I've been writing what I internally call slice of life essays or columns for more than 30 years now. Some have been for publication, some just for my own need for expression. Because I've done it for so long, and probably because a few have received competitive recognition, I'm sometimes asked to provide input on creating similar pieces. And out of many mistakes and few successes, I've come to some conclusions.
* Be courageous. It's too easy to avoid putting yourself out there when you have complete content control. But such work doesn't fulfill anyone. You simply can't fear what other people will think and censor yourself to fit that mold. The result is boring. You have to expose your emotions, your sometimes controversial opinions and your weaknesses. Anything else and you're writing to a wall. The real, honest hope is you're creating a dialogue, even if the other voice is never heard. But if you express something and someone else has a reaction - even just in their head - you've achieved creation. It's not just about grammar rules and clarity, it's about truth.
* But be couth. The first point isn't to simply puke your brains and heart. It's a fine line. A really good writer once told me I'd gone too far, to the point any reader was uncomfortable. "Don't let them see you go to the bathroom," was the way she put it. As long as boundaries are chosen because of respect instead of fear, you'll probably hit the mark.
* You've got to be real. If you don't feel it, don't bother. It's amazing how obvious it is to any reader when something's forced. I've had monthly and weekly deadlines for such product. But I've honestly put together several when I felt it, and ran to the mental pantry when a deadline came and I was empty. I can fake it. You can tell it.
* Don't be so serious. Life is a challenge. It's also pretty damned funny. And if you think it's difficult to express a controversial opinion or heartfelt emotion, try to relate a comical experience in pure written words without inflection or facial expressions to relay it. It is the greatest stretch of the writing muscle you can imagine.
*Never stop. As suggested just prior, I believe writing is a muscle. It atrophies without use. And it strengthens and surprises with use. There are dry spells, but you sometimes just have to sit down and doddle around during them. But always keep your mind open for reasons to write.
*Enjoy the experience. When it works, I find there's almost no comparable feeling to having created a good written piece. Although it may be similar, there are no two times it's exactly the same. Releasing a feeling, letting go a strong opinion or simply telling the tale well can leave you with the emotion after good time with a strong friend or a true lover.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Love lives on
I was just kind of wandering around reading and came across an old girlfriend's tossed-off reference to her current beau.
And I felt that pang.
I'm generally respectful of feelings, but I sort of have to call this one stupid. It's not as if I want to ever have anything meaningful to do with this girl again. Heck, she's cold enough to try and pretend our time together didn't exist, much less have specifics. And with time letting the chemicals of early encounter lose their potency, I can clearly see the huge negatives of she and I.
So I can't call the feeling jealousy. I suppose the pang comes because I envy someone else possibly experiencing that love when I have it only in the past. Or maybe believing somewhere inside that person isn't providing safe harbor for that little bit we had together. I don't mind being left behind, but can't bear being forgotten and made inconsequential.
It's not about living in the past. It has something to do with memories and nostalgia, but not an urge to return to something gone by.
It's a totally irrational pang, but then my love tends to be irrational too. One such person told me early on she'd only break my heart. Of course, I had to go full throttle into it to provide that opportunity. She lived up to it, and I had no authority to be disappointed in her.
But although nameless, I know the pang well. And although I may find it stupid, I still respect it.
It's a pang I actually feel bounce around in any kind of encounter with someone for whom I used to have feelings. Even if the person knows nothing of the encounter, like someone else tells me something about them or I read about them or I even stumble upon their web site.
I hope it has almost all to do with being genuine the first time. See, it only happens with people I actually loved. I may have hated them in many ways, but somewhere in there I loved them too. And I've come to realize that's a dangerous place for me. Because once I love, it never stops. I retain that love for as long as I live, even if it becomes swirled with anger and disgust and shame. Those ugly colors may be in there, but there's a glowing nugget of whatever led to love in the first place.
But my love is what it is. It's never quite the same twice, but it has longevity that I suspect will match mine. I don't regret the pang, although I also don't enjoy it. I just acknowledge it. Maybe it's an unconscious reminder of what love is when I'm not directly in it, and a tap on the shoulder of how I can damage it.
The pang is the lesson that keeps on teaching.
And I felt that pang.
I'm generally respectful of feelings, but I sort of have to call this one stupid. It's not as if I want to ever have anything meaningful to do with this girl again. Heck, she's cold enough to try and pretend our time together didn't exist, much less have specifics. And with time letting the chemicals of early encounter lose their potency, I can clearly see the huge negatives of she and I.
So I can't call the feeling jealousy. I suppose the pang comes because I envy someone else possibly experiencing that love when I have it only in the past. Or maybe believing somewhere inside that person isn't providing safe harbor for that little bit we had together. I don't mind being left behind, but can't bear being forgotten and made inconsequential.
It's not about living in the past. It has something to do with memories and nostalgia, but not an urge to return to something gone by.
It's a totally irrational pang, but then my love tends to be irrational too. One such person told me early on she'd only break my heart. Of course, I had to go full throttle into it to provide that opportunity. She lived up to it, and I had no authority to be disappointed in her.
But although nameless, I know the pang well. And although I may find it stupid, I still respect it.
It's a pang I actually feel bounce around in any kind of encounter with someone for whom I used to have feelings. Even if the person knows nothing of the encounter, like someone else tells me something about them or I read about them or I even stumble upon their web site.
I hope it has almost all to do with being genuine the first time. See, it only happens with people I actually loved. I may have hated them in many ways, but somewhere in there I loved them too. And I've come to realize that's a dangerous place for me. Because once I love, it never stops. I retain that love for as long as I live, even if it becomes swirled with anger and disgust and shame. Those ugly colors may be in there, but there's a glowing nugget of whatever led to love in the first place.
But my love is what it is. It's never quite the same twice, but it has longevity that I suspect will match mine. I don't regret the pang, although I also don't enjoy it. I just acknowledge it. Maybe it's an unconscious reminder of what love is when I'm not directly in it, and a tap on the shoulder of how I can damage it.
The pang is the lesson that keeps on teaching.
Monday, March 23, 2009
One domino
Let's make an imaginary household budget, in these difficult times. The keeper o' the bills has some money in the bank, but knows there's this bill sitting in the in-box waiting for payment. It's a really big bill. But that bill payer knows there there has to be some cash kept in hand to simply keep the household surviving. So that payer doesn't try to improve his family's situation, he or she simply does the basic necessity and keeps a wary eye on that pending bill. It's a fiscal stalemate.
That's kind of how I've viewed the American economy for several months. Especially post the banking industry "bailout" that was first executed at the end of last year.
Billions of dollars went into the system and everyone screamed "but where?" They sure weren't seeing it available for car, home or small business loans, cornerstones of our economy. It was kneejerk to cry that it was simply doled out to more executives, although the millions that might have gone in that direction were a drop in the bucket compared to the billions supplied.
I felt the truth was, the banks were sitting on a good portion of that money looking into their own ledger books at billions of dollars in real estate loans that were far more than the value of the real estate which was collateral.
It goes beyond tax or bailout or federal loans or whatever you want to call the dollars. Top government officials and economists have said the true sign of recovery is when PRIVATE money starts flowing around. Yes, there are still billionares and, much more importantly, many multimillionares out there. But you haven't seen them making business moves.
I think it's because capitalism still exists. Those moneyed - albeit less moneyed - people are waiting for opportunity. And best opportunity may reside in those real estate loans. They've seen it before.
Here's the scenario: The federal government joins with the banks to put up funds less than the loan totals to dump those upside down loans into one bucket. The banks take a loss, the government absorbs a debt, but they get off the banks' books. They then look for buyers for those properties at a discounted price. Private consortiums have already been formed to make such purchases, they just haven't had the store open yet. The private buyers make those lands available to other buyers - developers and homebuilders - at prices that make sense with the current value of those properties. The first buyers can do such as they bought at a discounted rate. With those dirty loans off their books, banks feel safer making base loans - small business, cars and homes. Commerce begins, from the federal money flowing through more solid banks to CREDIT-WORTHY small businesses and consumers who actually make payments, but more importantly from the private enterprise of those waiting private investors and their customers. Yes, we take a hit at the federal government level from those discounts, but this is the true trickle down economics, setting the table properly so movement can begin and create a much grander scale.
Some call those waiting for the distressed properties vultures. I'd call them the restart to our economy, the next generation of entrepreneurs. More simplier, I'd call them the first domino to fall in getting a waterfall of positive action.
That's kind of how I've viewed the American economy for several months. Especially post the banking industry "bailout" that was first executed at the end of last year.
Billions of dollars went into the system and everyone screamed "but where?" They sure weren't seeing it available for car, home or small business loans, cornerstones of our economy. It was kneejerk to cry that it was simply doled out to more executives, although the millions that might have gone in that direction were a drop in the bucket compared to the billions supplied.
I felt the truth was, the banks were sitting on a good portion of that money looking into their own ledger books at billions of dollars in real estate loans that were far more than the value of the real estate which was collateral.
It goes beyond tax or bailout or federal loans or whatever you want to call the dollars. Top government officials and economists have said the true sign of recovery is when PRIVATE money starts flowing around. Yes, there are still billionares and, much more importantly, many multimillionares out there. But you haven't seen them making business moves.
I think it's because capitalism still exists. Those moneyed - albeit less moneyed - people are waiting for opportunity. And best opportunity may reside in those real estate loans. They've seen it before.
Here's the scenario: The federal government joins with the banks to put up funds less than the loan totals to dump those upside down loans into one bucket. The banks take a loss, the government absorbs a debt, but they get off the banks' books. They then look for buyers for those properties at a discounted price. Private consortiums have already been formed to make such purchases, they just haven't had the store open yet. The private buyers make those lands available to other buyers - developers and homebuilders - at prices that make sense with the current value of those properties. The first buyers can do such as they bought at a discounted rate. With those dirty loans off their books, banks feel safer making base loans - small business, cars and homes. Commerce begins, from the federal money flowing through more solid banks to CREDIT-WORTHY small businesses and consumers who actually make payments, but more importantly from the private enterprise of those waiting private investors and their customers. Yes, we take a hit at the federal government level from those discounts, but this is the true trickle down economics, setting the table properly so movement can begin and create a much grander scale.
Some call those waiting for the distressed properties vultures. I'd call them the restart to our economy, the next generation of entrepreneurs. More simplier, I'd call them the first domino to fall in getting a waterfall of positive action.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Failure to communicate
I think of myself as a communicator. It's what I've done as a profession for quite some time. But it's also how I've thought of myself as a person. More and more, I realize if that's true at all, it's done impersonally.
This may be true for anyone who likes to write. I have put almost too-intimate moments into print. I've put even more revealing comments down on paper. But in a growing amount, I realize that I require that buffer of time and place to be truly honest. I do not do it looking into anyone's eyes.
I have an urge to blame it on the times. It feels like there's a growing amount of carefulness, almost personal distrust, in human relations and therefore communication. It seems easy to blame it on technology, how it's easier to write an email than phone someone, how it seems so much safer to blog than talk.
I have another urge to blame it on me. It has taken a conscious effort to be open with others, to gamble on that potential rejection. It's an effort I most often put on the backburner. I also gravitate toward people who might not be able to handle, may not deserve, that personal investment that is communicating truth. I choose who might be available to listen to me with a methodology that ensures they won't be worthy of emotionally honesty. My escape, excuse, is there's no one there.
A friend of mine who lives far away has been communicating with me about suppressing emotions. We both often refuse to acknowledge our own emotions and shuffle them to the back of our consciousness until they can no longer stay bottled up and raw undefined emotion comes roaring out in a irrational torrent. (By the way, staying in our safe zones, we've discussed that in succinct emails).
I created this blog with an original premise of I had things I not just wanted to say, but had to say. As time has progressed, I've found it more and more difficult to stand up and speak. It's like this anonymous blog has become too close and I'm afraid to speak with it honestly.
I think I'll continue to use this arena to focus and organize my thoughts and feelings. But I think I need to also look into the eyes of people around me and try and read if they can talk. Because this method is effective but inhuman. It's not really communicating. It's not talking with, it's talking at.
It's too safe.
This may be true for anyone who likes to write. I have put almost too-intimate moments into print. I've put even more revealing comments down on paper. But in a growing amount, I realize that I require that buffer of time and place to be truly honest. I do not do it looking into anyone's eyes.
I have an urge to blame it on the times. It feels like there's a growing amount of carefulness, almost personal distrust, in human relations and therefore communication. It seems easy to blame it on technology, how it's easier to write an email than phone someone, how it seems so much safer to blog than talk.
I have another urge to blame it on me. It has taken a conscious effort to be open with others, to gamble on that potential rejection. It's an effort I most often put on the backburner. I also gravitate toward people who might not be able to handle, may not deserve, that personal investment that is communicating truth. I choose who might be available to listen to me with a methodology that ensures they won't be worthy of emotionally honesty. My escape, excuse, is there's no one there.
A friend of mine who lives far away has been communicating with me about suppressing emotions. We both often refuse to acknowledge our own emotions and shuffle them to the back of our consciousness until they can no longer stay bottled up and raw undefined emotion comes roaring out in a irrational torrent. (By the way, staying in our safe zones, we've discussed that in succinct emails).
I created this blog with an original premise of I had things I not just wanted to say, but had to say. As time has progressed, I've found it more and more difficult to stand up and speak. It's like this anonymous blog has become too close and I'm afraid to speak with it honestly.
I think I'll continue to use this arena to focus and organize my thoughts and feelings. But I think I need to also look into the eyes of people around me and try and read if they can talk. Because this method is effective but inhuman. It's not really communicating. It's not talking with, it's talking at.
It's too safe.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Truth on the brink
Over the last week, I've had the opportunity to spend time with a variety of journalists. Some are working journalists, some formers and some departing. In addition, there's been quite a bit of analysis of the journalism profession printed recently.
All together, it's left me both encouraged and discouraged. And even if your not a journalist yourself, it has a direct effect on you.
On the positive side are the journalists themselves. Most are young, in their 20s. This is almost a given anymore as the industry has viewed cost-cutting as eliminating anyone with much tenure and therefore a higher salary. Plus, it's a demanding business, putting a physical and emotional strain on people much more than most industries.
It's listening to those people that engenders hope. Journalists have always been odd characters. They quite often know that's what they'll be at a very young age. They are quickly reminded they'll never make much of a wage and they'll endure those previously noted challenges. And it doesn't deter them. Sometimes they'll say it's all they know how to do. I think that is their talent, hardwired into them somehow at a preschool age. But there's another common theme that seems to drive them all forward and sustain them. They say they want to change the world.
Despite some stereotyping, politically based screaming, they don't want to make it more liberal. The media isn't really liberal, it's cynical. Its members spend a lot of time with a much closer view of government and crime and life than the typical person. They see day-to-day city government move, they view with their own eyes gunshot and burned people and they see and listen to the suffering of people more than the common person.
What they consistently say is they want to make it fair. They want to watchdog government and be the conduit to tell the masses what government is really doing to allow the general public to speak up with facts and not spin. They want to follow business not just as a conduit for information, but an analysis of what that means in a bigger picture. They see business not just as a money-making enterprise, but a key factor in our society. They want to report on things because they have an impact on you and I, and believe we have a right to know and speak back. They want to do right.
And that leads to my discouragement - and I believe the place where media is today.
Because for all the good intentions, journalists really don't have a choice. The top level of media will tell you it's about the readers. It's not. It's about the money. And fear of losing the money keeps journalists from being the best they can be, probably keeps them from even being good.
There is no such thing as objective reporting. It's performed by humans and they bring some level of themselves into every move. Being conscious of that truth helps them "do right" and avoid any bias, but it's there. Objectivity is even removed by what is covered and what is not. It's a purely subjective decision. It can be based on community knowledge and feedback, history and an understanding of a bigger picture of how individual events affect a bigger societal situation.
But I can't say that's why things are chosen for coverage or how they are covered. For some time now, those choices are greatly influenced by who advertises and puts their money into the business of journalism. It is transmitted into newsrooms by publication leaders who use their own agendas and have their ears filled with too many advertisers and too few ground level readers. To get a community consensus of need, it takes a village, not an executive committee. And when egos close ears to voices "down" the ladder and only open them to equal and up, it narrows the truth.
Those publication leaders will shout loudly that it's a business and that income is required to publish any news and pay all levels. But it's all about how decisions are made and the courage to believe truth has value to the many. Realtors may not like to hear that sales are down double-digit percentages, but if your publication has enough value and veracity and focuses on the things that really matter to the most people, those Realtors would still buy into your publication even if you admitted those double-digit numbers. And publications try not to go there many times. They don't lie, they just avoid the subject.
I still have enough faith in the general public to believe it sees that quick step and it is a key reason for the fading heartbeat of journalism.
The leading local publication has recently been criticized for its "wussification," fear to offend anyone with its writings. One-time subscribers are fleeing papers across the United States because as the content gets softer, simpler, less immediate and generally less analytical. Marketers will tell you surveys show readers say those are good attributes. If newspapers followed reader surveys, they would be dominated with comics and photos of topless women and dogs. Of course people say they like those things. People also say they like ice cream. But they need meat and potatoes to fuel themselves too.
There is a need for mass appeal papers in this world. There is a need - and a desire - for independent, non-advertiser influenced, gutsy reporting too. I think there's a generation who wants to provide such reporting, and they have peers who want to read it. But there's a generation with a grip on journalism which is in lock step with Countrywide Mortgage, AIG, and a big portion of Wall Street that has manipulated the system to grab quick profits without any view of a bigger picture.
It's a struggle that means a great deal to our society.
All together, it's left me both encouraged and discouraged. And even if your not a journalist yourself, it has a direct effect on you.
On the positive side are the journalists themselves. Most are young, in their 20s. This is almost a given anymore as the industry has viewed cost-cutting as eliminating anyone with much tenure and therefore a higher salary. Plus, it's a demanding business, putting a physical and emotional strain on people much more than most industries.
It's listening to those people that engenders hope. Journalists have always been odd characters. They quite often know that's what they'll be at a very young age. They are quickly reminded they'll never make much of a wage and they'll endure those previously noted challenges. And it doesn't deter them. Sometimes they'll say it's all they know how to do. I think that is their talent, hardwired into them somehow at a preschool age. But there's another common theme that seems to drive them all forward and sustain them. They say they want to change the world.
Despite some stereotyping, politically based screaming, they don't want to make it more liberal. The media isn't really liberal, it's cynical. Its members spend a lot of time with a much closer view of government and crime and life than the typical person. They see day-to-day city government move, they view with their own eyes gunshot and burned people and they see and listen to the suffering of people more than the common person.
What they consistently say is they want to make it fair. They want to watchdog government and be the conduit to tell the masses what government is really doing to allow the general public to speak up with facts and not spin. They want to follow business not just as a conduit for information, but an analysis of what that means in a bigger picture. They see business not just as a money-making enterprise, but a key factor in our society. They want to report on things because they have an impact on you and I, and believe we have a right to know and speak back. They want to do right.
And that leads to my discouragement - and I believe the place where media is today.
Because for all the good intentions, journalists really don't have a choice. The top level of media will tell you it's about the readers. It's not. It's about the money. And fear of losing the money keeps journalists from being the best they can be, probably keeps them from even being good.
There is no such thing as objective reporting. It's performed by humans and they bring some level of themselves into every move. Being conscious of that truth helps them "do right" and avoid any bias, but it's there. Objectivity is even removed by what is covered and what is not. It's a purely subjective decision. It can be based on community knowledge and feedback, history and an understanding of a bigger picture of how individual events affect a bigger societal situation.
But I can't say that's why things are chosen for coverage or how they are covered. For some time now, those choices are greatly influenced by who advertises and puts their money into the business of journalism. It is transmitted into newsrooms by publication leaders who use their own agendas and have their ears filled with too many advertisers and too few ground level readers. To get a community consensus of need, it takes a village, not an executive committee. And when egos close ears to voices "down" the ladder and only open them to equal and up, it narrows the truth.
Those publication leaders will shout loudly that it's a business and that income is required to publish any news and pay all levels. But it's all about how decisions are made and the courage to believe truth has value to the many. Realtors may not like to hear that sales are down double-digit percentages, but if your publication has enough value and veracity and focuses on the things that really matter to the most people, those Realtors would still buy into your publication even if you admitted those double-digit numbers. And publications try not to go there many times. They don't lie, they just avoid the subject.
I still have enough faith in the general public to believe it sees that quick step and it is a key reason for the fading heartbeat of journalism.
The leading local publication has recently been criticized for its "wussification," fear to offend anyone with its writings. One-time subscribers are fleeing papers across the United States because as the content gets softer, simpler, less immediate and generally less analytical. Marketers will tell you surveys show readers say those are good attributes. If newspapers followed reader surveys, they would be dominated with comics and photos of topless women and dogs. Of course people say they like those things. People also say they like ice cream. But they need meat and potatoes to fuel themselves too.
There is a need for mass appeal papers in this world. There is a need - and a desire - for independent, non-advertiser influenced, gutsy reporting too. I think there's a generation who wants to provide such reporting, and they have peers who want to read it. But there's a generation with a grip on journalism which is in lock step with Countrywide Mortgage, AIG, and a big portion of Wall Street that has manipulated the system to grab quick profits without any view of a bigger picture.
It's a struggle that means a great deal to our society.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
It never happened
I'm always amazed at people who hide from their past.
I'm not a proponent of living in the past. It's too easy to wallow around in the things that have happened before. You're reviewing things that you can't change and the result is you miss what's happening right now.
I can understand someone who puts a heinous crime behind them, for example. But what I don't really understand is those who take prior relationships they've had, or periods of their lives they now in retrospect wish had gone differently, and pretend they didn't exist.
My best friend questions why I try to maintain some type of communication with women with whom I've had relationships. His theory is that it's over and he moves on. I hope I too move on, but each of those people taught me a lesson and contributed to my view of relationships now. If I'm to be cognizant of a theory of relationships, I have to be aware of those lessons and histories. Most importantly, I have to recognize that even if there was poison in the water with those women, they had something in which I found value. I'd like to continue to enjoy that value in a more superficial and less personal way.
One such woman is a prime example. Despite a difficult division between us, she's kind enough now to participate in some level of communication. And she's strong enough to have boundaries, and express them. But one of her unexpressed boundaries seems to be ignoring that we ever had a period of intimacy or that she had a period of life around Austin. If it's brought up, she simply doesn't acknowledge it.
My observation is she regularly reinvents herself. Maybe she's searching for truth. But it seems to me embracing her history, mistakes and successes, gives her vision into who she is and helps her define what she wants to be.
For me, I have to realize that I'm a culmination. My most horrendous mistakes are not regretted. My losses aren't ignored. Because I have to see value in myself now, and that means I have to appreciate that all the negatives contributed to the current product.
I guess there is a thought that without a past, you can create something right now that might be good and fulfilling. But I can't see a person built in an instant with a wish upon a star. You have to toil and get muddy. Sometimes the construction will crumble and you'll take steps back. But when I look out from whatever vantage point I have now, I like to have a vision of the road traveled.
I'm not a proponent of living in the past. It's too easy to wallow around in the things that have happened before. You're reviewing things that you can't change and the result is you miss what's happening right now.
I can understand someone who puts a heinous crime behind them, for example. But what I don't really understand is those who take prior relationships they've had, or periods of their lives they now in retrospect wish had gone differently, and pretend they didn't exist.
My best friend questions why I try to maintain some type of communication with women with whom I've had relationships. His theory is that it's over and he moves on. I hope I too move on, but each of those people taught me a lesson and contributed to my view of relationships now. If I'm to be cognizant of a theory of relationships, I have to be aware of those lessons and histories. Most importantly, I have to recognize that even if there was poison in the water with those women, they had something in which I found value. I'd like to continue to enjoy that value in a more superficial and less personal way.
One such woman is a prime example. Despite a difficult division between us, she's kind enough now to participate in some level of communication. And she's strong enough to have boundaries, and express them. But one of her unexpressed boundaries seems to be ignoring that we ever had a period of intimacy or that she had a period of life around Austin. If it's brought up, she simply doesn't acknowledge it.
My observation is she regularly reinvents herself. Maybe she's searching for truth. But it seems to me embracing her history, mistakes and successes, gives her vision into who she is and helps her define what she wants to be.
For me, I have to realize that I'm a culmination. My most horrendous mistakes are not regretted. My losses aren't ignored. Because I have to see value in myself now, and that means I have to appreciate that all the negatives contributed to the current product.
I guess there is a thought that without a past, you can create something right now that might be good and fulfilling. But I can't see a person built in an instant with a wish upon a star. You have to toil and get muddy. Sometimes the construction will crumble and you'll take steps back. But when I look out from whatever vantage point I have now, I like to have a vision of the road traveled.
Friday, March 6, 2009
Don't let him see you
One of the cool things about a career in journalism is access. You quite often find yourself standing next to people almost everyone else only sees on television. That includes musicians. Usually newspapers only want some sort of review on a concert or maybe a report on the event some entertainers can create. A lot more goes on that you only catch with an all-access pass. These are some of my favorites to repeat. And repeat.
I was assigned to cover a stadium concert with Chicago and The Beach Boys. But my deadline was somewhere likely in the middle of the first set. It was kind of a small paper, so they asked me to "fake it." Without definition.
As I wondered around backstage pre-show, I noticed they'd taped Chicago's play list at different stage positions. So, I stole one. I could at least note favorites played, even if I didn't get to hear them.
But I needed as much from The Beach Boys. They had a dressing trailer behind the stage. So when they all stepped out to see the stage set up, I sneaked in.
And laid out along the tables inside was the longest trail of colorful pills and gleaming powders I'd ever encountered in my life. I decided getting caught could suggest pilfering more than a piece of paper, and split.
Another stadium concert, this time with Willie Nelson. Backstage was relaxed and gentle before the show. And as The Family as Willie calls them walked onstage, a jacket on one waved open and revealed half the biggest revolver I'd ever seen stuffed in the pants of one of the musicians. How he played and didn't think about something going off, I'd never guess.
A somewhat overly sentimental musician named Richard Marx (now a major producer, by the way) came to a smaller stadium, a high school football field. It was the kind of music 14-year-old girls and 50-year-old Moms can sway too. The band came out to do a sound check and crawled through a hit. And then broke into a Led Zepplin tune that was simply on fire. "Shit yeah," Marx said and went back to a trailer to blow dry his hair. The Zepplin tune didn't get into the show.
Michael Martin Murphy was perfecting a cowboy ballads show. I was the only person at the Florida paper who knew who he was, having already made my Austin affinity well known.
I'd had my wisdom teeth removed, but still soldiered on - with a head full of Vicodin for the pain. Murphy has a reputation for sometimes being prickly, but I was bulletproof. About all I remember was arguing with him about the merits of his latest Top 40 stuff versus the Cosmic Cowboy stuff I enjoyed. He endured me.
Arlo Guthrie holds an annual benefit concert in Florida for the Indian River that runs along the coast inside the barrier islands. This show was Arlo, Michael McDonald who'd just left the Doobie Brothers and solo act Don Henley after The Eagles.
Backstage was like a hippie fest, flowing dresses and lots of food and drink and some smoke floating around. But mostly it was comfortable. Arlo and McDonald standing around with anyone and everyone telling jokes.
Then, suddenly, it all changed. Everyone was sectioned off, plywood was put up from the back of the area to the stage creating a corridor. A limo pulled up. Seems Henley didn't want to be gazed upon as he mounted his throne.
Applied Materials used to hold concerts for employees and friends in the tech heyday. Once was the Go-Gos, for example. But another was Stevie Wonder.
I ran late and for some reason they locked the doors. I kept circling the Erwin Center until I found an open loading area and then just kept walking forward. About halfway there, someone finally stopped me and I identified myself as lost press. He shook his head and said to follow.
We stopped once to review the coast as clear and I realized the room he'd stashed me in was the back up band. They filtered out and my guide retrieved me. We moved into semi-darkness and I realized we were backstage Erwin.
We came upon a group of people and the guide stopped me with a strong grip on my arm and gave me a shush sign. "Let's pray," someone said. It was the band doing a pre-show prayer. The guy next to me began the prayer and the voice suddenly struck me - it was Stevie Wonder. They broke and moved on stage and we to the wings. "That was close," my guide said. "If Stevie had seen you, he'd have been pissed." I just looked at him and let him think it through.
I was assigned to cover a stadium concert with Chicago and The Beach Boys. But my deadline was somewhere likely in the middle of the first set. It was kind of a small paper, so they asked me to "fake it." Without definition.
As I wondered around backstage pre-show, I noticed they'd taped Chicago's play list at different stage positions. So, I stole one. I could at least note favorites played, even if I didn't get to hear them.
But I needed as much from The Beach Boys. They had a dressing trailer behind the stage. So when they all stepped out to see the stage set up, I sneaked in.
And laid out along the tables inside was the longest trail of colorful pills and gleaming powders I'd ever encountered in my life. I decided getting caught could suggest pilfering more than a piece of paper, and split.
Another stadium concert, this time with Willie Nelson. Backstage was relaxed and gentle before the show. And as The Family as Willie calls them walked onstage, a jacket on one waved open and revealed half the biggest revolver I'd ever seen stuffed in the pants of one of the musicians. How he played and didn't think about something going off, I'd never guess.
A somewhat overly sentimental musician named Richard Marx (now a major producer, by the way) came to a smaller stadium, a high school football field. It was the kind of music 14-year-old girls and 50-year-old Moms can sway too. The band came out to do a sound check and crawled through a hit. And then broke into a Led Zepplin tune that was simply on fire. "Shit yeah," Marx said and went back to a trailer to blow dry his hair. The Zepplin tune didn't get into the show.
Michael Martin Murphy was perfecting a cowboy ballads show. I was the only person at the Florida paper who knew who he was, having already made my Austin affinity well known.
I'd had my wisdom teeth removed, but still soldiered on - with a head full of Vicodin for the pain. Murphy has a reputation for sometimes being prickly, but I was bulletproof. About all I remember was arguing with him about the merits of his latest Top 40 stuff versus the Cosmic Cowboy stuff I enjoyed. He endured me.
Arlo Guthrie holds an annual benefit concert in Florida for the Indian River that runs along the coast inside the barrier islands. This show was Arlo, Michael McDonald who'd just left the Doobie Brothers and solo act Don Henley after The Eagles.
Backstage was like a hippie fest, flowing dresses and lots of food and drink and some smoke floating around. But mostly it was comfortable. Arlo and McDonald standing around with anyone and everyone telling jokes.
Then, suddenly, it all changed. Everyone was sectioned off, plywood was put up from the back of the area to the stage creating a corridor. A limo pulled up. Seems Henley didn't want to be gazed upon as he mounted his throne.
Applied Materials used to hold concerts for employees and friends in the tech heyday. Once was the Go-Gos, for example. But another was Stevie Wonder.
I ran late and for some reason they locked the doors. I kept circling the Erwin Center until I found an open loading area and then just kept walking forward. About halfway there, someone finally stopped me and I identified myself as lost press. He shook his head and said to follow.
We stopped once to review the coast as clear and I realized the room he'd stashed me in was the back up band. They filtered out and my guide retrieved me. We moved into semi-darkness and I realized we were backstage Erwin.
We came upon a group of people and the guide stopped me with a strong grip on my arm and gave me a shush sign. "Let's pray," someone said. It was the band doing a pre-show prayer. The guy next to me began the prayer and the voice suddenly struck me - it was Stevie Wonder. They broke and moved on stage and we to the wings. "That was close," my guide said. "If Stevie had seen you, he'd have been pissed." I just looked at him and let him think it through.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Slow death of a simple pleasure
There was a bit of time when my life was so structured and I was somewhat isolated, so much so that my access to daily newspapers was very limited. It was then I realized how I had turned something once so basic in people's life into a comfort. And now I confront that comfort is slowly dying. Likely even committing suicide.
I'm not much of a morning person. My best transition into functionality is actually the processing of basic information, like that in a daily newspaper. Before anything else, I like to head back into a bed with the room now illuminated with morning light. Usually a cup of coffee before anything to eat. It is ritualistic, a review of the front page, followed by sports, then local, then national, completed by the comics. In about 30 minutes, the fog is shaken from my mind and I 'm in a relaxed state ready to face a day.
This doesn't come from a social journalism user either. I realized I'd be involved in newspapers when I was in the seventh grade, which would be about four decades ago. I've received paychecks from six different newspapers over time. Still, instead of seeing it completely as a business, it has remained a pleasure. A fading pleasure
Quickly, some reader is thinking, "ah, another Luddite (another generation's showing off instead of using old fogey) who just won't accept the world online."
It's not the same thing. An opened spread sheet takes you places a computer screen doesn't. Graphics catch you, headlines slip into your subconscious and give you some sense of subjects you'd otherwise miss and fact boxes may sneak information into your mind. Online forces you to click again and again to garner page views for sales purposes, while an open newspaper is like a gentle wave of information reaching you.
But I can tell I'll soon have no choice. In fact, I'm a good way there now. My hometown daily newspaper is simply mediocre. It always seems behind the times on developing issues and its breaking news is superficial. In totality, it only fills about 10 minutes to be done. I've long tried to augment my newspaper addiction with another from a major Texas city. But as the economy slips and business especially becomes more critical than social obligation, that paper too has cut back its efforts. Both papers have also greatly increased their cost, percentage-wise.
It's become a simple equation of cost versus return. Will I be foolish enough to pay more for less, even when the less is mediocre, in order to deal again with a semi-fulfilling experience?
I hope all those years of reading have helped me be more informed than that.
I'm not much of a morning person. My best transition into functionality is actually the processing of basic information, like that in a daily newspaper. Before anything else, I like to head back into a bed with the room now illuminated with morning light. Usually a cup of coffee before anything to eat. It is ritualistic, a review of the front page, followed by sports, then local, then national, completed by the comics. In about 30 minutes, the fog is shaken from my mind and I 'm in a relaxed state ready to face a day.
This doesn't come from a social journalism user either. I realized I'd be involved in newspapers when I was in the seventh grade, which would be about four decades ago. I've received paychecks from six different newspapers over time. Still, instead of seeing it completely as a business, it has remained a pleasure. A fading pleasure
Quickly, some reader is thinking, "ah, another Luddite (another generation's showing off instead of using old fogey) who just won't accept the world online."
It's not the same thing. An opened spread sheet takes you places a computer screen doesn't. Graphics catch you, headlines slip into your subconscious and give you some sense of subjects you'd otherwise miss and fact boxes may sneak information into your mind. Online forces you to click again and again to garner page views for sales purposes, while an open newspaper is like a gentle wave of information reaching you.
But I can tell I'll soon have no choice. In fact, I'm a good way there now. My hometown daily newspaper is simply mediocre. It always seems behind the times on developing issues and its breaking news is superficial. In totality, it only fills about 10 minutes to be done. I've long tried to augment my newspaper addiction with another from a major Texas city. But as the economy slips and business especially becomes more critical than social obligation, that paper too has cut back its efforts. Both papers have also greatly increased their cost, percentage-wise.
It's become a simple equation of cost versus return. Will I be foolish enough to pay more for less, even when the less is mediocre, in order to deal again with a semi-fulfilling experience?
I hope all those years of reading have helped me be more informed than that.
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