My wife has this way of internally rolling her eyes, when she doesn’t want me to see she is rolling her eyes…. Yet, I still know she is doing it and she knows I know.
A lot of this eye rolling has been occurring because of another man. Well, technically, a band of them. For the last year I’ve regained my obsession with Dave Matthews Band and their music. The funny thing is this obsession was rekindled after a bad concert.
Yes, Dave Matthews Band is known for their amazing live performances, but my complaint was not with them. This guilt is all on the shoulders of the audience around me. During the show I almost wondered if my annoyance was because I am older and this is not a thing anymore (and really concert going can take a lot of energy). Nah. This ain’t on my shoulders. Honestly, the people around us were dicks.
There, I’ll say it again: “Dicks.”
Someone was selling beaded necklaces, another family was coming and going throughout the show (I think there were some drugs going on there), and a family sitting next to us brought their own bongos. Yes, you read that right- bongos. And of all of the members of Dave Matthews Band, Carter Beauford doesn’t need any drumming help. The man is freaking amazing.
Yet, ever since that concert I have not been able to stop listening to Dave Matthews Band. I listen to the music while I am getting ready in the morning, having breakfast, when I am driving the kids to school, and going for walks. Dave is there always, and it feel very natural. Like a friend, just hanging out, catching up on memories. Continue reading
It’s Monday faithful readers and time for another flashback! Yup, where I share a post that appears in my new fun-gotta-read-it-sometime-hilarious book ME STUFF.
In the previous installments I took on poison and a sharp knife. This time I take on a new form of torture. Let’s hear it for dentists! (Actually, I like my current dentist, he seems like a good guy.) Here is an excerpt from the beginning:
I have always had a thing about dentists.
It’s not a fear, more like a slight terror fueled by judgment and pain. Let me break that down a little more.
Cavities hurt and I dislike pain so I naturally associate the pain with the person who works in the mouth. I know it is like blaming the mechanic for my car breaking down, but I do it.
The judgment? Well, sometimes I feel like dentists harshly evaluate me and how I am overseeing the management of my own mouth. Has anyone else noticed this? When they are telling you what you are doing right and what you are doing wrong, doesn’t a part of you feel like you are being lectured? Now, I can’t point to a specific moment when a finger was wagged in my direction or eyes were rolled, but I sense it. I know it is there. The hidden eye roll is always there.
Because of all of this, I had been very relaxed on my visits over much of my adult life. And sadly, over the last five years this has come back to bite me in the ass… or mouth… or something. I’m just trying to say I hate my teeth right now and there is biting and occasional pain involved with it. The biting, I mean. Argh!
You can read the rest of this article here.
Or, even better, you can grab a copy of ME STUFF which contains 40 editorials like this one and it is super cheap-o. The eBook version of the book is only $1.99 (here on Amazon) and in print for only $8.99 (here on Amazon).
I did something a little different this week in my appearance on WKAR’s Current State. Instead of sharing a new book review, I decided to take on the idea of Banned Books Week. I try to explain both sides of the issue, and offer my option for tackling “unwanted” books. I’m pretty proud of this piece, I hope you will check it out.
You can listen to my discussion via this link- http://wkar.org/post/book-review-banned-books-week
If you would rather read my commentary, you can do so below after the jump. And you can learn more about Banned Books Week via a site by the American Library Association (here). Continue reading
We writers were the children who believed monsters hid under our beds. It was completely believable to us that the ghosts and ghouls would choose to haunt us since we read it every day in our beloved books. And our budding imagination found the lurking terrors in every swaying curtain in the dark and approaching with every creaking floor board.
There is so little logic that comes with the spark of creativity, we live on the side of the brain with emotions and, yes that includes fear. Yet, when we experience fear in our art it may limit us, make us want to return to our norms, return to our rut, our safe secure spot by the fire; not to say to the other campers “I’ll be right back, I want to check out that weird noise.”
Fear can hold us back; so we write another genre story, another tale with the same characters, not daring to see what other surprises were hiding in the folds of our brain. Some may argue with me, but I believe this niche genre writing that is so prevalent in books today can limit us as artists, as storytellers, confining our creativity and the extent of our imagination.
Yes, my fellow writers, sometimes we need to face our fears. Try something new. And, yes, you did hear a noise over by the lake, you should check it out! Let the other writers wait for you to return. Continue reading
Recently, the Arts Council of Greater Lansing put up a billboard celebrating a local poet. I first saw this sign while driving on a highway this weekend, and afterwards I spent 20 minutes trying to understand what I read and then wondering how that one little sentence exactly was poetry. How safe that was for me or the other drivers is debatable (Considering my driving skills it is always debatable when I am on the roads).
The sign read only this: “Blood beats history as presence.”
Imagine seeing that in big white letters with a black background while driving and you will understand my car’s slight swervings. (I get what the poet is saying, but the imagery being used feels very aggressive to me; “blood” and “beatings,” etc.).
I’ve never really understood modern poetry and the sad thing is I have tried. But like the Freemasons, they have their own secret rules and initiations into deciding who can and cannot be in the club. I was never honored with the customary black turtleneck and ink quill as it were; but, honestly, I never sought it out.
I like classic poetry. I can be moved by a Shakespeare sonnet. I am a fan of the Romantic poets (and have quoted Keats often in my work), but the freedom from the classic rules you find in modern or contemporary poetry is what disarms me. Some I really like (Henry Williams’ work jumps to mind.) Yet, poetry, like modern painting, seems to now exist somewhere down in the stomach as a gut/emotional reaction as compared to something that can be easily analyzed on the page. And if you don’t get it, well, you don’t get it.
Yet, while I can accept that I do not understand most poetry today, I have a deeper reaction to modern poetry than simple confusion… Fear. Continue reading