Close Call

Close Call

I almost started “to blog” without the music playing – a sacrilege.

The first tune up, as selected by iTunes which seems to work hard to remind me that there are some unusual tunes in my library, was Grand Funk Railroad’s “Loco Motion”. It makes me thankful that I somehow avoided going through the perm-phase.

Blogging Times 2

I thought it would be easy – writing a serial story blog. Maybe it is, but I haven’t really been able to get it going. (There is a very distracting version of the Beatles’ “No Reply” playing. Performed by the Beatles, it has so much echo in the mix that it sounds as though recorded in high-school locker room.)

Back from my momentary capitulation to ADHD…

The other blog of which I speak is  http://wickedmanipulations.blogspot.com/ . First, I’ll admit that I had planned to cheat somewhat – I thought I had a playbook – or outline – to go with. Many, many years ago, in the previous century as it turns out, I’d written a story called “Wicked Manipulations”. It may have started out as loosely autobiographical but several re-writes later it had safely departed any recognizable reality.

To make the long story short I thought I’d start out with the original paper and work from there. (Paper! Does that give you any idea how old it is?) I blew off the dust and prepared to transpose from paper to blog. But, and a huge but, it turned out that my recollection of this tale was fonder than deserved; it sucked – at least as seen through 21^st century eyes. Of course, I had anticipated that I would be making some changes along the way but, in a major blow to my self-esteem, a major re-writing was in order.

Not All Bad

As insinuated, “Wicked Manipulations” has had a long fermentation period. It was originally written for a college creative writing class. It received a passing grade, an ‘A’, I believe, or maybe it was  ‘AAA’-plus. In any event, I had some validation that it was possibly as terrific as I thought it might be.

I scoured the land, or at least the newsstand, after consulting my borrowed copy of ‘Writers Digest’, for a worthy place for publication. I deemed the “Atlantic Monthly” as worthy.

            The editors at “Atlantic Monthly” thought somewhat differently. They replied quickly and courteously: “To Whom it May Concern. Thanks, but no thanks.”

So They Said

 “Wicked Manipulations” is a tale of love gone sour and a murder in a restaurant – your basic nasty-story. However, of particular interest is a scene that takes place in the all-night diner where our hero, and future dead man, is stymied in his attempt to order French-fries. As I was writing this section I thought it so original and humorous that I practically wet my pants while writing it, a problem since corrected. Now, remember, the key word I used to describe this was, original.

Several months after I’d received the Atlantic Monthly’s rejection letter I was reading a copy of ‘People’ magazine. I guess I’d already gone through all my literary magazines and I'd likely finished steamrolling through my copy of the latest Smithsonian. (The way you steamroll through the Smithsonian is to just look at the pictures and ignore the words, which are way over my head anyway.)  Back to the point,  there, buried in some typical People-blabber about some better-looking people, was my restaurant scene! Had my originality really been so unoriginal after all? Were French-fry shortages something that had recently entered the public consciousness and something which I just unknowingly borrowed from the cosmos? Hell, even the humorous dialog was practically the same. Where all fictional waitresses named Paula? (Was the Paula I had known real or just a figment of my imagination? If so, compliments to my imagination.) Hmmm. Who had written this tripe? Seems the writer was a former associate editor at. . .  “The Atlantic Monthly!”

Had I been plagiarized? Maybe? Yet, I prefer to think that I managed to work myself into this other writer’s psyche. If that is in fact the case, that my writing had indelibly impressed itself upon another human's brain, then I’d already done more damage to his career than any lawsuit would have accomplished. And with that I can be satisfied that justice has been done.

The Final Word.

Beethoven symphony #7 Allegreto – or maybe it’s II Allegreto – I’m uncertain. Whichever it is this is one of the finest pieces of music ever written – and oddly appropriate for a blog about a possible bit of plagiarism.

I think it’s unfair to suggest that Beethoven stole this work. Notions regarding copyright were different in those days. But, it is my understanding that this entire symphony is built around a popular Austrian folk song of the time.  That doesn’t matter. It’s still a great piece of music that has been used in countless movies to evoke great emotion whenever great things are about to happen or Hans Zimmer isn’t available.

Back on Schedule

Back on Schedule

“That’s Not Her Style” or so says Billy Joel as this blog begins.

Googling

Once again I’ve run into problems with Google Drive. I currently have too many files backed up on Google. How many is too many? That is hard to say but I currently have around 150Gb. The problem is that when there is a problem, which is too often, re-synchronizing takes days. That’s not an exaggeration. It takes two to three days to get everything right.

And there is another problem. Define, right. With so much data and few checks how do I know what is lost and what is recovered? Of course, you could argue that with 150Gb of data who cares if a little something is lost?

So, what sort of problems was I having and why? The sort of problem is easy, while trying to organize some data Google encountered an error. Why? That is more difficult. Several visits to Google forums only confirm that, yes, there is a problem.

At the moment all my old blogs are lost. (Now they may exists on some USB drive someplace, not to mention that they do exists on (Google’s) blogger, so no need to shed crocodile tears.)

As for the alternatives; I haven’t seen anything that makes me think they would be any better. Except possibly for Dropbox, which is a bit more expensive.

The Beatles

Following Billy Joel is an extended press conference given by the Beatles in Australia – likely 1965. Interesting that so many press people could get so involved asking so many inane questions. It must have been a slow news day.

Back On Schedule

This is actually a big deal. When I re-started this blog the primary purpose was to exercise the writing muscles, which had atrophied while re-building after radiation. So, OK, great, I’m writing a blog. That’s 200 to 300 unfocused words per week, hopefully showing some signs of improvement. The Beatle press conference has ended and Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” has broken my train if thought – oh well.

My point, such as it was, it that I’ve created a schedule for myself. Writing time is 5:00AM to 7:00AM. That’s it! Except, of course, for other things at different times – like this. Of course, these hours require that other activities also happen within prescribed times. The advantage is that if I screw around on Facebook, or this blog, it’s OK, just as long as it does not happen between 5 and 7. Those hours are reserved for getting something done!

Damn, That’s Dreary

The song has changed. I sometimes wonder about the wisdom of letting iTunes create the playlist. The usually dependable Neil Young is singing “Such a Woman”. Whatever her gifts, they don’t seem to include the ability to keep someone awake.

Re-Boot

Re-Boot

Starting off the blog right with Paul McCartney’s “Heart of the Country”. I’m not sure if this is pre or post Wings or part of Wings.

Been Down so Long

“..that it looks like up to me.”

Once again I can say that it has been a long time since I’ve last posted to this blog. Lazy, maybe, but I like to think of it as tired. Cancer survivors got rights, and like the pigs in Orwell’s “Animal Farm” some pigs are more equal than others. Actually I think it was just that pigs have more rights than other animals – all pigs actually had the same rights, to a point.

In any event, I may have made this complaint before. Having had multiple cancers the odds of earning an attractive magnetic cancer ribbon for the back of my car should have been pretty good, but no! Both colors really suck, photos of scabs would look better stuck to the rear of my car than either of these two colors-from-a-color-blind-hell.

I’m closing out tonight's blogging somewhat early. Elton John’s “I Think That’s Why They Call it the Blue’s” is playing in the background. I saw him and his original band perform this in Philadelphia. Oddly I was never what you would call a huge fan of Elton's records although I've always enjoyed his shows. The man and his band did know how to put on a show!

And before I forget; the reason I feel justified in closing shop early is that I found an old blog that appears to never have been posted. Originally written on October 20, 2013 - or at least that is the day that the file was saved. Blog on Garth!

10/23/2013

The House is Rockin'

The House is Rockin’ by Stevie Ray Vaughan starts the iTunes Random-play set. Although I would swear that he is singing, “... the house is a rockin’.

Good News/Bad News

Good News: I’m fully recovered from the McCartney incident.

Bad News: iTunes just went from Stevie Ray Vaughan to Helen Reddy (Delta Dawn). Where the hell did that come from?

Guitar Licks

The writing muscle. It almost sounds dirty; a dangling piece of flesh usually found in a dusty chamber located someplace between the ears. Mine has atrophied to the point where it has become a pitiful collection of disjointed sentences held together by commas. My purpose here today – to once again set it right.

“Isn’t Life Strange?” said the poet. Or was it the Moody Blues? My daughter has stolen my guitar from my hands. She attempts to pick a Link Wray classic. Actually, in my opinion, there is only one Link Wray classic: "The Rumble". The rest are pretty much the same song over and over again.

A Line in the Sand

When I say sand I actually mean sidewalk. And when I say line I actually mean a buckled sidewalk. In my defense it was dark when the incident occurred.

We had just exiting the Paul McCartney concert, along with 70,000-plus other people, who were pushing along to catch a train home. In fact, to beat the crowds we left three songs before the end of the show.

WHAT! Are you crazy? Leave before the end at what was one of the most amazing shows that I have ever been to? (And I’ve been to at least one other amazing show!) I'd have to be nuts. I'm kidding. Of course we stayed until "The End". 

It’s hard to believe that some of the songs McCartney sang go back 50 years. I remember them like they were just Yesterday (pun intended, and yes, he sang that too).So many of his songs recall specific moments in my life. Hearing them takes me back to those moments, with all the sights and smells of the time. In at least one sense McCartney’s music illustrates why a time machine would be a bad idea. If I can be emotionally whelmed by just the memory of a long ago event triggered by a familiar song, I’d probably explode if transported back to the original event. (Important note: "Whelmed" is not a typo. Grown men are not overwhelmed. It’s dust, not tears.)

Sir Paul is 71 years old and there are those who say that he’s lost some voice. No way, I say. Watch the 1980 film, “Rockshow”. It is a film of the last Wings concert of a very long tour. It was filmed in Seattle in (I think) 1976. Then grab some You Tube clips of his 2013 shows. His voice is at least as good as ever. To hear him sing “Maybe I’m Amazed”, “Hey Jude”, “Live and Let Die”, and especially when ripping into “Long Tall Sally”, and “Helter Skelter” and all within a non-stop three-hour show, all I can say is wow! At 71 I hope to be able to go to a 2 hour movie and stay awake!

But back to the line in the sand that was originally referring to, which was actually a break in a buckled sidewalk. We were rushing from the concert to our train when I hooked into a bit of concrete with the front of a sandal and my big toe. I fell forward like a ballerina who’d been addicted to Big Macs. I fell, I like to think with style, but maybe not so much. I landed on a forearm and thumb sliding a bit before coming to a full stop.

The funny thing about grabbing a hold of the sidewalk with your big toe while your propelling yourself forward at significant speed is. . . well there is no funny thing. It hurts like hell. When feet are driven into concrete, even with great force, concrete wins every time. Luckily, I was able to avoid any broken bones.  

Now that I’ve relived these horrible moments it occurs to me that the concrete protrusion was at least 6 inches if it was a 1/4 inch. I should sue the city! At the very least I should recover the cost of my ruined jeans. But I will NOT sue the city. It would mean having to admit that, at times, I don’t always listen to my wife who did say, “   “. (Well, I don’t know what she said, it was bustling and noisy – in a joyous way - crowd.  She assures me however that she did try to warn me.)

The Death of Reading Re-Visited

Last time I wrote about reading I said that I was not finding Ray Bradbury very interesting. I was reading, among other things, “The Martian Chronicles.” I wonder if, perhaps, part of my problem is my inability to suspend disbelief about the possibility of life on Mars. It’s no longer the distant red planet with changing seasons and full of possibilities like it was when the Chronicles first appeared. It’s a rock with no more than a wisp of atmosphere. I still hold out hope for a “Total Recall”-like possibility, or, at the very least that some little critter or person will walk up to the Rover, peer into the lens and smile. If he/she/it should then open its mouth and chew the Rover apart with its powerful jaws, well, that would be disheartening but it would be something.

With all this talk of Bradbury, Mars, and “Total Recall” there is probably a general assumption that I’m some sort of geek and lifelong Star Trek fan. Well, maybe somewhat. When Star Trek first came on I was barely out of diapers – at least mentally, in dog years I guess I had been about 71 years out of diapers. In any event when I was a small boy, “My Favorite Martian” was one of my favorite television shows. This was followed by “Lost in Space” the ever so realistic adventures of the Robinson family and Dr. Smith. However, I can admit to a touch of adolescent perspective shift. Yes, I watched Star Trek, but not for the science fiction. I noticed that the women of Star Trek wore less clothes than any other show on television – except maybe the Dean Martin Hour.  In what turned out to be a strange twist of good fortune for fantasy we only had a black and white television. I had no idea that most of the near-nude women of Star Trek were blue or green.

As to book, I’m currently reading World War Z.  I haven’t seen the movie but I suspect it is nothing like the book. I want to see it anyway.

And speaking of bad movies I’d like to see. I think I would also like to see Will Smith’s “After Earth”. I’m hedging a little only because it could also be called M.Night Shyamalan’s “After Earth”. M. Night hasn’t had a good track record lately.

I’m somewhat convinced that Shyamalan doesn’t really know what to do with more than two people in any scene. His best films, “The Sixth Sense” and “Unbreakable” have few, if any, scenes with more than two characters. In some films in appears that any third actor in a seem seldom moves, almost as if glued to the spot.

Still, even in the bad films there is a Shyamalan touch that works well. “After Earth”, appears to have only two characters throughout most of the film. This could be a very good Shyamalan movie.

And the last song on the iTunes playlist: (Yes, my guitar has been returned to its proper place) is, appropriately enough “Lullaby (Goodnight My Angel)” by Billy Joel.