It's been a while since I have written an entry to this blog.
My story is the same: New technologies in my day job, new opportunities in my part time gigs, new deadlines in my supposed vocation ("Thomas, the deadline is Friday. The editor needs your MSS!") and old, repeat reminders that I need to upgrade ("Dad, when you are going to replace your flip phone?"). So the mental musings of this minor player in a minor Southern Capital, a minor cog in what may prove to be a minor machine in a minor corner of the Universe isn't too much of a priority. My vanity (or lack thereof) doesn't address that.
But today I had to write.
Last night at 7 PM, under a clear, warm Florida sky, I saw the full moon. Slightly above and to its left was (I think) Mars. Years ago, when I wanted to be an astronaut, I dreamed (dreamt?) of the day I would walk on their surfaces. According to the most conservative Science Fiction Classics, we were to be on Mars by now. So much for secular prophecy.
Still...there has to be a lesson in this. Perhaps by reaching for the outer planets or the stars, we will reach our closest neighbor. We already have. Perhaps by having B.H.A.G.s - Big, Hairy, Audacious Goals - we will reach some of the easier targets. Perhaps the act of simply reaching, working and striving will put us in a better place than at the beginning.
Yesterday I drove to and from work. Today I am biking. The beautiful nightscape that becons me will - at least for now - be the backdrop of the fitness program I have been neglecting over the last few weeks.
Weather permitting, look at the Moon tonight and let it inspire you!
Always B Positive!
Showing posts with label goals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label goals. Show all posts
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Spots
By day I am Clark Kent. But by night, I am...
....Actually, I am just Clark Kent without the suit. I specialize in doing what other people can't or won't do. Whether in media/stage production or making sure some pretentious know-nothing has the right wine or scaring little kids while wearing a mascot suit, I do it all. I like to think of myself as an opportunist; however, I am just a spotted hyena of the African plains, seeking opportunity.
For over ten years I was a teacher. With assignments ranging from Kindergarten through University I earned the derision of administrators who could not see past their next accreditation review or Friday night football game. Vision is in short supply these days. Yet my most rewarding years were spent in the midst of the Forgotten Ones: Juvenile Justice. I taught for over two years at a Residential Facility and one in an Alternative School.
These were the Statistics. The Rejects. They were told by the Establishment that they were Learning Disabled, which gave them justification for dropping out, chasing fast money, and abusing everyone in their paths. Some would return to public school. Some were waiting until their eighteenth birthday, whereupon they would be transferred to one of Florida's many Vice Factories and N-word Universities (a.k.a., prisons). But some had dreams.
He was a quiet young man. He was intelligent. He was probably middle class, but based on his street cred the other kids knew not to mess with him. In quiet, calm tones he said that he said he wanted to be a fire fighter.
Fast forward a few years. I was working as a drone in a bureaucracy that I hated. One day while walking through the basement (a short-cut to the back parking lot), I saw him; he was my coworker. He looked the same, albeit a bit more mature. We exchanged pleasantries, and he let me know that he still wanted to be a fireman. In this day and age of budget cuts I knew his dream was unlikely, yet I kept my doubts to myself.
"You'll get there!" I said.
I changed employers and have exchanged my cage for one far more interesting. Recently I went into a convenience store and there he was, all decked out in his firefighting gear. As serious as ever, he smiled. And I said that I was proud of him.
I have never seen a fire company with a dog, other than in Norman Rockwell paintings. But when I met my former student, I felt like I had exchanged my hyena's spots into those belonging to a much nobler creature: The Dalmation on the fire truck.
We rats have to race, always. But I believe we find the most satisfaction when we take time to encourage others.
Always B. Positive!
....Actually, I am just Clark Kent without the suit. I specialize in doing what other people can't or won't do. Whether in media/stage production or making sure some pretentious know-nothing has the right wine or scaring little kids while wearing a mascot suit, I do it all. I like to think of myself as an opportunist; however, I am just a spotted hyena of the African plains, seeking opportunity.
For over ten years I was a teacher. With assignments ranging from Kindergarten through University I earned the derision of administrators who could not see past their next accreditation review or Friday night football game. Vision is in short supply these days. Yet my most rewarding years were spent in the midst of the Forgotten Ones: Juvenile Justice. I taught for over two years at a Residential Facility and one in an Alternative School.
These were the Statistics. The Rejects. They were told by the Establishment that they were Learning Disabled, which gave them justification for dropping out, chasing fast money, and abusing everyone in their paths. Some would return to public school. Some were waiting until their eighteenth birthday, whereupon they would be transferred to one of Florida's many Vice Factories and N-word Universities (a.k.a., prisons). But some had dreams.
He was a quiet young man. He was intelligent. He was probably middle class, but based on his street cred the other kids knew not to mess with him. In quiet, calm tones he said that he said he wanted to be a fire fighter.
Fast forward a few years. I was working as a drone in a bureaucracy that I hated. One day while walking through the basement (a short-cut to the back parking lot), I saw him; he was my coworker. He looked the same, albeit a bit more mature. We exchanged pleasantries, and he let me know that he still wanted to be a fireman. In this day and age of budget cuts I knew his dream was unlikely, yet I kept my doubts to myself.
"You'll get there!" I said.
I changed employers and have exchanged my cage for one far more interesting. Recently I went into a convenience store and there he was, all decked out in his firefighting gear. As serious as ever, he smiled. And I said that I was proud of him.
I have never seen a fire company with a dog, other than in Norman Rockwell paintings. But when I met my former student, I felt like I had exchanged my hyena's spots into those belonging to a much nobler creature: The Dalmation on the fire truck.
We rats have to race, always. But I believe we find the most satisfaction when we take time to encourage others.
Always B. Positive!
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
The Call of the Dead and the Living
Have you ever received messages from The Dead and the Living?
I notice patterns, particularly those that parallel the very words spoken by people from my past.
The late Loften Mitchell was a Professor of Theatre at Binghamton University and was head of the Playwrights Program. Best known for writing the book to the musical BUBBLIN BROWN SUGAR, his writing covers original play scripts, librettos, short fiction and history. As a Harlem native, he knew writers such as John Oliver Killens and Langston Hughes. In fact, his oft repeated observation about the latter was that Mr. Hughes always seemed to be writing something, even as he sat in restaurants and bars.
A student (not me) once asked "How do you deal with writer's block?"
Mr. Mitchell plainly answered "There's no such thing as Writer's Block. There's only Time Block." From there, he explained that there will be things that pull one away from writing. He was emphatic about staying away from people who waste time. "All that matters is you and your typewriter" he said.
A few years later I was studying under yet another mentor, the late Stuart M. Kaminsky. In a brief exchange, I apologized for also working on a play script (I had barely made his deadline for a screenplay). He merely shrugged and said "Writing is Writing."
Last week during Morning Edition on NPR, I heard an interview with an award winning Florida State University professor. The author attributed his success to the "B.I.C. Method", which stands for "Butt In Chair."
More recently, I attended a workshop with the Tallahassee Author's Guild. A local author, Marilyn Griffith, conducted a 15 minute writing exercise which proved the very same thesis.
My challenges usually involve words on a page. Yours may involve other endeavors. I contend that we all receive messages from the past and messages from the present. Messages from both the dead and the living. They are nothing more than simple reminders of what we need to do.
The question is: Are we listening?
Always B Positive
Saturday, July 23, 2011
The Coming Purge
A while back, my wife commented that it would be nice to be able to fit her car in the garage. I asked her the most logical question:
"Where did you get the idea that garages were meant to hold cars?"
As usual, with a sense of humor that ranges between Ben Stein and an EKG flatline, she plainly answered "There's too much junk in here."
I have written many times before about clearing out the clutter in our lives. Whether it be bad habits, toxic people or "stank" attitudes, we each have the responsibility to cleanse ourselves of that which hinders us. Yet there is always the coming Purge, or the Sniper, as a former supervisor described it, wherein we will be forced to expel our toxins.
"Always look out for the Sniper" he would warn, speaking of the one person who can ruin an organization, wreck a plan, or destroy your life.
For our purposes today, the Sniper also controls the Purge valve, the piece of equipment that will force us to eliminate that which is unnecessary. On the most basic level, it might literally be the food poisoning that forces us to eliminate the food that we shouldn't have eaten in the first place. On a larger scale it might be the death of a loved one or even our own demise, either of which will force us to let go of the very essense of life. In between are all of the other accumulations, foibles and boat anchors easily pocketed or stored in the garages of our mind.
Personally, I don't like to wait until it "just happens"; I'd rather direct The Purge myself. The Sniper is within my crosshairs right now; once I dispatch him, I will wrest the Purge valve from his cold, dead hands, and will aim this weapon at myself. Then I will slowly turn the knob and will ride the torrent that will inevitably rush downstream.
In other words...I will have to make at least three trips to the junkyard!
Always B Positive!
"Where did you get the idea that garages were meant to hold cars?"
As usual, with a sense of humor that ranges between Ben Stein and an EKG flatline, she plainly answered "There's too much junk in here."
I have written many times before about clearing out the clutter in our lives. Whether it be bad habits, toxic people or "stank" attitudes, we each have the responsibility to cleanse ourselves of that which hinders us. Yet there is always the coming Purge, or the Sniper, as a former supervisor described it, wherein we will be forced to expel our toxins.
"Always look out for the Sniper" he would warn, speaking of the one person who can ruin an organization, wreck a plan, or destroy your life.
For our purposes today, the Sniper also controls the Purge valve, the piece of equipment that will force us to eliminate that which is unnecessary. On the most basic level, it might literally be the food poisoning that forces us to eliminate the food that we shouldn't have eaten in the first place. On a larger scale it might be the death of a loved one or even our own demise, either of which will force us to let go of the very essense of life. In between are all of the other accumulations, foibles and boat anchors easily pocketed or stored in the garages of our mind.
Personally, I don't like to wait until it "just happens"; I'd rather direct The Purge myself. The Sniper is within my crosshairs right now; once I dispatch him, I will wrest the Purge valve from his cold, dead hands, and will aim this weapon at myself. Then I will slowly turn the knob and will ride the torrent that will inevitably rush downstream.
In other words...I will have to make at least three trips to the junkyard!
Always B Positive!
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Prized Consolation
Today is the meeting of a local writers group, an assemblage of people with whom I have little in common. We hail from various backgrounds and geographical locations, and we have one objective: To motivate, encourage, hound, harrass and shame each other into finishing our respective works. Talk is cheap, and there are dozens of other writer groups that are filled with socialites, dowagers, Miss Daisies and pretenders. No, we try to be serious about our work.
A fateful phone call derailed my plans. On the other end was "the job". End of story; money is money. In this economy we hear: "Well, be thankful you have a job!" - and whoever says that is right. Yet I wonder if it is sensible to be thankful for the consolation prize.
The consolation prize is the lure of a reliable paycheck, instead of fulfilling the omnipresent dream.
The consolation prize is the item on sale - last years' model or last one in the bin - which is perfectly fine but not exactly what you need.
The consolation prize is settling down with someone who is "nice enough"; after all, he or she isn't a [fill in the blank________________: Abuser, druggie, alcoholic, cheater, murderer, etc.].
Society has taught us to be unrealistic, selfish and lazy. Life is work and anything worthwhile comes with a price. There is nothing wrong with choosing the consolation prize, as long as one seeks counsel and intelligently weighs the options. But as we continuously work out our tasks ranging from the mundane to the monumental, from the simple to Salvation, let us make sure that we are not simply settling due to lack of effort.
A fateful phone call derailed my plans. On the other end was "the job". End of story; money is money. In this economy we hear: "Well, be thankful you have a job!" - and whoever says that is right. Yet I wonder if it is sensible to be thankful for the consolation prize.
The consolation prize is the lure of a reliable paycheck, instead of fulfilling the omnipresent dream.
The consolation prize is the item on sale - last years' model or last one in the bin - which is perfectly fine but not exactly what you need.
The consolation prize is settling down with someone who is "nice enough"; after all, he or she isn't a [fill in the blank________________: Abuser, druggie, alcoholic, cheater, murderer, etc.].
Society has taught us to be unrealistic, selfish and lazy. Life is work and anything worthwhile comes with a price. There is nothing wrong with choosing the consolation prize, as long as one seeks counsel and intelligently weighs the options. But as we continuously work out our tasks ranging from the mundane to the monumental, from the simple to Salvation, let us make sure that we are not simply settling due to lack of effort.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Square One and a Half
I have nothing to write.
Tuesday finds me at this "dumb screen" (my Luddite wife's term) trying to find a way to procrastinate. I have other work to do: Yard work and household chores. I have washed the morning's dishes. Later on this week I will go back to work, to tackle the never-ending paperwork that lines the halls of bureaucracy.
Yet the ceaseless job of the wordsmith remains. I call this being back to square one and a half, wherein one has the resources, time and ability but no objective, no goal. Every realm of existence has this dilemma. Sometimes our tendency toward ritualism dulls us to the fact that our minds must be active, that our choices must be conscious, that our lives must be lived.
Between the last paragraph and current one, twenty four hours have passed. I decided to wash the exterior of our house, finish this week's yard work, clean the gutters, apply bug poison, and wash and fold three loads of clothes. Today will be easier. I want to pick at least two buckets of blackberries from out back (which my family members love to eat, even though none of them will help me pick. They say they are afraid of the snakes, the lazy bums!)
But once I am in, the ongoing work will remain: Drawing up a workshop syllabus; editing something that I allegedy finished; identifying my next project; moving beyond Square One and a Half.
Next stop for me (and hopefully you): Square Two!
Always B Positively Positive!
Tuesday finds me at this "dumb screen" (my Luddite wife's term) trying to find a way to procrastinate. I have other work to do: Yard work and household chores. I have washed the morning's dishes. Later on this week I will go back to work, to tackle the never-ending paperwork that lines the halls of bureaucracy.
Yet the ceaseless job of the wordsmith remains. I call this being back to square one and a half, wherein one has the resources, time and ability but no objective, no goal. Every realm of existence has this dilemma. Sometimes our tendency toward ritualism dulls us to the fact that our minds must be active, that our choices must be conscious, that our lives must be lived.
Between the last paragraph and current one, twenty four hours have passed. I decided to wash the exterior of our house, finish this week's yard work, clean the gutters, apply bug poison, and wash and fold three loads of clothes. Today will be easier. I want to pick at least two buckets of blackberries from out back (which my family members love to eat, even though none of them will help me pick. They say they are afraid of the snakes, the lazy bums!)
But once I am in, the ongoing work will remain: Drawing up a workshop syllabus; editing something that I allegedy finished; identifying my next project; moving beyond Square One and a Half.
Next stop for me (and hopefully you): Square Two!
Always B Positively Positive!
Friday, July 1, 2011
Nature vs Nature
He (or she) was sitting there, all googly-eyed and slimy, with no particular goal in mind other than to sun him (or her) - self. The only problem was that there was no sunlight to be gathered, only the off-white glow of flourescent lights and their infernal, nearly imperceptible humming. The frog sat on the edge of the toilet, the third one that had appeared recently, each one larger than the one preceding it. This one was light green, very large and very spotted. Weeks ago I flushed the first one. But with the second and now the third, I did the manly thing.
I called my daughter.
With a gloved hand she gingerly trapped the beastie, and gently let it back outside. I wonder if there is some sort of conspiracy or collusion behind my back, because an hour and a half later that same frog had hopped up onto my porch railing, and was looking at the house.
The other day, I stepped out my front door, and there was a snake. Not a moccasin or a rattler (which are common in this area); just a small black racer. I am not afraid of snakes, but I still jumped; anti-venon now costs up to $3000 a dose in this area, with the average number of doses being between 5 and 7, depending on the size and weight of the victim. Once again, I bolstered my masculinity and called my daughter. This time we shooed it away with a water hose. Naturally, my wife now wants me to reapply all of the liquids and powders around the house perimeter and stink up the garage with mothballs.
When I left New York years ago, I swore that as long as my mind is good, I would never live with rats and roaches. So far, so good. Meanwhile, I am surrounded by a veritable menagerie. Recently I got up in the middle of the night, opened a window and told a fox to shut up. She ran to another yard, taking her yelping with her.
Nature never quits. So why are humans so quick to give up on their most cherished goals and dreams?
Always B Positive!
I called my daughter.
With a gloved hand she gingerly trapped the beastie, and gently let it back outside. I wonder if there is some sort of conspiracy or collusion behind my back, because an hour and a half later that same frog had hopped up onto my porch railing, and was looking at the house.
The other day, I stepped out my front door, and there was a snake. Not a moccasin or a rattler (which are common in this area); just a small black racer. I am not afraid of snakes, but I still jumped; anti-venon now costs up to $3000 a dose in this area, with the average number of doses being between 5 and 7, depending on the size and weight of the victim. Once again, I bolstered my masculinity and called my daughter. This time we shooed it away with a water hose. Naturally, my wife now wants me to reapply all of the liquids and powders around the house perimeter and stink up the garage with mothballs.
When I left New York years ago, I swore that as long as my mind is good, I would never live with rats and roaches. So far, so good. Meanwhile, I am surrounded by a veritable menagerie. Recently I got up in the middle of the night, opened a window and told a fox to shut up. She ran to another yard, taking her yelping with her.
Nature never quits. So why are humans so quick to give up on their most cherished goals and dreams?
Always B Positive!
Monday, June 27, 2011
The Leer of the Omnipresent Sentinel
I talk to to him daily.
There is nothing Supernatural to him, although he is heavenly. He is always there, although his sweep regularly takes him to some unseen corner of the cyclorama that I share with the other 5 or 6 billion denizens of this insignificant piece of dust. His complexion shows the ravages of age, yet he regularly applies a thick coat of photonic makeup to hide his blemishes. In fact, sometimes he even hides his face behind a black cape, which he holds up in imitation of Zorro, Batman and so many other heroes and villians from my youth.
I once wanted to go to the moon.
Like so many others who visited the mid-1960's World's Fair and rides at Disney's parks, I believed that by now we would have regular, economical public flights to space. Obviously, we don't. Also, like so many Boomer youngsters, I once dreamt of being an astronaut. But that dream was dissolved quickly by my claustrophobia and easily acquired motion sickness. Still, I look up at my friend, The Man in The Moon, and wonder what could have been.
Orion the Hunter is another celestial friend, and he has given me an invitation to come see him. In fact, I'd love to visit one of the stars in his belt (incidentally, the same one pointed out by Captain Kirk (William Shatner) when he walked down the street with Edith Keeler (Joan Collins) in the Star Trek episode CITY ON THE EDGE OF TOMORROW).
Unfulfilled desires, unmet goals and dreams deferred leer at us, breathlessly awaiting our arrival...
There is nothing Supernatural to him, although he is heavenly. He is always there, although his sweep regularly takes him to some unseen corner of the cyclorama that I share with the other 5 or 6 billion denizens of this insignificant piece of dust. His complexion shows the ravages of age, yet he regularly applies a thick coat of photonic makeup to hide his blemishes. In fact, sometimes he even hides his face behind a black cape, which he holds up in imitation of Zorro, Batman and so many other heroes and villians from my youth.
I once wanted to go to the moon.
Like so many others who visited the mid-1960's World's Fair and rides at Disney's parks, I believed that by now we would have regular, economical public flights to space. Obviously, we don't. Also, like so many Boomer youngsters, I once dreamt of being an astronaut. But that dream was dissolved quickly by my claustrophobia and easily acquired motion sickness. Still, I look up at my friend, The Man in The Moon, and wonder what could have been.
Orion the Hunter is another celestial friend, and he has given me an invitation to come see him. In fact, I'd love to visit one of the stars in his belt (incidentally, the same one pointed out by Captain Kirk (William Shatner) when he walked down the street with Edith Keeler (Joan Collins) in the Star Trek episode CITY ON THE EDGE OF TOMORROW).
Unfulfilled desires, unmet goals and dreams deferred leer at us, breathlessly awaiting our arrival...
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Pitch...while you still can
Satchel Paige was a pitcher who started with the old Negro League, who later pitched for the Cleveland Indians in the majors. He was a colorful character, combining showmanship with a staggering arsenal of pitches. Like so many pioneers, his achievements contrasted with his personal struggles in life. Yet throughout it all, he worked as long as he could.
I used to play New York City stickball; unfortunately, that didn't translate very well into softball and baseball, as I later discovered. Still, I can throw accurately. For years, I was the one person who could dunk the guy in the booth at fairs and carnivals. Unfortunately, a combination of bad typing habits, wrong keyboard heights, multiple bumps on the "elbow knob", laptop wrangling and sleep contortions have created a lasting, dull pain in my right arm. Though fully functional, both forearm and shoulder silently scream with pain. I can barely use a fly swatter. Still, I continue to work.
I have a postcard featuring Satchel Paige. In it, his characteristic high kick and his broad smile cement his image as the master showman that he was. Across the top is the logo: Making my pitch.
Despite our collective pains, both physical and mental, and whether in sports, in life and in our endeavors, we all need to do the same. Lift that leg, swing that arm, aim for that strike zone.
Pitch.
Always B Positive
I used to play New York City stickball; unfortunately, that didn't translate very well into softball and baseball, as I later discovered. Still, I can throw accurately. For years, I was the one person who could dunk the guy in the booth at fairs and carnivals. Unfortunately, a combination of bad typing habits, wrong keyboard heights, multiple bumps on the "elbow knob", laptop wrangling and sleep contortions have created a lasting, dull pain in my right arm. Though fully functional, both forearm and shoulder silently scream with pain. I can barely use a fly swatter. Still, I continue to work.
I have a postcard featuring Satchel Paige. In it, his characteristic high kick and his broad smile cement his image as the master showman that he was. Across the top is the logo: Making my pitch.
Despite our collective pains, both physical and mental, and whether in sports, in life and in our endeavors, we all need to do the same. Lift that leg, swing that arm, aim for that strike zone.
Pitch.
Always B Positive
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Moving the Needle
By choice, my memory is fading.
Has this ever happened to you? You are walking through a public place and are nearly accosted by someone who recognizes you. You smile, respond with pleasantries, then inquire as to their well-being, all the while trying to recall their name.
Instead of being direct, you listen and scheme for ways to cleverly distill their name from the tens of thousands in your database. You offer this person your card, only to discover that neither of you have any. You exchange phone numbers and have them write it themselves, hoping that they'll add a name to the listing. You ask them to call your cell phone, hoping that they don't have their number set to ANONYMOUS. You offer them your email address, hoping that they will send a self-identifying message. The exchange ends with a handshake or a hug, and you separate with the other person's identity still unknown (at least to you).
I used to feel guilty about such exchanges. By choice, I only strive to remember things that stand out. Sadly, this includes people. This happens frequently during "Friend" requests in Social Media. Strangers and online trolls are easily detected and rejected. But what about the people whom you should know, especially the ones in your own graduating class? I have to be honest: Sometimes neither a name nor a face will cause the little red needle on my memory gauge to move.
That leads to a related question: Am I causing someone else's needle to move?
What are you doing - good or bad - that would stake a claim to that precious corner in someones memory? What are you going to do professionally? What are you going to do today? What are you doing right now?
B Positively Positive!
Has this ever happened to you? You are walking through a public place and are nearly accosted by someone who recognizes you. You smile, respond with pleasantries, then inquire as to their well-being, all the while trying to recall their name.
Instead of being direct, you listen and scheme for ways to cleverly distill their name from the tens of thousands in your database. You offer this person your card, only to discover that neither of you have any. You exchange phone numbers and have them write it themselves, hoping that they'll add a name to the listing. You ask them to call your cell phone, hoping that they don't have their number set to ANONYMOUS. You offer them your email address, hoping that they will send a self-identifying message. The exchange ends with a handshake or a hug, and you separate with the other person's identity still unknown (at least to you).
I used to feel guilty about such exchanges. By choice, I only strive to remember things that stand out. Sadly, this includes people. This happens frequently during "Friend" requests in Social Media. Strangers and online trolls are easily detected and rejected. But what about the people whom you should know, especially the ones in your own graduating class? I have to be honest: Sometimes neither a name nor a face will cause the little red needle on my memory gauge to move.
That leads to a related question: Am I causing someone else's needle to move?
What are you doing - good or bad - that would stake a claim to that precious corner in someones memory? What are you going to do professionally? What are you going to do today? What are you doing right now?
B Positively Positive!
Monday, June 6, 2011
How does your frog taste?
Someone once said that "if you have to swallow a frog, don't stare at it."
Recently I have taken on more than I can chew. I have ample time, but frankly, my heart is not into much of the volunteer work on my plate. When added with the Summer doldrums, the juggling of family tasks and the never ending quest for dollars, I find myself in a place too familiar.
I have a frog to eat.
Years ago, my father was into eating frogs' legs. These were disgusting looking drumsticks that were pre-cooked and propped up vertically under heat lamps in Brooklyn's Coney Island. While chewing on our Nathan's hot dogs and french fries, we recoiled at his vile choices. Years later I tried canned frogs' legs but never developed my father's penchant for amphibious appendages. Still, I tried it.
I am still eating frogs' legs, particularly when dealing with life. Only now, those legs have morphed into a large, living, warty beast that will spill its vile guts down my chin if I chew it slowly. Furthermore, if I don't eat it, it will eat me. Life will eat us if we don't choose to eat it first.
I choose to attack and enjoy life.
It is time to eat my frog.
How does your frog taste?
Recently I have taken on more than I can chew. I have ample time, but frankly, my heart is not into much of the volunteer work on my plate. When added with the Summer doldrums, the juggling of family tasks and the never ending quest for dollars, I find myself in a place too familiar.
I have a frog to eat.
Years ago, my father was into eating frogs' legs. These were disgusting looking drumsticks that were pre-cooked and propped up vertically under heat lamps in Brooklyn's Coney Island. While chewing on our Nathan's hot dogs and french fries, we recoiled at his vile choices. Years later I tried canned frogs' legs but never developed my father's penchant for amphibious appendages. Still, I tried it.
I am still eating frogs' legs, particularly when dealing with life. Only now, those legs have morphed into a large, living, warty beast that will spill its vile guts down my chin if I chew it slowly. Furthermore, if I don't eat it, it will eat me. Life will eat us if we don't choose to eat it first.
I choose to attack and enjoy life.
It is time to eat my frog.
How does your frog taste?
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
I hate commencements!
It is May, and our thoughts toward things endemic to this season (at least in this hemisphere): Spring, new life, romance, vacations and the dreaded rite of passage, the commencement.
I hate commencements. They are boring, hot, pointless exercises designed to satisfy friends and family. I have endured more than my share, having suffered through multiple events as a student, teacher, usher, volunteer or staff member at various schools. As students file in with their ill-fitting robes, I wonder if this is training for the lemming-like regimentation that is de rigueur for humans.
Almost always, the speakers are interchangeable. Their messages are usually the same. There are musical interludes ranging from the dignified to simply awful. Then there is the awarding or conferring of degrees, followed by the interminable handing out of diplomas. As I stand in the back and watch the Principal or President or Dean shake 5,000 hands, I can't help but wonder: How many of them used the toilet but afterward didn't wash?
As a parent, I must attend yet another dreaded graduation. But this time, I am going to claim it as my own. Since I know exactly what the speakers will say, I will bring my pad and pen and pretend to take notes. But in reality I will be planning. Planning for my own future. Writing down more goals. Perhaps eavesdropping on a conversation between two of my characters in some yet to be written script or story. Either way, I am going to use those wasted 90 minutes for something that I can put into action.
What about you? What are you going to do during and after your next boring meeting, training seminar, ceremony or commencement?
B Positively Positive!
I hate commencements. They are boring, hot, pointless exercises designed to satisfy friends and family. I have endured more than my share, having suffered through multiple events as a student, teacher, usher, volunteer or staff member at various schools. As students file in with their ill-fitting robes, I wonder if this is training for the lemming-like regimentation that is de rigueur for humans.
Almost always, the speakers are interchangeable. Their messages are usually the same. There are musical interludes ranging from the dignified to simply awful. Then there is the awarding or conferring of degrees, followed by the interminable handing out of diplomas. As I stand in the back and watch the Principal or President or Dean shake 5,000 hands, I can't help but wonder: How many of them used the toilet but afterward didn't wash?
As a parent, I must attend yet another dreaded graduation. But this time, I am going to claim it as my own. Since I know exactly what the speakers will say, I will bring my pad and pen and pretend to take notes. But in reality I will be planning. Planning for my own future. Writing down more goals. Perhaps eavesdropping on a conversation between two of my characters in some yet to be written script or story. Either way, I am going to use those wasted 90 minutes for something that I can put into action.
What about you? What are you going to do during and after your next boring meeting, training seminar, ceremony or commencement?
B Positively Positive!
Monday, May 30, 2011
Why do we remember the past but not the future?
Why do we remember the past but not the future?
This question is a quote from Stephen Hawking's A BRIEF HISTORY OF TIME, a book that I have had the privilege of reading twice.
...and both times I didn't understand a word of it.
Actually, I have a strong interest in thinking about things that challenge me. On this day - the Federally mandated Monday we use to celebrate Memorial Day - we must remember the people who sacrificed their lives in battle. No amount of present day malaise - nor historical analysis of this country's missteps - can negate the fact that someone believed in the future enough to give their lives.
Do you believe in the promise of the future? Are you taking steps to build your own future? What are you doing right now that can move you closer to your dreams? Are you surrounding yourself with people who encourage you? Do you even have dreams?
Stephen Hawking was commenting on the forward-flowing nature of time. Yet unintentionally he was issuing a challenge to us. Specifically, what do you remember about the future you are about to create?
B Positively Positive!
This question is a quote from Stephen Hawking's A BRIEF HISTORY OF TIME, a book that I have had the privilege of reading twice.
...and both times I didn't understand a word of it.
Actually, I have a strong interest in thinking about things that challenge me. On this day - the Federally mandated Monday we use to celebrate Memorial Day - we must remember the people who sacrificed their lives in battle. No amount of present day malaise - nor historical analysis of this country's missteps - can negate the fact that someone believed in the future enough to give their lives.
Do you believe in the promise of the future? Are you taking steps to build your own future? What are you doing right now that can move you closer to your dreams? Are you surrounding yourself with people who encourage you? Do you even have dreams?
Stephen Hawking was commenting on the forward-flowing nature of time. Yet unintentionally he was issuing a challenge to us. Specifically, what do you remember about the future you are about to create?
B Positively Positive!
Tuesday, March 29, 2011
The Twelfth Day
12 Days.
That is how long it has been since I decided to challenge myself.
In between then and now I have worked like a dog and tried to keep up with the extra things I do. One big casualty, however, was that I didn't reach my goal of 10 pages per day. My other writer friends laughed under their breaths, saying "That's a lot of work." They were right.
So what's my plan? I'm going to get back to work again, writing. After all, it is the 12th day. I think there is something magical about the number 12 in history and numerology: Twelve patriarchs, 12 tribes of Israel, 12 Apostles, 12 x 12 = 144, the number of cents I have in my pocket...
So here's a question for you: Since it's the 12th day, what are you going to do to get back on track?
Always B Positive!
That is how long it has been since I decided to challenge myself.
In between then and now I have worked like a dog and tried to keep up with the extra things I do. One big casualty, however, was that I didn't reach my goal of 10 pages per day. My other writer friends laughed under their breaths, saying "That's a lot of work." They were right.
So what's my plan? I'm going to get back to work again, writing. After all, it is the 12th day. I think there is something magical about the number 12 in history and numerology: Twelve patriarchs, 12 tribes of Israel, 12 Apostles, 12 x 12 = 144, the number of cents I have in my pocket...
So here's a question for you: Since it's the 12th day, what are you going to do to get back on track?
Always B Positive!
Friday, March 18, 2011
Have you squeezed every drop out of your lemon?
I did the St. Patrick's Day Hustle yesterday, and it still isn't over yet. Here's how it went:
Picked up oldest child from a theater set build at 12:30 AM. Back home to sleep for 3 1/2 hours. Got up at 4:15 AM to go in to work. Returned just before 12 Noon and filed paperwork. Went back to bed to sleep for another 2 or 3 hours. At 5 PM went to work the St. Patrick's Day bash at Floyd's Music Store. Was thankful that I brought earplugs. Bash ended at 2 AM. Drank a Red Bull. Helped cleanup until 5 AM then went home. Peeled off filthy clothes, took a shower. Stayed up and filed paperwork. Bid family goodbye (wife took kids to school at 7 AM). Went to bed. Got back up at Noon. Following up on possible concert, demo and media gigs, one of which starts tonight. Will run some errands...
So tell me...where do ten pages of writing fit in that picture? Since yesterday was a bust, I am behind. But I'll find time. I'm going to squeeze this figurative lemon rind until I get the last bit of juice. Then I am going to figuratively chew it up. In real life, although they are bitter, even lemon rinds have Vitamin C.
Have you squeezed every drop out of your lemon?
Picked up oldest child from a theater set build at 12:30 AM. Back home to sleep for 3 1/2 hours. Got up at 4:15 AM to go in to work. Returned just before 12 Noon and filed paperwork. Went back to bed to sleep for another 2 or 3 hours. At 5 PM went to work the St. Patrick's Day bash at Floyd's Music Store. Was thankful that I brought earplugs. Bash ended at 2 AM. Drank a Red Bull. Helped cleanup until 5 AM then went home. Peeled off filthy clothes, took a shower. Stayed up and filed paperwork. Bid family goodbye (wife took kids to school at 7 AM). Went to bed. Got back up at Noon. Following up on possible concert, demo and media gigs, one of which starts tonight. Will run some errands...
So tell me...where do ten pages of writing fit in that picture? Since yesterday was a bust, I am behind. But I'll find time. I'm going to squeeze this figurative lemon rind until I get the last bit of juice. Then I am going to figuratively chew it up. In real life, although they are bitter, even lemon rinds have Vitamin C.
Have you squeezed every drop out of your lemon?
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
St. Patrick's Hustle
I just got a call from a friend who does event planning and execution.
I had agreed already to help this person work his event, as I have in the past. My training is in the Performing Arts and Media, but I never turn down the opportunity to make an honest buck. Work is good for the soul, and in this economy you can't turn your nose up at any opportunities.
Still, this new call alerted me to two additional days on two other events. Keep in mind that I am still teaching. Keep in mind that I will be working during the day and that these special events will likely last until 2 AM and will include cleanup lasting until 4 AM. Keep in mind that I need to put my car in the shop on Friday. Keep in mind that I have this 30 day challenge to fulfill (see previous post). So what do you think my answer to my friend was...?
YES! As I wrote earlier...work is good for the soul.
Is there something that you can achieve, that will push you well out of your comfort zone?
Always B Positive!
I had agreed already to help this person work his event, as I have in the past. My training is in the Performing Arts and Media, but I never turn down the opportunity to make an honest buck. Work is good for the soul, and in this economy you can't turn your nose up at any opportunities.
Still, this new call alerted me to two additional days on two other events. Keep in mind that I am still teaching. Keep in mind that I will be working during the day and that these special events will likely last until 2 AM and will include cleanup lasting until 4 AM. Keep in mind that I need to put my car in the shop on Friday. Keep in mind that I have this 30 day challenge to fulfill (see previous post). So what do you think my answer to my friend was...?
YES! As I wrote earlier...work is good for the soul.
Is there something that you can achieve, that will push you well out of your comfort zone?
Always B Positive!
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Famine, Then Feast
Famine, Then Feast.
Today I took part in a commercial shoot, a PSA for a well-known Social Service Organization. The cast and crew were an interesting group, made up of both locals and out-of-towners. I had the privilege to finally work with an associate who is now a friend.
Afterward, my friend and I ate lunch with the production at a nice downtown restaurant, and we shared a great deal of information, both biographical and professional. As it turns out, we each had bits of information that the other needed. Right now, I am acting on that information, following up on leads and other opportunities, all of which were supplied by my friend. Keep in mind that this has occurred at the end of a long professional "drought" for me. Already I've been booked in another project, and I'm trying to land a longer, out of town gig as well.
Sometimes I believe that the race is not won by the swift, but by those who endure until the end. If you are enduring your own "famine", are you thinking of giving up? Or are you looking ahead to the eventual "feast"?
Always B Positively Positive!
Today I took part in a commercial shoot, a PSA for a well-known Social Service Organization. The cast and crew were an interesting group, made up of both locals and out-of-towners. I had the privilege to finally work with an associate who is now a friend.
Afterward, my friend and I ate lunch with the production at a nice downtown restaurant, and we shared a great deal of information, both biographical and professional. As it turns out, we each had bits of information that the other needed. Right now, I am acting on that information, following up on leads and other opportunities, all of which were supplied by my friend. Keep in mind that this has occurred at the end of a long professional "drought" for me. Already I've been booked in another project, and I'm trying to land a longer, out of town gig as well.
Sometimes I believe that the race is not won by the swift, but by those who endure until the end. If you are enduring your own "famine", are you thinking of giving up? Or are you looking ahead to the eventual "feast"?
Always B Positively Positive!
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Early AM Decisions
I have to face the facts: I am a morning person.
Despite my goal setting rituals and tendency to write lists, I am more productive in the mornings, whether it is in regard to study, writing, housework, yard work, you name it. By the time late afternoon and evening roll around, I simply don't get as much done.
Maybe it is because I generally don't take naps. Maybe it is because I don't pop pills (even though I like a nice cup of coffee or Earl Grey tea). Maybe it is because I'm not ambitious. Whatever.
Paul Robeson is coming on now, singing of building new "Jerusalem". Since it's still morning, I think I'll get started on my own projects. What are you building this morning?
Positively Positive!
Despite my goal setting rituals and tendency to write lists, I am more productive in the mornings, whether it is in regard to study, writing, housework, yard work, you name it. By the time late afternoon and evening roll around, I simply don't get as much done.
Maybe it is because I generally don't take naps. Maybe it is because I don't pop pills (even though I like a nice cup of coffee or Earl Grey tea). Maybe it is because I'm not ambitious. Whatever.
Paul Robeson is coming on now, singing of building new "Jerusalem". Since it's still morning, I think I'll get started on my own projects. What are you building this morning?
Positively Positive!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)