To Blog or Surrender to the Elements

Today’s blog starts with the A-Z playlist up to Bob Dylan singing “Stuck Inside of Mobile with the Memphis Blues Again”.

 

Some songs rekindle areas of the memory long that have been long dormant. “Stuck Inside of Mobile of with the Memphis Blues Again” is one such song. It’s not the lyrics; I don’t really know them. The chorus repeats the same inane words over and over again, and even though I DO know what those words are, I don’t know what they mean. But there is an exasperation and relentlessness in this song that is somehow infectious. Or maybe it’s that the song functions as a half-ass time machine My feet and, it seems, most of the rest of my body are stuck here in the 21^st century but there’s portion that does travel back in time, to some point in the 20^th century when such songs were our tokens – like that Obama or Romney sticker that forever defaces your car. Didn’t like “Stuck in Mobile…”? You probably voted for Nixon.

 

Appropriately enough the playlist, after running through “Stuck on You” by Elvis Presley and “Stumblin’In” by Suzie Quatro while I wrote the above paragraph progressed to “Subterranean Homesick Blues” by Bob Dylan just as I finish this section.

 

Back to the Beginning: There was point to today’s title. I’ve been – internally –debating this whole blogging thing. Just as when you’re learning to play the piano – or in my case the accordion – there is a time to do scales and there is a time to get of your butt and learn a song. I re-started this blog with the thought that as a writer who hasn’t written much in the last several years, I needed the exercise. I think I still do, but how much pomposity is one capable of?

 

Last week I tried to put down my profound thoughts on gay marriage. That failed so I tried to be analytical and look at the questions before the Supreme Court from a legal perspective. After several hundred words of technical brilliance I realized that I’m not a lawyer, and really not so concerned about what the Supreme Court says that I wanted to research legal precedence. So I deleted all my profundity and filled 500 or so words of blog with blubber. The truth is that I don’t have 500 words of opinion on the matter. For the record, my opinion is that people don’t choose sexual orientation any more than I chose brown eyes; equality for all –simple.

 

Which comes back again to the question of whether to blog or not to blog? What’s the point if not to pontificate? But if I don’t want to read my own pontificating why would anyone else? I considered creating a soap-blog, a continuing story, would that be interesting or draining and thereby unsustainable? This one is still a possibility. . . . as the playlist reaches “Suck on the Jugular” by the Rolling Stones.

 

Morbid thoughts: The correct answer – if ever asked the question, “Have you learned anything from your experience with cancer?” is, “Why of course. I’ve learned how valuable time can be, that it's not something to be taken for granted. I’ve learned to appreciate the here and now, not take things for granted, etc.” The problem is I don’t know how much of that, if any, is true.

 

Of course, any disease worthy of a Hallmark movie treatment will provide a slight slap in the face regarding the finite nature of our time on earth, but I think the greater gift, or curse, of any such ailment might be the sometimes overwhelming feeling of WTF. For instance, I’d like to publish again –something, likely short stories. There may not be any money in it, but it’s enjoyable. But what difference would it make it I did or did not? The end is the same for everybody. No matter what the effort or quality of our output we eventually take a last breath and then re-enter the eco system. This may seem like a ridiculously narcissistic point of view, but it’s how I find myself thinking these days. I try to slap myself out of it by forcing myself to move forward: by writing this blog, by earning a BS in IT, by writing the great American novel, learning to play “Taking Care of Business” because my wife asked. Still, it is difficult to not slip back into the muck of despair. What difference does it all make? Maybe some. There is the chance that I could influence the people I know, who I live with, who I've raised, and, to resurrect a medieval term, whom I’ve sired. I’d like to think that I’ve been a positive influence in their lives. Maybe someday they might say to their children something like, , “If you want to be a great human being like your grandpa then you must. . .” but if the sentence actually begins, “Unless you want to be a loser like your grandpa. . .” – I guess that would be useful also.

 

The playlist has now reached “Sugar Baby” by Bob Dylan. Bob Dylan sure does seem to have a lot of songs that begin with the letter “S”.

 

I cheated. I edited the above section. The playlist is now at “Summer’s Almost Gone” by the Doors. Guess the Doors never informed Paul McCartney the summer was almost gone as the next song on the list was “Summer’s Day Song.”