So Then Why Am I Blocked???

Okay, the runner stumbled, again, and it’s terribly frustrating. My goal for 2008 was to be more disciplined and consistent in the development of my craft (i.e. this blog). So what’s my excuse? I don’t have one. It’s not like I don’t have an abundance of time; an hour on the train each morning and evening, a lunch hour at work, and between 8:00 p.m. and 4:30 a.m. every night. (Who needs sleep?) It’s not like I don’t have the talent. If you need examples, just read my past nebulous musings. It’s not like I don’t have the topics. I can’t keep up with them all. I could sit in an isolated cabin for a month with last Tuesday’s edition of the Los Angeles Times and be able to generate a new post everyday. And we’re not even talking about the observational stuff. Of course, in an isolated cabin the observations would be limited to the hum of the Jacuzzi or the expressions on the squirrels’ faces watching me write in the nude. (Hey, if I’m going to be isolated, I’m going to be comfortable.) There are topics everywhere. It’s amazing what’s going on all around us. This coming year, voters may elect the first woman or African-American president. If Oprah Winfrey would go ahead and step out from behind that curtain, we could have done both simultaneously. I’m not partial on who’s president. My only objection is having a liberal in the White House, but it looks like that will happen even if the winner is the Republican.

Five people got shot in Illinois by a person working on his masters in social work. A child shot a child in Oxnard, because one of them was a homosexual and the other one couldn’t handle it. 143 millions pounds of beef has just been recalled because workers were kicking and electrocuting sick cows into the slaughterhouse (Quite frankly, you’d have to kick me to get me into a slaughterhouse, too.) and my kids’ school lunch room received a “B” from the health department. The good news I reported in a previous blog literally doubled (a friend is having twins) and the bad news metastasized. Good friends are moving away and budget cuts at work and at home are moving my way. I’m working at being a loving husband, a grounded father, and a repentant Christian. Believe me, I have a lot to write about.
I’ve got to make a pact. I considered developing a detailed system or establish an all-controlling structure with strict rules and operate with consequences for non-compliance. So what if this plan didn’t work with religion. What do we really know about Martin Luther, anyway? Maybe he was a whiner? Maybe when he didn’t get his way, he nailed lists on doors throughout the city. For all we know on the way to the cathedral, he nailed a 95 Thesis on the butchers doorpost on “Why people deserve fresh beef.” (or I guess, maybe if we had a Martin Luther today, we wouldn't have people kicking sick cows.) For all we know, he was on his way to the local bistro to nail “95 reasons why it’s wrong to grease the maitre'd’s palm for a better table” on their door. All I know is that my writing won’t thrive if left to my own devices. (For that matter, neither will my spiritual life.) And while “grace alone” is sincerely appreciated with respect to the content of what I write (and with my spiritual life), I need some “works” or I won’t have any work.

You know, that period of time when your wife is just starting labor? She isn’t exactly in it, but the pains are starting . . . . birth pangs. I never cared for that time. I wanted it to be over already. The dad just stands there, feeling responsible, kinda useless, just wanting it to be over. (I could make another beef reference about #!#s on a bull, but I won't.) I wanted it over. I wanted to see my baby; hold my baby and give little bunny kisses on the baby’s forehead. We've got definate birth pangs, getting stronger and stronger. . . Man, I’ve got a lot to write about. (I’ve got to make a pact.)

Now That We're Evolved...

I’ve mentioned in previous posts that everyday I commute on the train to Union Station in downtown Los Angeles. For the past 11 years, I’ve slept every morning and eavesdropped every afternoon (my two favorite past times) on my ride to and from work. Recently, I woke up early from my train ride slumber to call my son and wish him a “Happy Birthday.” Since I couldn’t go back to sleep the last 15 minutes of the ride, I decided to practice my second favorite past time. Do you know what I heard? NOTHING. Not a peep of gossip; not a complaint session; not a tangled soap opera of deceit playing out for my personal enjoyment or righteous indignation. Now, mornings are normally slow because a lot of us try to grab a few extra winks. I can fall into a pretty deep coma on the train. I’ve missed my stop more than once and had to be picked up in San Bernardino. Occasionally, I’ve snorted so loud I woke myself up. A few times, I’ve tried to cuddle with the person next to me. Of course, once I wake up and wipe the drool off the corner of my mouth, I either blush and apologize if it’s a woman or blush and start talking about oil changes or sports scores if....(never mind).

Back on point. After saying, “Hello,” to darkness, my old friend, (Get it?) I started thinking about how my daily commute has changed over the years. Before there were little pockets of friends, quiet and chatting in the morning; laughing boisterously in the afternoon. Christmastime saw knitters, crotchetiers, and cross stitchers feverishly working on that last gift. (I tell you, these people were concentrating so intently and working so dedicately that if they were twenty year’s younger, I would have thought that Kathy Lee Gifford had a new Wal-Mart line coming out.) But still, through all of this they were chatting it up; freely giving advice or encouraging “You-can-do-it-” pep talks. This past holiday, they were still there but there was very little talking. Why, you ask? What has devastated this once social haven? Simple. The Ipod. That’s right Steve Jobs and his brand of techno-fruit are responsible for the decimation of front-porch society on the Metrolink train. (Is it not bad enough that he is responsible for eliminating the use of pencils and paint brushes in Walt Disney cartoons?) People don’t talk anymore; they all listen to music. All of a sudden, everyone has to get their groove on. And I’m wondering, “When did that happen?” I suspect it was about the same time we all decided to carry around little bottles of water, or drive around in huge ugly military vehicles painted bright yellow that get 8 miles to the gallon. Social communication is on it's death bed. Visiting with your neighbor or egads talking to the person next to you and making a new friend is history. For the most part, people don’t talk on their cell phones either; instead, they text each other acronyms. Verizon doesn’t charge us to talk to each other (as long as you’re “in”) but they keep close count on the number of text messages you send. BTW ISH LOL (By the way, insert sarcasm here. Laugh out loud.). And face it, the only time socializing is going on, we're not talking to each other; we're talking into the Star Trek-Bluetooth do-hicky in our ears. I’m half-expecting someone to all of a sudden say, “Scotty, beam me up,’ and then disappear. And if they did wouldn’t that just be AGBS?! (a great, big shame)

I can't help but question, "Is this why we evolved?" I see where aposable thumbs are a definate plus, especially since that's what everyone is typing with; albeit, incorrectly spelled and without puctuation but "im nt juging." Correct me if I'm not understanding the story. We started out as single cell critters; evolved into monkeys; lost our tails and started walking upright; built the pyramids; discovered nuclear fusion; made Pauly Shore movies, and now we are so caught up in what's fast, easy and convenient that we're not connecting to each other. Where do I begin? Oh, I know. OMG!

How Mark Got His Groove Back

I was going to name this post, “The Runner Stumbles” or maybe “The Dieter Eats Cheesecake.” That’s the way it feels. I started blogging for several reasons. I wanted to learn about posting and embedding video. I love writing and I wanted to develop my craft and stretch myself artistically. Take that rusty bike, repair the wheels, oil the gears; put a playing card in the spokes and take her for a spin. (That’s a metaphor) And I was doing it. I was writing consistently and having a blast. I could feel the creative juices flowing. People were reading my posts and being impacted by what I was writing. Some posts made them feel happy; some made them feel angry but it was an awesome experience to make people feel something. I was looking at unfinished projects with new interest. And then it happened; Cheesecake. You can relate can’t you? Maybe you’ve exercised three days a week for 3 months straight and something happens and you start sleeping late. You’ve lost 20 pounds and all of a sudden you realize you’re eating a Double Double and you the new jeans are fitting you tight. That’s how I feel about my writing. I was doing it. I had a hobby. To some extent, I had a dream or at least a daydream. The Oscar wasn’t in my hand, but I was making acceptance speeches in the shower again.

Like the rest of our busy lives, there isn't any one person or thing to blame. It’s no ONE's fault. Life happens. My life, which I still wouldn’t trade for anything, happens. Cheesecake. But I’m back. It’s not easy but I’m back. And the title of this post is appropriate. It’s not about the stumbling or the cheesecake. It’s about the action that is supposed to take place after the realization. It’s time to get back on that treadmill and work my way up to a marathon (again, more metaphor). I’ve got to order the Double Double protein style instead of animal style and do something so that I don’t have to unpack the fat jeans. (Okay, that’s not a metaphor.) I’ve got lots to say. I hope you’ll still be here to listen. I'm not done, yet.

Semper Fidelis

On January 1st, a hero passed into eternity. A man of dignity and honor; A proud Marine, a silver star at Tarawa, a purple heart at Guadacanal; a loving father, and a gentle grandfather (papa).
Click here and then "movie" to view images of his life.

And when he gets to Heaven
St. Peter he will tell,
One more Marine reporting sir,
I've served my time in Hell.

We Interrupt This Blog

For A Little Christmas

I'll be back with more Nebulous thoughts next week. Until then, test your skill with the following.
And Remember: Wise Men Still Seek Him.

Name the Christmas Carol

Christmas Trivia:

1. In Frosty the Snowman, who brought Frosty back to life?
2. Who lost $8,000 in It's a Wonderful Life?
3. In How the Grinch Stole Christmas, what biological shortcoming made the Grinch so mean?
4. Who tells you she's in town by tap, tap, tappin' at your windowpane?
5. What is the biggest selling Christmas single of all time?
6. What was Scrooge's first name?
7. Where was I when I saw Mommy kissing Santa Claus?
8. What was the name of Rudolph's dogsled driving friend?
9. Who said "God Bless Us, Every One!"?
10. What carol contains the line "O tidings of comfort and joy"?
11. In The Night Before Christmas I sprang from my bed to see what?
12. Name the three reindeer whose names begin with a "D"?
13. In the song "Grandma Got Run over by a Reindeer" what did Grandma go to get?
14.What was the first gift my true love sent on the sixth day of Christmas?
15. In what city did Miracle on 34th Street take place?
16. In It's a Wonderful Life, how did Clarence cleverly save George's life?
17. Who kept time with the Little Drummer Boy?
18.In The Night Before Christmas, where were the stockings hung?
19. What is the name of the little girl in most versions of The Nutcracker?
20. What is the last ghost called in A Christmas Carol?
21. What color is the Grinch?
22. How many pipers piping did my true love give to me?
23. In the movie The Santa Clause, who starred as the substitute Santa Claus??
24. What was Rudolph's punishment for his red nose? 25. A Charlie Brown Christmas, who plays the dusty innkeeper in the Christmas play?

Answers to Christmas Carols:

1. Jingle Bells 2. Walking in a Winter Wonderland 3. Santa Claus is Coming to Town 4. Joy to the World 5. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer 6. O' Come All Ye Faithful 7. I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas 8. Oh, Christmas Tree 9. What Child is This? 10. We Three Kings 11. Deck the Halls 12. I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In 13. O' Holy Night 14. Noel 15. Away In a Manger 16. The Twelve Days of Christmas 17. I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus 18. All I Want For Christmas is My Two Front Teeth 19. Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire 20. It Came Upon a Midnight Clear 21. Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow! 22. Silent Night 23. O' Little Town of Bethlehem 24. Silver Bells

Answers to Christmas Trivia:

1 Santa Claus 2 Uncle Billy 3 His heart was two sizes too small 4 Suzy Snowflake 5 "White Christmas" 6 Ebenezer 7 On the Stairs 8 Yukon Cornelius 9 Tiny Tim 10 "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" 11 What was the matter 12 Dasher, Donder, Dancer 13 Her medication 14 Six geese a-laying 15 New York 16 He jumped into the river first 17 The ox and the lamb 18 By the chimney 19 Clara 20 The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come 21 Green 22 Eleven 23 Tim Allen 24 Could not play in reindeer games 25 Pigpen

A Prozac for Your Thoughts

In general, there are two types of people; even-keeled rocks of strength who can meet any challenge with a calm steely reserve, and volcanoes who explode all over everyone and everything. In my opinion, both are good. I have a deep respect for the person who is unwavering and controlled. I understand they might not join the conga line or the group hug. I know they won’t be crying at the end of Big Fish or any movie where Debra Winger dies, but that’s okay. Someone has to describe the spider to the 911 operator or make sure the wild kid doesn’t let go of the piñata bat. Working tear ducts are a small sacrifice. What about the blow hard? He don’t bug me, either. This guy may give ulcers, but he’ll never get them and if the dog pees every time he shouts, so be it. It’s not my carpet. Yes, I actually respect people who are on both of these extremes. Each has her or his place. Be it working in an office cubicle or at the DMV. I believe people are wired a certain way. I’m not going to get into the genetics/environment discussion. That would require a clear thought process and my thinking is far too nebulous for that.

Now, just like when I’m dancing, I’m all over the place. If you have a heart attack, I’m your man. I can notify security, assign an elevator monitor, get the poor suckers emergency card copied while I describe the lovely shade of green he’s turning to the 911 babe or have the courage to say out loud to the paramedic, “No, his skin naturally has that grayish tinge to it.” I bet during all of this my blood pressure remains a constant calm; probably wouldn’t even find a pulse. I can also throw a good rant when necessary. Ignore my phone calls? (I don’t THINK so!) Tell me, “I understand your frustration, but I can’t help you. That's not our policy” (Let's just take a moment and review that policy, okay?!) I’ve made grown men cry and rendered quick talking females speechless. (If nothing else, I am a gentleman.) People actually ask me to make calls for them and “Pull a Mark.” My daughter walked into the room after I hung up with Time Warner Cable and gave me a high-five. (In all fairness, I asked to speak to the supervisor and she said she could solve my problem.)

But the rest of the time I’m all over the place, too. I can’t hear good news without my pulse racing or bad news and not feel my heart in my throat. I can’t look at a picture of my kids for too long and not tear up with joy or worry or excitement or pride…you get my drift. And the problem comes when the good news is immediately followed by the bad, and then the exciting and then the unjust and then the kids.
Have you ever had a shock to your system? I’m not talking about an ice cube down your back or a glimpse of an overweight lady's thong or a big drink of Diet Coke when you think there’s Dr. Pepper in the glass. I’m talking about real system overload. This week I’ve been going through it big time. I’ve heard it all; good news, bad news, happy and sad news. It’s been a wild rollercoaster ride without a seatbelt. I know it’s better to feel all of this than to feel numb or to feel nothing. I don’t necessarily want to change it, but understanding it would be nice. I’d ask for comments, but you’re not ready. That’s okay. It’s enough knowing you’re there.

Do You Hear What I Hear?

Years ago, I purchased two CD’s of Christmas music. One was Kenny G’s first collection of Christmas songs and the second was by Mahalia Jackson (I know, eclectic). I liked Kenny and since I played the clarinet myself (before my lip gave out and I started making spitting sounds when I tried for the upper register), I decided to give him a try. I had heard the song, “I wonder as I wander.” (Vanessa Williams sings the song on YouTube, but you didn’t hear that from me.) The words were so hauntingly beautiful; I just had to own a copy. I had heard of Miss Jackson but had never actually heard her sing. Within the first week, I regretted both choices. Shortly after I made the purchase, I read an interview given by Mr. G, where he stated that because he wasn't a Christian and didn’t believe in any of this Christmas stuff, he had to approach the CD from a strictly musical perspective. (GASP!) At that moment, I decided I would only purchase Christmas music from artists who believe in the product. (Why not? I have the same philosophy when buying cars.) The next shock came when I put on Mahalia to help me get over Mr. “I’ll-blow-any-song-through-my-kazoo-for-a-buck.” G. Well, I got over Kenny. I got way over Kenny, past Christmas half way through Lent. I understand that Mahalia Jackson is a legend but when I hear a Christmas song I’m taking a shot at being in a good mood. Her deep baritone voice sounded like a 45 single of the lovely Vanessa Williams played at the speed for a 33 LP. (If you’re old enough, you’ll get the idea. If not, it was slow.) It was depressing. Silent Night was even worst. All may have been calm, but it certainly was not bright. I would love to here her sing, “Have a Holly, Jolly Christmas.” Burl Ives was a baritone and he managed to keep it peppy. I didn’t know what to do. When I listened to Kenny G, I wanted to kill him. When I listened to Mahalia Jackson, I wanted to kill myself. It was at that moment that I made another decision. I decided I would only purchase Christmas music from people who believed in the product and did not make me feel suicidal. (I think that was a good call.)

Thanks to my boss and KOST 103.5, I’ve been listening to Christmas carols since the second week in November and I’ve realized something. I don’t like Christmas music. Don’t get me wrong. I’m the first one to join in a chorus of “Away in a Manger” and nothing brings me to tears faster than “O Holy Night” (Well, maybe Kenny tooting out “What a Friend I have in Jesus” or Mahalia singing “Santa Baby”) But listening to hour after hour of Wham singing “Last Christmas I Gave You My Heart” or No Doubt belting out “Oi to the World” does not bring to mind Mary giving birth in a stable. Two-thirds of Wilson Phillips (the Wilson part) singing “Hey, Santa!” and Rod Stewart trying to convince Dolly Parton into snuggling because “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” doesn’t help me reflect on how Jesus, my Savior did come for to die. (Actually, the visual image of Roddy succeeding makes my stomach queezy.) It makes me wonder, what is the intent of the holiday for those who do not consider it a holy day? The packages, the crowds, the baking, the lights and the tinsel; what does it all mean? Maybe Mahalia expressed it best? Are we wondering and wandering about clueless to all that God has done for us; not with a sense of hope and awe or even amazed puzzlement but with a baritone sense of emptiness. And that’s why I don’t like listening to this type of Christmas music. Because it would be like me giving seminars in how to fix plumbing, or swing a bat, or do a math problem (I can seriously go on.) Things about which I don’t know much (and I’m honestly not interested in learning).but if you give me a wrench or a bat or a pencil and paper I could give you a good impersonation. Eventually, I may even convince myself that I’m committed to something or doing something of meaning. At that point, God help your water pressure or your batting average or your math grade. I honestly hope I do not offend. I'm not judging sincerity. I'm just curious about motivation. To each his own. Let me know what you think. I'll be here. Kicking back, jamming to my latest CD, Kenny G’s "A Very Special Kwanzaa.”