries where emotion casts itself into the darkness and calls out to the dead, beckoning them. These are the places where the arrangement can sometimes be broken.

However, these are not the only places.

When I was a boy I lived in an apartment. The building had stood since my grandmother was a child. In fact, she was among the first to live there. She was there for the great fire, when 28 souls perished on a dry saturday evening. The fire started on the fifth floor. My grandmother lived on the third and only knew of the fire that evening because of the smoke pouring down the stairs and through the vents into her small space. The people at the very top were not so fortunate. After the first half hour the stairs were useless. Firefighters scrambled to reach the people on the seventeenth floor but the ladders weren’t high enough. If it hadn’t been a saturday–if more people had been home in bed–many more would have died. As it stood eight children perished and twenty adults, some as old as seventy, met their God that evening. They went to see him red and raw with charred flesh and eyes that knew fear. Some did not want to meet God in that way. Some refused to go.

Grandmother was still young then, a lady in her twenties unmarried but looking. She worked for the public schools as a clerk, but all of the kids loved her as if she were their favorite teacher. Many of the kids she worked with lived in the building, including three who died in that fire. Sarah Moore was the smartest girl in school and could have been an inventor had she not fallen to the flames. Mark Black was a tough boy who’d fallen in with gangs. Death came for him and he answered unafraid. Jacob Salley went to the school as well, and he loved grandmother. He hated Mark Black, for Mark bullied Jacob every day. Grandmother kept it in check on the way to and from school, but there were days when Mark would put his smart on and find a way to hurt little Jake. After the fire Mark couldn’t hurt little Jake anymore.

I like to think that is why he stayed. The way grandmother tells it they found Jacob curled up in his bathtub with the water halfway to the top. She supposed he thought being in the water would keep him safe from the flames. He was smart, maybe not like Sarah but smart enough. He just didn’t understand about smoke. Jacob died cold and wet surrounded by his toy boats and favorite towel. He came back that way too.

Mrs. Murphy on the 9th floor was the first to see him. She was in the bathroom brushing her teeth and heard something in the tub. A ‘ploop’ sound like dropping soap into the water, but there wasn’t anyone in the tub, and there wasn’t supposed to be no water in there neither. She pulled back the curtain fast and careless, more curious than worried. Jacob looked up at her, holding his blue sailboat, fully clothed with that ratty yellow towel around his neck. Ms. Murphy screamed until her throat couldn’t make any more sounds.