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This is my blog. I just went through a divorce; it was the worst thing that has yet to happen to me. This is me dealing with it and life. It's my blog; I write about what I want. I hope you enjoy. ** Images For Use By Upgraded+ Only ** The above was me about three years ago. It is the most up to date digital photo I have.
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| Well, I had another entry written for today, but after checking my comments sections and re-reading my post. It was an amazingly negative post; so, I feel a positive might be in order. Things have to stay balanced, or as the French say, "I surrender." Anywho, I have two stories fighting themselves out in my head. Well, actually three, but I am trying to sit on that last story idea. I think it can go nowhere when I have the time to sit down and write it. The other two seem to be cross polinating and might just have to become one story. How? I don't know yet. But, characters and plotlines are getting all tangled up, and my lovable bookstore owner and his date, the mysterious bibliophile with a heart of gold buried under a mountain of bosom, have their date end at a frat party where they both mysteriously disappear to be replaced by the King of Dorks! I really do love writing because I am better at creating flirting dialogue than actually flirting!  I guess it is like that quandry where you can give everyone advice but yourself. Or, it could be that my flirting energy needs someplace to go. I am not ready to be anything but friends with a gal right now, and I love to flirt. Let's face it, women are great, and when they are smiling, well, the world makes a little more sense. I may be a heartless corporate shill/warmonger/salsa dancer, but even I know that if the world made just a little more love, there would be a lot more jilted lovers in the world. But, at least, they would be too tired to do anything but sleep, and if they have eaten their vitamins, go for another roll.Which leads me to another question. When did lingerie become acceptable social attire? I am waiting to see a gal in just a bra and panties shopping at the Home Depot. The one yesterday that I saw wore shorts that had to have been painted on, and even though she wore a top, more of her bra was showing than the top. It was so disgusting I couldn't turn away. That old morbid curiousity struck me.  Okay, maybe not morbid curiosity...maybe a different kind of curiousity. And, in the interest of fairness, I wasn't the only one looking. The old guy in front of me turned his head and I heard the bones of his neck grinding. I am pretty sure he went to the hospital for whiplash immediately.I never thought I would utter the following sentence, but, dear God, put some clothes on woman. Leave a little to the imagination. I didn't know if I should turn away or break out my one dollar bills. The Home Depot is not a place to be soliciting men. Anyways, after my second lap dance, I told her to cover up! I am feeling strangely happy today. Tomorrow, I have to go to a wedding. I am dreading it. My cousin is getting married, and I am happy for him. But, my family is going to ask about my divorce and yada yada. Oh well, I am going to go, have a drink or two and then watch the free UFC tomorrow night on Spike TV. Plus, there are rumors that we are only a week or two away from overtime being turned back on. Yay!!! I might actually be able to have a social life outside of blogville. Life is strange, you know? I was devastated when they took away overtime. I really had to scramble to make sure that I avoided going negative every month. I was creative about my spending and ways to save money. I was able to budget in an amount for my favorite thing...dinner out. I found areas of my life where I was wasting money and cut them down. Now, that I have figured out how to survive without it, it comes back. Hopefully, it will last until my wife and I get things settled, and I sell the house. Okay, enough randomness for today. Happy thoughts to everyone, and big smiles from me! P.S. How about bugzy is baaaccck!!   getting around? She is dating like half the WDC, and making plans with the other half. Now, that is a hell of a social calendar. Way to go, studly! |
| Last night was the second session of my writing class. We had a short story by Hemingway for homework. Of course, everyone understood the symbolizism of the story but me. I missed the whole point of the story, and that is why I hate Literature courses. Of course, the professors always say there is no right or wrong to interpretting stories, but they make it obvious there is. I took this course for writing purposes, to help make me a better writer. Instead, we are reading and interpreting short stories. It is very demoralizing to sit there and know that you are the only person in the class not to understand what is going on. I just want to write, but instead, I have to start looking at stories as art and reflections of real life. That is fine if that is what you are into. It is not what I am into. I write stories to entertain myself and, hopefully, others. I don't write to show a spotlight on the human condition. So, I am wondering if that is what I have to do to pass this class. Will I be able to write my brand of fiction? Or should I just mindlessly imitate Hemingway or Marquez? 'Cause if I try to do that, I am going to write shit. Hemingway and Marquez wrote their own way, and they were/are geniuses at it. Me, I am just an engineer who can string a sentence together. I know we won't be graded against Hemingway or Zora Neale Hurston, but do I have to start putting symbols in my stories? Do I have to have a political message as the theme of my story? If so, I will fail. I cannot write that way without it sounding like gibberish. Signed, Frustrated and Stupid. Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| Last night was my first class in the language of France. It was rough. The teacher plunged right in, and we began speaking. I now have butchered that language. My apologies to the French; of course, now, that I am learning the language, I will have to learn to be rude to go with it. I do have to say that I was very disappointed that we didn't learn to say, "I surrender." I figured that since everyone knows them for that, we would learn it. Sadly we did not. I am sure that it will be coming our way before the end of the semester. I got partnered with a cute gal last night who is actually from Russia. She had a gymnast's build, and she was much better at the language than I. The class was more non-traditional (i.e. older) students than full time students. That made it fun; I wasn't the geezer in the class last night! Woo Hoo! All in all, my tongue was not meant for languages. I had a hard time forcing my mouth around the language. My tongue is meant for a language that is more instinctual that is best used in the dark to bring other languages from my amour. Have a great day! Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
So, I finished my first short story for class. It is 3,500 words (3,000 is the minimum). "Invalid Item"  is what came of it. I wrote it in four days, not including typing. It needs a lot of work. I have to polish it before it goes anywhere, but it is done!My biggest fear of this class has been that I wouldn't have a finished story. I am not known for finishing stories. I tend to get into the middle and realize that I have nowhere to go. I have a start and a planned finish with no way to get there. Then, while picking away at a solution, another story starts in my brain. So, I am really happy to have one finished. I already have two other stories fighting for dominance in my segmented brain, so I don't know if "Invalid Item" will make it to the class or not. It will depend on whether I can finish one of these other stories.I guess the professor's deadline helped me out. Maybe it was the story itself. It seemed to resolve its own problems. I just put words to the ideas that came from a dozen or so sources. Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| Today in America, we celebrate the worker. This is the day to honor all the effort put forth to bring this nation to the wealth it has. From the Union Worker who only does enough to get by, to the CEO who drives a company into the ground while getting paid more than the company earns, we salute you. For the white collar worker out there surfing the net for porn to the teenager at the drive thru who can never get your order right, America is pausing to say thanks. However, for this labor day, I would like to focus on my favorite type of worker. This is the guy (or gal) who tells you how many hours they work each and every day. This worker goes the extra mile to put in ten hours per day and wastes five of those hours telling everyone how much work they do. They complain that their wife, husband, gay lover and/or children complain that they work too much. But, it is all about climbing that corporate ladder so their kids can complain to them while wearing Abercrombie and Fitch. Sure, the wife complains that work intrudes too much on family life, but she gushes at the diamonds from Zales every Christmas, right? You work hard talking to your co-workers about all the hours you spend at the office. Sure, you spend so much time at the coffeemaker than the wall has an ass shaped indention that you fit perfectly into, but how would the economy survive without all the trips you make the candy machine. My hat is off to you. For the rest of the workforce out there, enjoy your day off. You deserve more time off, but remember those working in Iraq now. They don't get today off. Say a prayer for their safety, and tip your glass in respect for the work they are doing. Or if you don't support the work they are doing, tip your glass in respect for their courage. Remember, we have a volunteer army, and agree or disagree with what is going on, our soldiers need our support. And if you see a vet out there, take the time to say thank you for serving our country. It is through the sacrifice of others, that our lives have been shaped. Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| Yesterday, I read an article about epic fantasy novels as a vehicle of conservative politics. The premise was that fantasy is inherently conservative, and in the author's warped brain, conservative equals authoritarian. I have my problems with that, but the statements in the comments of his blog brought up the age old battle...art vs. the bestseller. It got me thinking. Genre fiction (and to a lesser extent, movies) tend to be either critically acclaimed or popular. Either the critics just adore the book or the public adores the book. I have not read too many books where both just love the work. Now, from my reading of the critical analysis of books, the critics want authors to break the chains and tropes of the genre to make a work of art that reflects on society at large. Art must inform and enlighten at all cost, including, it seems, story and truth. From the article, the author was criticizing another author, George R.R. Martin, who writes historical fantasy for using an authoritarian structure for his world. Now, the article's author fully admitted that he had only read one book in Mr. Martin's massive fantasy series. I have only read one book in the series, but to me, this doesn't make me well versed enough to criticize a series for being authoritarian. However, the concept was that Mr. Martin's work was populist because it did not satirize an outdated method of governing that by today's standards is a poor way to rule. Because Mr. Martin's characters acted as people actually did during the War of the Roses, he was not an artist. However, Mr. Martin's books are considered heavyweights in the fantasy sales world. So, if all things (i.e. money) were equal, would you rather be critically acclaimed or popular? Personally, I derive a lot of joy from reading. I could read twenty hours a day if someone would pay me a salary similiar to my engineering job. It is an escape for me. It is fun; as such, I would rather be a bestseller than win awards. I would rather make a lot of people happy rather than confirm the ego's of the literary intellectuals. Normally, I would not be so blatantly anti-intellectual, but my experience with the elite of the literary world is that they use awards and reviews to distance themselves from John Q. Public. They went to college for literature; so, by God, they are going to use it to prove that they are more educated than the average reader. Fine, if a person's ego is that small, then more power to them. However, I write stories to entertain myself. Hopefully, they entertain others, too. Because bringing joy to another through my writing is much more important than a shiny plastic trophy sitting on my desk. Who brings more joy to the world? The Nobel prize winner for literature? Or Stephen King, who in a week has more of his work read than any Nobel prize winner does in a year? What do you write for? Are you an artist or a populist? My wishes for you are that you are the first Nobel prize winner who is also a bestseller. Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| Last night was my first class in short story writing. It was great. I know that I am going to love this class, and I will definitely gain something from it. The simple fact that there will be deadlines will help my writing so much. I have a hard time keeping a deadline that I set. Something always comes up that takes precedence, and I miss my self imposed deadline. I will have to speak up more in class, though. Participation is part of the grade; however, I need time to mull over my thoughts before I can respond accurately. Most of the people in the class are able to just say what they think. I need time to put my thoughts together before I have anything worth saying. Also, there are two people in the class who try to dominate every conversation with what they think and feel. Last night, we heard from them just as much as the teacher. People like that drive me crazy because it is like they are trying to teach the class. They think this so it must be. It is a pet peeve of mine because I believe that you don't always have to talk to lead; sometimes, you have to listen to others opinions and not try to control everything with what you think. Two of the ladies last night asked how writers like Stephen King can write what they do. They asked if there was something wrong with him because he could write that stuff. Ever hear of imagination? I will be interested to see their comments on my work because they both seem extremely sensitive. I wonder how they will rate my work, which will contain some violence. I wonder if they will perceive me as violent? Is Raymond Chandler violent because his detective stories involve murder? No, I don't think so. Most of my writing isn't autobiographical. Sure, parts of my life end up in the story, but the story isn't my life. I can imagine and create new situations. I don't really like autobiographical fiction all that much. Where does reality end and imagination begin? I am not smart enough to decipher the border. So, I stick with just plain old fiction. The course requires two completed stories by the end of the semester. This doesn't seem like much, but for someone who rarely completes a story, me, it sounds pretty daunting. However, I started my new story last night before class. It is a story about a man who is kidnapped and forced to fight in underground gladitorial events. I am shooting for six thousand words and hoping for three thousand. I have it laid out in my head, but now, I just got to get it on paper. I know that I am going to like this course, and I know that I will be a better writer at the end of it. The professor is a nice guy, who teaches in an easy, natural manner. Hopefully, I will get more than two finished stories out of this class. I am going to have to assert myself more in class and find my red pen for revision, but in the end, it will be more than worth it. Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| Last night was my first lesson in the language of France. Well, it should have been. However, classes do not start until today! Since I didn't know that, I went to the campus and waited two hours for class time. Then I waited another fifteen minutes for the teacher or any other students to show up. I, finally, proceeded on my way home. I was a little mad at myself for not verifying the start date of classes, but mistakes happen. When I walked in the door of my house a half hour later, the silence punched me in the gut. My heart cracked a little. I miss having someone to come home to. I have my cats, but their conversation is limited to Meow (Give me water), ME-OWWW (We're hungry) and PPPUUUURRRRRRRR (Lovin' the attention, Dad). However, I can't laugh with them at my mistakes. I am so lonely. Divorce is an emotional roller coaster. I feel like I am in long protracted mood swings between happy at being single, to being depressed that I have to waste money on an attorney, to anger at her for all the lies and disappointment with myself for overlooking a lot of her faults, namely the inability to work at our relationship. But all of these emotions pass upon writing out my feelings or doing a little housework. Loneliness, however, never goes away. The ironic thing is that a relationship would be a bad, bad thing now. It would be unfair to the other person. I would push her and me to get to that comfortable, married person part of life and miss the joy of getting there. I would love to date if I thought I could do in a fun, explorative manner, but I need to work on myself first. Tonight, I begin my classes in Short Story Writing. It is something that I am doing for me. I don't need or want anyone's approval; I just want to be a better writer. Writing has been part of the solution to keeping me sane after she walked. I never did write while we were married. I wrote before, and I wrote after. During, I never wrote anything. Why? Well, lots of reasons, mostly, it is my fault that I didn't stand up for what I thought was important...writing. It was a hobby to her, but she never saw that it is part of WHO I AM. Next time, I will make that clear with the person I choose to let into my life. Writing has helped me put words to my pain and my joy. It has dulled the edge of my anger and brought forth a comical side of me. It has added new, wonderful friends to my life from Texas to somewhere on a house boat to Europe. So, tonight, I take the next step in healing myself. It is scary to share my stories with people who I meet in person. The internet distance is much easier to share my work. However, I cannot wait. Writing is important to me, and tonight, I give a gift to myself. No matter how bad my stories are, no matter how evil and mean the criticism, no matter what anyone says about my dreams, I will be happy that I gave short stories a shot. I hope you, dear reader, are giving your dreams a chance. Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
| Sex was invented in the 1960's. Before that, I believe babies came about through kissing (if I remember my Leave it to Beaver). That is right. Sex, as we know it, was invented in the 1960's. Why else would they say that there was a sexual revolution during that decade? It couldn't be because the birth control pill was developed. Or it couldn't be because sex was more openly talked about than ever before. The sexual revolution, actually, got its start at the end of World War I. They didn't call it the Swinging 20's for nothing. Upon coming home from World War I, soldiers and the young of the country experienced a 'loosening' of moral standards. Drinking and dancing confirmed the age old suspicion that young folk are up to no good. But, the 1930's through the 1950's, also, saw a new form of puritanism. The country returned to a more conservative stance. However, the revolution was gathering steam as women gained financial independence. As the men went to World War II, the factories were experiencing a dearth of workers. The better half went to work and, much to everyone's shock, liked it. Then, the 1960's happened, and society has never been the same. The sexual revolution was at its tipping point. What caused the explosion is up for debate. Television was gaining prominence and helped spread the wonder of the Beatles. The development of the birth control pill provided reliable contraception, and the 1963 publication of the Feminine Mystique showed that women were not exactly happy as housewives and stay at home moms. This book made the statement that women were losing their identities in that of their families. The change that occurred does not seem to be in sexual behavior but in dialogue. People were admitting to one another that they had sex. The revolution kept revolving, and people, once, comfortable with talking about sex began to admit to...(Gasp)masturbation. Yes, that is true. Women were admitting to this, also. Conversation began to flow, and other topics, such as premarital sex, fantasies, pornography use and homosexuality began to become not so taboo. Behavior, it would seem, is hard to determine if it changed because no one talked about sex before then. However, after this revolution, behavior did change. Women became more aggressive in pursuing sexual forays. Women talk and joke about sex, and most television programs and movies touch on the subject in depth. A culture of one night stands have developed among women of the younger generation in continued pursuit of sexual independence from the domineering males. Males have never been happier. Grifter |
| Ahh, the 60's, this was a time when the youth of America asserted itself in politics. It was a time of free love, free drugs, a quagmire in Vietnam where a battle was not lost but a war was. It evokes images of tie dye shirts, civil rights and campus protests. Motown was founded; San Francisco had the summer of love, and the decade said goodbye with Woodstock, a concert that was a microcosm of the 60's itself. The music of that era still influences us today, and a resurgence of classic rock has been seen in schools (at least, around here in St. Louis). The culture of anti - authoritarianism has passed to a new youth today. These children of the children of peace live by the code of the age of aquarius. A few years ago, the hippie wannabe's staged a protest of the Iraq war on the campus of the University of Missouri - Rolla. If a snapshot had been taken, one could only tell that it wasn't the sixties because of the cellphones. Other than that, these protesters could have been transported from 40 years ago. From the hemp on their bodies to the hemp in their lungs, they carried signs with slogans to make Cheech and Chong weep. "Make love not war." Peace signs and mushrooms in flourescent colors abounded on their placards. However, peaceful protests passed onto more than just flower children. Protesting that protest was the Young Republican club. This club was supporting our troops and the families of 9/11. They actually had a place for donations to the survivors of that terrible tragedy. However, both protests were comical. For starters, protesting on the campus of an engineering college in the middle of Missouri is pointless. People wanted to go to class unharassed. Second, who protests a protest? And third, the antiwar protesters message got lost in the laughter of the students. Shouts of "take a shower" and "Narc!" from the passing student body showed that while the spirit of the sixties is still alive, its fashion is not. But this protest mentality is still evident in America. The political left of America shifted from the social engineering party of FDR to a loosely affiliated party of Reagan democrats, left of center everyday people, socialists, environmentalists, animal rights activists, feminists, humanists, aethists (sp?), gay/bisexual/transgender activists and other assorted -ists. Most prominent of the -ists are the journalists who believe they can influence and shape American policy, but that is thanks to Richard M. Nixon, not the 60's. The linking factor of the -ists are protests. The 60's generation showed that peaceful protests can change a nation. The nature of protesting has changed from Martin Luther King's march on Washington to the ACLU's legislating through the courts. However, some of the activists still practice protests, like People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. Other groups have gone corporate in their counter cultural revolutions. The Sierra Club has lobbyists; similiar to any evil, greedy corporation that is part of the military-industrial complex, whose entire being is dedicated to repressing sexual expression. The 1960's has a larger influence than protest as a form of political change; however, it is interesting to think of all of the politically left activities that took place during a Democratic presidential period that led the country to elect a Republican, Richard M. Nixon. As it is known now, Nixon went on to reinforce the counter culture of America's worries and apprehensions. But through the Vietnam War protests and Nixon's buffoonery, America prospered and came together. The country ho-hummed through Ford's administration and paid excessive inflation throughout the Carter reign. But left and right came together to elect an actor to the highest post in the land. In today's politically polarized America, looking at the past can show that in the future, this country can and will find a way through political division and confusion to a future that is better, where bell bottoms are still only cool after tripping acid. Grifter Courage doesn't roar. It's that quiet voice at the end of the day that whispers, "I will begin again, tomorrow." |
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