Yes, I'm switching blogs. For the last time. Maybe.
My new blog can be found at:
As Heraclitus said, "The only constant is change." Well, actually, Heraclitus never said exactly that -- not in so many words. He did say a lot of cool things about change, but I think it was Isaac Asimov who penned the catchy paradox version.
Anyway, for my latest ramblings, go to the new place. ;-)
Thursday, January 26, 2017
Saturday, November 12, 2016
What are your "non-negotiables"?
Below is a list of my non-negotiables, the things that for me are never okay and that I will never accept or condone:
- Racism
- Bigotry
- Sexism
- Misogyny
- Sexual assault
- Religious persecution
- Discrimination because of sexual orientation
- Bullying
- Cheating workers out of money they have earned
- Defrauding the poor and desperate
- Mocking the handicapped
- Disrespecting those who have suffered or died for this country
People tell me I should respect Donald Trump because he is President-elect, but how can I respect a man who has repeatedly demonstrated ALL of these things (not to mention arrogance, ignorance and shameless, bald-faced lying)? If I accept him, then I am tacitly accepting everything he's said and done -- and everything he has threatened to do as President.
All of us have to ask ourselves, in our heart of hearts, what is not negotiable for us.
I have.
All of us have to ask ourselves, in our heart of hearts, what is not negotiable for us.
I have.
Sunday, October 16, 2016
Show me a sign....
Perhaps the four most dangerous words in any language -- show me a sign. The few times I have been daring -- or desperate -- enough to utter them, a sign has been shown.
Take last week for example. For over a decade I have had a good job at a great company with an altruistic mission -- competitive pay, great benefits, talented and wonderful colleagues and friends. But while the bottom tiers of Maslow's hierarchy of needs were solid, the upper layers, particularly the pinnacle of self-actualization, had steadily been falling into disrepair. In fact, I was struggling daily to keep from losing my enthusiasm -- and I am a firm believer that without enthusiasm, nothing excellent ever emerges.
So in that vague space between wakefulness and sleep, when I tend to have a running dialog with my Higher Power, I found myself muttering, "If you have bigger plans for me, you are probably going to have to get me laid off, because I'm kinda stuck...."
And I promptly fell asleep.
When I arrived at the office the next day, I found I'd been invited to a cryptically titled meeting with my manager (Brief one-on-one) and I immediate thought to retract my request from the previous night -- but then I stopped. I said to myself, "It is what it is. If I'm supposed to be doing something else, then so be it..."
As promised, the meeting was brief: reduction in workforce, your position is eliminated, yada, yada, yada.
The first hour following the announcement was a definite downer as my mind totaled and re-totaled mortgage, rents, student loans, parent loans, and loans yet to come. But once the clacking of the imaginary adding machine began to fade, I could feel a load like a lead smock (like you wear at the dentist's office) being lifted. the clouds of pessimism parting, and two roads diverging in a yellow wood.
(Hey, cut me some slack on the self-indulgent purple prose -- I just got laid off, for Pete's sake! :-))
So that was the first sign. As if one were not enough, a second, even more unmistakable sign occurred, dispelling once and for all any lingering shadows of doubt.
I was asleep and my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I fumbled frantically to find my glasses, expecting as always the worst, some catastrophe or desperate plea from a frightened friend in need. I grabbed the phone, gazed at the screen. At first I thought it was a dream -- a mashup of two things I've been obsessed with for as long as I can remember. I sat up, blinked a few more times, squinted, and looked again.
It was not a dream.
It was a second sign.
Bob Dylan had won the Nobel Prize in Literature. :-)
Take last week for example. For over a decade I have had a good job at a great company with an altruistic mission -- competitive pay, great benefits, talented and wonderful colleagues and friends. But while the bottom tiers of Maslow's hierarchy of needs were solid, the upper layers, particularly the pinnacle of self-actualization, had steadily been falling into disrepair. In fact, I was struggling daily to keep from losing my enthusiasm -- and I am a firm believer that without enthusiasm, nothing excellent ever emerges.
So in that vague space between wakefulness and sleep, when I tend to have a running dialog with my Higher Power, I found myself muttering, "If you have bigger plans for me, you are probably going to have to get me laid off, because I'm kinda stuck...."
And I promptly fell asleep.
When I arrived at the office the next day, I found I'd been invited to a cryptically titled meeting with my manager (Brief one-on-one) and I immediate thought to retract my request from the previous night -- but then I stopped. I said to myself, "It is what it is. If I'm supposed to be doing something else, then so be it..."
As promised, the meeting was brief: reduction in workforce, your position is eliminated, yada, yada, yada.
The first hour following the announcement was a definite downer as my mind totaled and re-totaled mortgage, rents, student loans, parent loans, and loans yet to come. But once the clacking of the imaginary adding machine began to fade, I could feel a load like a lead smock (like you wear at the dentist's office) being lifted. the clouds of pessimism parting, and two roads diverging in a yellow wood.
(Hey, cut me some slack on the self-indulgent purple prose -- I just got laid off, for Pete's sake! :-))
So that was the first sign. As if one were not enough, a second, even more unmistakable sign occurred, dispelling once and for all any lingering shadows of doubt.
I was asleep and my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I fumbled frantically to find my glasses, expecting as always the worst, some catastrophe or desperate plea from a frightened friend in need. I grabbed the phone, gazed at the screen. At first I thought it was a dream -- a mashup of two things I've been obsessed with for as long as I can remember. I sat up, blinked a few more times, squinted, and looked again.
It was not a dream.
It was a second sign.
Bob Dylan had won the Nobel Prize in Literature. :-)
Tuesday, September 20, 2016
"Didn't you use to write fiction?"
Okay, okay. So I've wandered astray of late. Alright, of late meaning the last few years....
I admit, I have been dabbling in a number of non-writing-related pursuits -- xiangqi (Chinese chess); Koine Greek; Hebrew; figure drawing and cartooning; brushing up on my Stoics, Taoists, Buddhists; studying the history of Hip Hop and learning to freestyle; rereading all my favorite poets; Italian wine regions and varietals; using Netflix to catch up on 20 years worth of missed TV.
You get the idea. Everything but writing.
What woke me up and propelled me back onto the path of literary prolificity? (Yes, I know prolificity is not a word. I am coining it. Just like prohodiation, meaning to do things today, rather than procrastinating and leaving them for tomorrow -- cras is Latin for tomorrow, hodie is Latin for today).
Hm, good question.
I keep having dreams in which Edgar Allan Poe and Ernest Hemingway stop their Greco-Roman wrestling just long enough to throw shade in my general direction, hurl an anathema or two, then roll back off to Elysium.
I don't know why, but the writing bug -- or in the short term, the editing/publishing bug (neither of which is resistant to antibiotics) -- has returned. It just has. So I guess I'll be saddling up, riding out of Dodge and galloping back onto the printed page.
SO LONESOME I COULD DIE will be the first to see the light of day, followed by a vast array of half-vast, unfinished projects that will have to battle it out for their seat on the down-bound train.
I know. You have questions. As do I.
Be patient. There's more to come. I promise to keep you posted. :-)
I admit, I have been dabbling in a number of non-writing-related pursuits -- xiangqi (Chinese chess); Koine Greek; Hebrew; figure drawing and cartooning; brushing up on my Stoics, Taoists, Buddhists; studying the history of Hip Hop and learning to freestyle; rereading all my favorite poets; Italian wine regions and varietals; using Netflix to catch up on 20 years worth of missed TV.
You get the idea. Everything but writing.
What woke me up and propelled me back onto the path of literary prolificity? (Yes, I know prolificity is not a word. I am coining it. Just like prohodiation, meaning to do things today, rather than procrastinating and leaving them for tomorrow -- cras is Latin for tomorrow, hodie is Latin for today).
Hm, good question.
I keep having dreams in which Edgar Allan Poe and Ernest Hemingway stop their Greco-Roman wrestling just long enough to throw shade in my general direction, hurl an anathema or two, then roll back off to Elysium.
I don't know why, but the writing bug -- or in the short term, the editing/publishing bug (neither of which is resistant to antibiotics) -- has returned. It just has. So I guess I'll be saddling up, riding out of Dodge and galloping back onto the printed page.
SO LONESOME I COULD DIE will be the first to see the light of day, followed by a vast array of half-vast, unfinished projects that will have to battle it out for their seat on the down-bound train.
I know. You have questions. As do I.
Be patient. There's more to come. I promise to keep you posted. :-)
Sunday, April 24, 2016
Friday, April 15, 2016
Greedy, Little Hands (The Ballad of Donald Trump) -- Lyrics
Greedy, Little Hands (The Ballad of Donald Trump)
by Jason Hunt
sung to the tune of "The Ballad of Jesse James")
VERSE
Donald Trump had a dad, who gave him all he had,
Money, a company and land
Sent him with a silver spoon to all the finest schools
That’s the way he became a self-made man
VERSE
Donald says he gets along with almost everyone
No matter rich or poor
He only mocks the handicapped, Muslims, Mexicans and
Blacks,
Women and prisoners of war
CHORUS
Donald is a man with greedy little hands
Who wanted to build a wall
So he built one out of hate, but it crumbled ‘neath the
weight
And it crushed Donald Trump in the fall
VERSE
If you’re standing ‘neath a tent at a Donald Trump event
You’d better be silent and still
‘Cause depending on your race someone might punch you in
the face
And Donald will pay their legal bills
CHORUS
Donald is a man with greedy little hands
Who wanted to build a wall
So he built one out of hate, but it crumbled ‘neath the
weight
And it crushed Donald Trump in the fall
CHORUS
Donald is an ass, a bully with no class
Who wanted to build a wall
So he built one out of hate, but it crumbled ‘neath the
weight
And it crushed Donald Trump in the fall
Greedy, Little Hands (The Ballad of Donald Trump)
Some followers of Donald Trump have gotten rather angry with about this song -- and in true Trumpian fashion have attacked me, my singing, even my poor, old Yamaha. But none of them have been able to point to anything in the song that is not, in fact, true.
You be the judge. :-)
You be the judge. :-)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)