Artist

There was a time that I toyed with majoring in art and becoming an artist instead of a writer. I suppose I ended up being a writer because I wasn't certain how you actually could support yourself being an artist.

Not that you can support yourself being a writer unless you followed the meandering career path I did and became a copywriter and then a marketing person. Growing up in a relatively poor family instilled in me the desire to be gainfully employed. Being an artist or an artistic writer doesn't lend itself to gainful employment. The term, "starving artist" wasn't created for nothing.

Over the years I've known a few artists. And none of them were able to support themselves strictly through their art. And as I've said, I only supported myself through writing by writing what other people wanted me to write. This blog is the perfect illustration of what happens when you simply write for yourself.  No one reads what you've written and certainly no one pays you to read what you've written.

But even the writers who have a certain amount of success have done so by selling out. I follow one of my favorite current authors, Garth Stein, on social media and the guy always seems to be hawking himself like literary snake oil. His most famous book, The art of racing in the rain, has just been released as a movie and Stein is still marketing himself.

So I'm starting to think that true art isn't commercially successful. Or at least it isn't successful when you are producing it. Case in point Vincent Van Gogh.

I love technology

I do. I really do love technology.  But I question it at times.

For example I am a bit baffled when my Apple Watch reminds me to stand to achieve my daily goal of standing up. I wouldn't have understood the importance of standing up a few years ago. But once you hit 60 it seems more like a reasonable goal.

The thing that really baffles me, however, is that I can ignore my watches reminder to stand up and then 10-minutes later it will congratulate me for achieving my stand up goal despite the fact that I have remained sitting.

The watch does the same thing with my daily move goal (and by move it is not referring to exercise, but to simply not remaining comatose). I can be sitting in a meeting and the watch starts heaving platitudes to me for achieving my move goal even though I've been sitting at a table for an hour.

I wear my Apple watch while I do my daily hour of elliptical exercising. But even after an hour working out the watch sometimes chides me to do a brisk ten-minute walk to achieve my daily exercise goal.

I also love Amazon's Alexa and my Echo devices, but Alexa can be a bit troublesome at times. Because every time my 12-year old daughter asks for some music like say, "Alexa, play the soundtrack from Disney's Descendents 3" Alexa will respond with, "Playing Fat Daddy's Get Bent album three." And of course the songs Alexa misunderstands and plays all have explicit lyrics.


My watch just congratulated me on achieving my move goal and I've been sitting here for 20 minutes typing this post. Maybe it admires my typing speed.

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate how far we've come with our devices. I would be lost without my phone (literally without its GPS function). But I wonder at times whether we depend too much on it. I mean really, do I need to ask Alexa to pause the video I am watching when the remote is literally two inches from my hand?

I just have to sit back and appreciate that I live in the future that used to be just science fiction when I was a kid. But at least back then no one had to remind me to stand up or move.

Time after time

I've posted this image of a contact page I made from negatives shot with a large format camera I bought years ago. These were the only photos I ever took with the camera. It is locked away in a foot locker in the garage. It's been there for years.

The photos were shot in the late 1980s. I'm guessing when I was in my early 30s. I was growing my hair out in another rebellious phase. And I still fancied myself as an artist trapped in an office worker's body.

The photos were black and white. I hand-colorized them in a style made popular at the time on Saturday Night Live. I hadn't yet discovered Photoshop. And this was long before digital photography and long, long before smart phones.

I ran across the digital version of these photos the other day and started playing around with my smart phone and Photoshop to recreate the photos now. So I converted them back to black and white and reposed my 61-year old self in similar shots.

First I have to say I miss my long hair (at least how it looked, not taking care of it). And I want to go on record that it takes courage to compare your aging self to your young self. Time makes things shift. My nose and ears seem bigger. I grew extra chins.

But one thing I learned from this exercise is that, although I don't always recognize myself when I look in the mirror, there are certain parts of me...my expressions and my eyes that confirm that I'm still in there.

Some where.

You dirty rat!

Fifteen years ago, I wrote about the dilemma of trying to get some dead thing removed from the crawlspace under my house. There simply do not seem to be businesses who dedicate themselves to removing rodents who inconveniently die under your house (or in the attic for that matter). Back in 2004, my only alternative was to either go under the house and remove the dead thing or wait it out until it decomposed to a point where it stopped smelling.

I chose the latter. It was only when I sold the house and an inspector crawled into the crawl space and noted there were bones from a small animal there.

So now, 15 years later, I smell that familiar smell of something dead and decaying. But this time it was in my garage. And since I am now married and have two children, the option of waiting it out until whatever it was rotted away didn't seem to be prudent.

We detected the smell on Friday afternoon. I kind of hoped it was just the cat's litter boxes. But by Friday night, even I couldn't deny the unmistakable odor of something dead. While I was eating my breakfast Saturday morning my wife reminded me I needed to go in search of the source of the odor.

Our house is a split level with a daylight basement. So there is no crawlspace. The garage is built upon a concrete slab, so that further narrowed down the possibilities for where the smell was coming from. Our first thought was the attic. There was a small access hatch on the ceiling of the garage.

So I donned work clothes and retrieved my extension ladder and reluctantly ascended to the attic.

The reluctant runner

I have never been an overly athletic person. This is not to say that I don't attempt athletic things, I'm just not particularly good at them. One of the few "C" grades I ever received was in 7th grade Physical Education. Part of it was that PE involved running a great deal and I have always been of the mind that a human shouldn't run unless they are being chased by a wild animal.

I did go out for various sports in junior high. I was on the 7th grade wrestling team but never won a match. I played intramural volleyball. I played basketball in 8th grade but was on the 5th quarter team. We only played after the regulation four quarters were over. They threw in the extra quarter so we got an opportunity to actually play. No one stayed to watch us however. Even the cheerleaders packed up when we were playing.

I was on the tennis team in 9th grade. But again, I don't think I ever won a game.

I was also on the Junior Varsity Quiz team in 9th grade and I was president of the chess club, but those don't count as athletics.

I had to take PE again my sophomore year in high school. I got an "A" grade in it because the instructor believed in grading on effort not skill. I didn't go out for any sports, but I was in the marching band and was the drum major my junior and senior years.

I didn't do much athletically my first few years in college. When I moved to Seattle to finish my education, I did participate in intramural volleyball again.

After college I played tennis occasionally. I also played on my office softball team. But I pretty much sucked at baseball. I blew out my ankle trying to slide into third base. I got the "Rodney Danger-in-the-field, I deserve no respect" award that year at the end of the year party.

I did manage a work volley ball league for a few years.

Hobby hoarse

My entire life, I have dabbled in hobbies but none has ever really stuck. Oh, I suppose you could say Elvis is my hobby. I have a massive collection of Elvis Christmas ornaments that I use to decorate my annual Elvis tree. But it isn't something I do year round.

As a kid I tried collecting stamps for awhile. But I got bored after awhile. And I collected a bunch of stuff related to the Apollo space program around the time Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. It is in a box in a trunk.

My brothers and I build famous monsters of film land models. They, like much of my childhood toys, didn't survive.

I collected antique bottles for a brief time. It was something I did with my dad while he was using his metal detector to discover hidden treasures in ghost towns. I dug up some really cool old bottles. Not sure where they are now.

I collected shot glasses and snow globes from places I traveled for awhile. The shot glasses are packed somewhere and the snow globes dried up.

During later vacations, my wife and I started to collect native American masks and masks carved by indigenous people in Mexico. Some still hang on our walls.

I went through a phase of collecting vintage restaurant ware many years ago before I was married. I'd visit antique malls and thrift stores looking for Homer Laughlin crafted dinner ware and the like. I had cupboards full of the stuff for awhile. Most of it returned to the thrift stores. I do have a pretty good collection of Coronado stuff that we sometimes use on holidays.

I collected troll dolls including a two-headed troll for awhile that lined a shelf at work. I haven't a clue where they are. I have a hunch they ended back at the thrift store, too.

I did have an expensive hobby of collecting guitars for awhile. I think it was because I was searching for one that would improve my guitar playing ability.

I have a ton of Star Wars bubble gum cards somewhere from 1977 when Star Wars first came out. I assumed at the time that they would be worth something. Every now and then I go on eBay to see what they might be worth today and discover that lots of people had the same assumption and they really aren't worth much.

That describes most of my Elvis collection as well (including a limited edition Elvis themed Epiphone guitar).

No stopping

Sign, sign, everywhere a sign
Blockin' out the scenery, breakin' my mind
Do this, don't do that, can't you read the sign?
--The 5 Man Electrical Band

There is something about signs that trigger me.

I was in L.A. last week shooting some ads for my agency. And there were so many signs. One was on the video monitor I was watching the shoot on.

Signs just beg me to challenge authority. Signs are created by petty people to try to control other people. And the irony is that, when there are too many signs with too many words on them, people just ignore them.

I just can't stop myself.

Flying monkeys

I saw on Twitter that Trump told world leaders today that the U.S. has the cleanest air and cleanest water in the world because he had been elected. I couldn't help but re-post the claim with a comment that first he had monkeys flying out of his butt.

But of course, CNN reported a poll in which 54 percent of Americans believe Trump will be re-elected. And I read another report that said his administration was working to open up national game reserves and fisheries to hunters and fisherman because there weren't enough places where American's could be introduced to those wonderful past times of killing fish and endangered animals.

I want out of this bizarro universe in which crap like this keeps happening.

Tending your own garden

Learn to cultivate your own garden.
--Voltaire

It is largely believed that when Voltaire had his character Candide state, "Learn to cultivate your own garden," he was sending the message that people need to mind their own business.

Or that is what I like to think he meant.

It is the season that I spend most of my free time on weekends cultivating my own garden...literally. Or perhaps more accurately,  I spend most of my free time weeding my own garden, and mowing my own lawn.

It is back breaking work. And my body aches when I'm done. I won't say I ache more at my age, because when I was younger, I didn't put much stock in yard work.

But now, with a family and a home that begs for constant yard work, I accept my fate. Part of it is that I don't seem to be able sit idle at home. I wonder in fact, how I filled my time when I was younger. Now I feel compelled to always be doing something.

Though there is Fortnite. That can easily occupy any time in between projects.

But I digress.

Unfortunately, the world is full of people who want to cultivate everyone's garden. And ironically, they do so while their own garden is choked with weeds. If they only knew how much relief they would feel if they just got back to tending their own garden.

And don't get me started on fertilizer.

So long Mr. Redbone

Leon Redbone died yesterday. Although he went through most of his performing life avoiding revealing who he was behind his characteristic Panama hat, suit, tie and dark glasses, (including his age), it was revealed after he died of "complications of dementia," that he was actually 69 years old. His real name was Dickran Gobalian. He was born in Cyprus, the son of an Armenian orphan.

But Leon Redbone was Leon Redbone. He appeared out of nowhere in the early 1970s and made a couple of appearances on Saturday Night Live.

As with Andy Kaufman, we loved him because he was certifiably weird. He sang old songs that most of us had never heard before (other than a few Hank Williams covers).

The really weird thing is that I swear I saw him in concert in Boise around 1975. I have this image of him sitting on the stage playing with only a spotlight on him. Some people came in late to the concert and Leon pulled a flashlight out of his suit pocket and guided the people to their seats.

But now, forty-some years later, I wonder if I didn't just see him do that on television and now imagine I saw him in concert.

I worry that I'm experiencing my own struggle with dementia.

But I digress.

Regardless, I am sad that Leon has “crossed the delta for that beautiful shore” as a family spokesperson put it. And I am sad that it took his death to remind how much I appreciated his quirky music. Rest in peace Leon.

Still "not" Laugh In

The critics were kind to the Netflix tribute to Rowan and Martin's Laugh In, Still Laugh In. But to me it was no laughing matter.

Laugh In was on television between 1968 and 1973.  So I watched it from the time I was ten until I was a Sophomore in high school. It was kind of the Internet meme of my era bringing us catch phrases like, "Sock it to me," "You bet your sweet bippi," "Very interesting," "Fickly finger of fate," and "Here come da judge."

It was hosted by Dan Rowan and Dick Martin.  And that was the first weird thing about the Netflix's tribute. It was hosted, for no apparent reason, by Neal Patrick Harris and Tiffany Haddish. I at least recognized Neal Patrick Harris. But I have no idea who Tiffany Haddish is. The other weird thing about the tribute is that it never really mentioned Dan Rowan and Dick Martin (both are dead and couldn't make an appearance).

In fact none of the male stars of  Laugh In made it to the reunion. And again, it is because most of them are dead (though Artie Johnson is still alive but at age 90, probably wasn't up to making an appearance). (Bloggers note: Artie Johnson has since died) Three of the female stars of the show, Ruth Busby, Lily Tomlin and JoAn Worley did make it. Goldy Hawn, who's career was launched by the show, didn't make it.

Maybe it is because the tribute brought in a slew of today's stars that I'm not familiar with that made it seem totally convoluted to me. Or maybe it was intermixing them with clips from the original show that made it seem too surreal. It was like a collision of generations. Because I'm willing to bet any millennial that watched the show (if any did) wouldn't recognize the stars who made cameos on the original like Kirk Douglas, Sammy Davis Jr., John Wayne, Orson Welles or even Richard Nixon.

What's even sadder to me is that in many of the write ups of the show they made it clear that it is the type of show that could be reprised today because there were so many restrictions on the topics that could be mentioned on television today.

So much for progress. It was Laugh In's ability to laugh at the taboos of the past that made it successful.

Maybe it's time everybody lightened up and laughed again.

Blog posts from the edge

I'm still baffled by Bloggers stats page. It still shows me getting fairly high traffic from Russian porn sites. I still imagine it is some sort of hacker slight of hand that tricks people into going to the porn sites, but I'm not sure how it shows up as the jumping off place to get to my blog.

I suppose I shouldn't think too much about it. Despite the stats showing that I've had a couple of hundred visits, they also only show two views of my most recent posts. And I imagine one if not both of those are me.

Metrics seems to rule our worlds these days. Its all about hits, likes, follows, thumbs up, comments, shares and views. It is the same at work in the digital marketing world. The irony is, I don't think people really like things they click on social media. It just helps break up the monotony as we scroll mindlessly through our news stream.

I have 173 "friends" on Facebook. Honestly, they are mostly just acquaintances.  Some like my posts. A few even comment now and then. But other than the ones I work with, I rarely see any of them in the real world.

Twitter is even worse. I have 925 followers. And I probably only really know maybe three of them in real life. Instagram is about the same. But as with my blog, I don't really like people who know me to follow me. For some reason, it stifles my creativity. Because it is easier to be judged by strangers than by people who actually have met you.

Twittering your life away

I kind of got sucked back into Twitter looking for the latest dead celebrity. It reminded me why I stopped looking at Twitter. It is just depressing.

I am just sick of politics. The thing on Twitter now is the back and forth about whether the House Democrats are going to start impeachment proceedings against that buffoon that is in the White House.

The problem is, it's all this hopeful blathering that the man will be kicked out of office. And impeachment or not, I don't think it's going to happen. If it did, it would probably take as long to get him out of office as he has left in office. And it would just fuel the fire with the whack job's supporters that the liberals are usurping the will of the people.

Don't get me wrong, I'd love to see the man booted out of office. But the whack job Vice President isn't much better and he'd just pardon Trump anyway and he'd get off scott free after gutting the White House.

It is an embarrassing time to be an American.

Oh my GOT!

And so the Game of Thrones is over (until they make a movie).  None of my predictions about who would sit on the Iron Throne were realized.  Though Jon Snow does make Daenerys his ex-girlfriend but with a dagger instead of a "It's not you, it's me" text. And the last dragon melts the Iron Throne anyway so no one will actually sit on it.

Bran Stark ends up king of the six kingdoms (there were seven, but his sister doesn't want to play anymore so she pulls Winterfell out of the mix). Jon Snow is banished to the other side of the wall and Arya sails off into the sunset and presumably an HBO movie sequel when everyone runs out of money from the residuals.

I guess I'm okay with it all. I was late to the Game anyway. I started binge watching it after it had been out for five seasons. So it's not like I invested seven years in it like some people. There's not really a final scenario that would have pleased everyone anyway. Though Daenerys did go off the deep end rather abruptly in the end and killing her with a dagger while kissing her and professing your love to her does seem a bit harsh.

Twitter is all a buzz about the finale. There is probably more mourning going on for Daenerys than there was for Doris Day, Tim Conway and Grumpy Cat (I'm really going to miss those memes).

I really hope they don't come out with a movie or sequel. That would just unravel all of those nice loose ends they tied up to finish the thing off.

Though I wish Tyrion had become the king. I think the writers were pretty short-sighted when they passed him over.

The power of three or not dead yet

I checked Twitter (since so far no one has taken me up on the challenge to create OBITTER)  just now to see if the curtain closed on anymore celebrities. So far, no one else has checked out. But since these things seem to happen in three's, I think it is just a matter of time.

Twitter, BTW, is just chock full of the typical political churn about abortion and women's rights, how much of a twit Senator Lindsey Graham is and some breaking news about the Spice Girl's double-decker bus being available to rent.

I'm not sure why celebrities seem to die in groups of three. One could conjecture that they don't like being upstaged and want to steal one more headline from their peers when they see one of them giving up the ghost. Though Tim Conway was reported to have dementia when he passed, so he probably wasn't aware of the day that Doris Day died.

The day that Doris Day died. No disrespect for the dead, but that would have made a great headline. And if Doris Day had married Morris Day and hyphenated her last name, she would have been Doris Day-Day. Then she could have had a renewed singing career as a rapper.

But I digress.

I realize that joking about celebrities popping off in three's may be offensive to some, but that is one of the few perks to writing a blog that no one reads. I don't get a lot of complaints. In fact no one has commented on any of my blog posts since April 18, 2018. And if someone does complain, what's the worse that could happen? Are they going to stop reading my blog? Puleeze....I don't get paid to write it. I don't have sponsors. What do I care if some one who randomly found my blog doing a Google search for how to write the perfect blog post gets offended and threatens never to read my posts again.

Don't let the browser hit you on the way out.

Still no third dead celebrity yet.

Check back tomorrow.

Blogger's note:

Twitter reported that Internet sensation Grumpy Cat has died. She was seven years old.  So the trinity of celebrity deaths is complete. 

Obitter

It dawned on me yesterday when I learned of Doris Day's death through social media that Twitter is one of the main places I check these days to find out who died. Actually to find out what celebrity died. No one seems to Tweet when some ordinary person dies.

So I wonder why no one has created a social media app that just has posts about who died. I was thinking, "OBITTER" would be a good name. A Google search does show the urban dictionary definition of Obitter as someone who "starts the day twittering the obituaries finding comfort knowing that people of lesser age are being consumed by the reaper."

The definition kind of captures the spirit of what I'm proposing, but I was thinking more of a literal app where people post actual obits and information about dead celebrities. I would be a way to cut through all of the other crap on Twitter that you don't want to see or read.

Speaking of Doris Day, I was actually surprised that she was still alive. Not too many Hollywood stars live to be 97-years old. And I just saw that Tim Conway died at age 85. Apparently he was holding out until Doris Day died. But we would have found all of this out sooner if there was a OBITTER app

There is a Dead People Server where you can look up whether a celebrity is dead or alive. It's a bit clunky and reminds me of list pages on the Internet in the 1990s, but it has lots of celebrities listed. Since it seems to be maintained by one person by hand, it isn't all that up-to-date. It still shows Glenn Campbell as being alive (he died in 2017). And Doris Day is still listed as alive. So I wouldn't rely on the Dead People Server to let you know the latest on who is dead or alive.

All the more reason for some bored developer to create OBITTER. I think people would be dying to use it.

GOT Snow?

If you are a Game of Throne fan, then you know that this is the last season and everyone is trying to predict who will ultimately end up on the Iron Throne. If you aren't a GOT fan, then it "sucks to be you," (as my son likes to say).

At the beginning of the season I assumed Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons would sit on the throne. After all, she had good intentions and is a strong female role model. Then we found out that Jon Snow is actually Aegon Targaryen and the true heir to the Iron Throne. Since he is in love with Daenerys and doesn't really like being in charge, he says he doesn't care and professes his love and loyalty to his queen.

Then Arya Stark destroys the army of the dead by killing the Ice King and makes you wonder if she should be on the throne.

And of course Daenerys goes bat shit crazy in episode five and pretty much destroys King's Landing with her last remaining dragon. So you can bet that Jon Snow is thinking of making her is crazy ex girlfriend and reluctantly accepting the throne (which is pretty much toast at this point).

So who will take what's left of the Iron Throne (now literally a hot seat)?

I'm hoping Jon Snow, but it will likely be Arya.

Or not.

You heard it first here at Dizgraceland.

How to write the perfect blog post

1. Study the Craft. No one no matter how talented they are is just born a great writer. ... 
2. Set Goals & Be Consistent. ... 
3. Just Write. ... 
4. Keep It Simple. ... 
5. Write… then Rewrite, Rewrite, Rewrite. ... 
6. Get A Second Opinion. ... 
7. Stay Passionate.

--List found when search for "how to write the perfect blog post."

Why was I searching for "how to write the perfect blog post," you ask? Because I saw that headline in some e-mail I deleted from the umpteen junk e-mails I receive on any given day. And after it was gone, I decided it would be interesting to see how you do write the perfect blog post. So I'm glad Google led me to a list to follow to write the perfect blog post (though I don't understand why the writer used so many ellipses...).

An ellipsis (plural: ellipses) is a punctuation mark consisting of three dots. Use an ellipsis when omitting a word, phrase, line, paragraph, or more from a quoted passage. Ellipses save space or remove material that is less relevant.

--grammerbook.com 

1. Study the Craft. No one no matter how talented they are is just born a great writer. ... 

True. You can't become a writer unless you actually write. And you can't become a great writer unless you actually write great. And that, my friend, requires talent. No one can teach you how to be talented. But none of it means squat unless somebody wants to read your great or not so great writing.

A funny thing happened on the way to the blog

I've admitted that I have come to the realization that I'm not as funny as I thought I was. Now I think that one of the symptoms of aging (besides shrinking, having to pee a lot, and growing hair on your ears) is losing your sense of humor (in addition to losing your hearing).

Oh, I still think some things are funny, but I find myself suppressing the one liners that used to pop up uncontrollably in most situations. I used to think that meant I was witty. Now I see that it makes me annoying.

I am not sure when I developed a sense of humor in the first place. I remember humoring my father when he would tell very bad jokes, even for dad jokes. But I laughed to preserve his feelings.

I don't think I was funny in grade school. But junior high was when I started to see the humor in things. I took a creative writing course in 8th grade and wrote humorous essays. I also began mumbling funny observations in classes that could only be heard by people next to me.

This did backfire once in my 9th grade accelerated math class. The teacher was a high strung mathematical prodigy. He came over to me one day when I was cracking up the person next to me and told me to shut my big fat mouth.

This was obviously before it was considered inappropriate for teachers to scream at students in the classroom.

Mile-post 1300

This is my 1300th blog post. My first post was August 4, 2004. If I had written every day since then, I would be writing my 5439th post.

I feel like such a slacker.

Still, 1300 blog posts is something. I don't know too many bloggers who have lasted 15 years. Of course, I don't know any bloggers any more. All the ones I did know quit after a year or two.

Sticking to a blog isn't easy. I can honestly say that, if I was being paid to blog, I probably wouldn't have lasted as long as I have. Getting paid would mean I would be under pressure to produce quality content on a regular basis. And I likely wouldn't be able to write about anything I wanted anytime I wanted. There is a lot to be said for not having any readers to disappoint.

And I have said a lot in 1300 posts, generally in 1000 words or less.

It would be a lot to expect to have had someone follow my blog and have read every post from day one. If they did, however, I imagine they could have begun formulating a psychological profile of me and begun to recognize my up and down moods based on my topics.

I tend to write about being invisible, my lack of readers and my tendency towards self-delusion when I'm feeling in a funk and lacking in self-confidence.

I write about the past when I'm feeling maudlin. And I write about things I think are funny when I'm feeling manically witty.

I think 90 percent of my posts have been in the first category (which explains my lack of readers).

Regardless, I write. So I think I can legitimately call myself a writer.

Even if no one else does.