Socialism and Clickbait

I don't really know what the big story is in the news right now, and, frankly, I'm not all that interested.  Well, I'm a little bit interested. I would like to know if any investigations are inching closer to desirable destinations, and if the forecast shows a warming trend to carry out this week on a slushy street high note. But I can find those things out pretty easily, and it's just not enough of a challenge.  I guess what I'm saying is that I need to go outside. Like, I really need to go outside. Really. Technically I've been outside over the past few days. I've even ventured out as far as several miles from my home and sanctuary. But it doesn't feel like I WENT outside or did anything to connect with the outdoor environment while I was doing so.  I treated it as a routine thing and managed to completely miss out on what the outside is all about, with its January nip and snowflakes falling and trees and grass rustling in the chilly winter breeze.  No

It wasn't exactly easy getting my butt to the keyboard and motivated to write, this very, extremely, lazy Sunday afternoon. But I'm here and I *might* have things to say about things, damnit.  Gawd knows I had time to attack the Exercise and give it its daily do. Indeed, I had an entire three-hour window in which to log in and start writing. Even with laundry and lunch and various other chores beckoning and distracting, there was still plenty of time to pour myself into the project and keep the hope alive.  Yep, it was there. But then the kiddo got home and legos were built and football was on and I lost myself (not unwillingly) in the melee that is suburban home life. Not necessarily unhappily, but lost nonetheless. But now I'm here, and things are starting to rattle in the brainpan. And perhaps it's time to get down to business and put some effort into this thing.  I've been thinking a bit about the Biden classified documents "scandal" (yawn) today and t

I'm whipping this up at faster than normal speed this Friday because I'm under a bit of a crunch. Well, it's a self-imposed crunch, but it's 'a crunching nonetheless.  And yes, it is a Friday. Not sure why I had to throw that out there, but it made sense at the time.  This is completely aimless. I'm trying to work up an idea, any idea, on the fly, but not one has yet to travel past the neurons and out the fingertips. There are the standards about current events and politics and culture and social media, but I feel like nothing is really inspiring my brain to turn. Well, it's spinning, but in no particular direction. Kind of woozy, actually.  I'm thinking it's time to put this Exercise into action, adapt it to something more focused and consequential. Should that be a book, a sincere attempt at a topical blog, a stab at short story/creative writing/publication/contest?  Whatever it is, it needs to be something more fulfilling than this. I'm just n

Dr. Bob has occasionally crossed my mind during this Quixotodian quest. This is not only due to the somewhat Quixotidian nature of his own misadventuring (this may be a bit of a stretch), but also the nature of the Dr. Bob project itself, something that began with "noble" intentions but ultimately ended as a grand display of folly and poor self-analysis, as evidenced by hindsight and whatnot.  I think back now not to that whole book-writing misadventure but to the very impetus of the Dr. Bob character, the point that Dr. Bob first emerged as an inkling of an idea. It all started in the basement of a university's student commons building, either before or after a late-night campus radio extravaganza hosted by another relatively unknown character (Johnny Normal aka myself). Regardless, Dr. Bob may never have taken shape were it not for the discovery of a thin blue rain jacket with the words "Dr. Bob" embroidered on the upper left flank, nipple-level, spawning not

One of the main reasons for this exercise is to build enough muscle memory to resist the inclination to laziness while strengthening the resolve to write consistently, enough to form a reflex or behavioral impulse that makes the inclination to cave to idleness and do nothing little more than a faint husk of a whimper.  Of course, the idea is that with just a little fortitude at the beginning, fortitude itself will no longer be necessary. After a few weeks or months or even a year, you won't have to conjure up the motivation or wherewithal to sit down and put something on paper, you worthless puke you. Say that three times really fast and you may be more inclined than ever to develop a massive brain bubble and explode into 3313 tiny pieces. But before I got way off track here and started getting pedagogical, I was going to make a point about muscle memory, and why on this MLK Day of all days, I wanted to explore the idea of firming up habits enough to make bad impulses an afterthoug

Is writing any fun? Is it really like oxygen, rejuvenating and cathartic and all (underlay with Southern twang)? Is it really something you want to return to, day after day, or is it more of a self-imposed burden, hammered on yourself for no other reason than you're slightly good at it and hope against hope that it pulls your name and reputation out of the ordinary and into something actually meaningful? I don't know. Sometimes it really does feel like a chore, if I'm being honest. It can be a drag to lug my lazy frame over to the rolling office seat and impel (compel?) the wheels to act. It can be really tough sometimes to come up with something worthy to write about, and to translate that into something I would want to read.  But on such days, at least until now, I've been able to make it happen, to maintain the habit and get something, anything, out there. Because developing the habit is important. It provides the foundation for something bigger, perhaps even a writi

 I sat down here at the desk with the full intention of diving into this blog and tackling something, anything, that would perhaps exercise the ol' noggin muscle and get the digits tappin.  What happened instead was a near-instant diversion of time and energy into social media, which quickly grabbed my attention, beat it into submission, and refused to let me go outside for a little fresh air for a full fucking hour. The fact that I'm sitting here now rap-a-tap-tapping something into the machine is still a bit confounding, as I have no real clue how I evaded my captor and made it here before today's time was completely pissed away into oblivion.  Social media is tedious and boring. Yet, it's so incredibly easy to get pulled and locked into the spiraling nightmare of owns and bitching and sanctimony and nothingness, that it's a wonder half the population hasn't simply short-circuited and keeled over. Well, maybe it has. Maybe the endless b-roll of gotcha video cl

I was thinking about what I'd write here just a few short hours ago. I had a few good writing prompts circling (circled by?) the wagons, and a decent train of thought to carry one or two of them to the finish line.  But, that inspiration came in the middle of another work day, and no sooner did I have something fairly concrete to focus on than those ideas began to swirl down the drain of cranial obscurity. I've also been so scatterbrained lately (lately?) that I guess any "good" idea I have at 930am is more than likely doomed to dissolve away by 1200pm anyway. Of course, it would've helped if I had jotted those ideas down, or if I were ever ever EVER in such a mind frame to transfer notions to paper exactly when they needed to be transferred.  Arrgh.  So here I am instead, scraping the depths of consciousness, trying to come up with anything to say on, well, anything. And I guess, for the most part, that has been the main driving mechanism of this exercise so far.

Would you rather write prose that cut like a knife, or gutted like a fish? It's a judgment call. I don't have the sharp tongue or piercing insight needed to extract that info from the imaginary reader's brain. All I can do is utilize cutting-edge analysis and slice up the data to pinpoint what I think would be a reasonably sound conclusion on the matter.  What is so special about counsels, anyway? It seems like they're handing them out like candy these days. Special counsels to investigate classified document removal. Special counsels to investigate riots and democratic ruin. Special counsels to create the appearance of fairness and placate an unplacatable group of foul tweezer-brain rubes. Tweezer-brain? So much of the country's last gasp of hope for actual fairness and justice and sanity and catharsis was already riding on the shoulders of a special counsel with a routine name and supposedly sharp teeth and justice-minded mentality to actually hold a real honest-t

I would like to say I'm above that sort of thing, and that I have the wherewithal and self-control to avoid debating with 7-year-olds on what constitutes a "real" dinner and what real movies are and why it's important to wear socks in the winter.  Yes, I would love to say that I'm an adult totally capable of managing my frustration and letting the children win. And I guess, for the most part, I am? But something inside me (stubbornness, ego, insecurity, whatever) sometimes just gives a little nudge that pushes me into Whoops! Land, where I suddenly find myself debating the physics of snowmen and the taste of noodles or why a green lego actually does work in that situation. And it's 'all bets are off' from there and off to the races with pull-out-my-hair discussions on why keeping yourself warm in arctic temps is actually a good thing if you want to stay alive, buddy. Which is ok. I won't lie. I'm certainly not that far removed from childhood (y

As of now, this exercise has been somewhat cathartic and not altogether unhelpful, providing a slow but consistent relief valve that has allowed me to vent some of the wackadoo ideas kicking around in my upper regions. I don't think I've yet experienced its full benefits or potential, but I imagine if I stick with this for a while, I may see something more positive or fruitful come to fruition.  It occurs to me that sticking with this sort of helps clear out the junk, the detritus that has accumulated and continues to litter my psyche and brain and whatever else I may tap into from time to time. Though sometimes this seems more like a chore than anything else, it's not altogether sloggish, which if you knew me at all is definitely a positive sign and something that portends progress (potentially) in the future.  In other words (whose words would they be?), this is turning out to not be nearly as difficult as I initially imagined it to be. Having largely given up on myself a

My sincerest apologies for missing yesterday's entry. Things got ahead of me and I fell behind.  The good news is that I did feel a pang of regret just before falling to sleep (well, just before checking Twitter, god help me), and I did have a brief inclination to jump out of bed and throw a few paragraphs together. Unfortunately, it was not enough to compel direct action. I wasted what little window I had reading part of a crappy novel and scrolling through shrieks on social media. It was not meant to be, as a voice in my head just decided to say.  So, my writing streak came to a close, following 8 days of adherence to something totally made up and hanging ever-loosely by the threadbearest of threads. I experienced the standard guilt but returned with hands full of gusto and eyes for the screen, ready to dive in and barrel through and come up with something, anything, that could possibly make up for my most egregious indiscretion and sin against man and god and the ghosts of my pa

 Ok. Time to get some keystrokes in before this day ends and my exercise in futility meets a disappointing but expected defeat.  I start doing this the day before the new year, and, so far, it hasn't been so bad. A few of these posts were somewhat dialed in. And while others were hideous attempts at translating thought into digestible content, others have been a little sustaining. So that's a win, I guess.  I don't know if I have what it takes to become a prolific writer. Probably way too late in the game for that. Hell, I probably can't become a consistent one. But at least I've made it eight days now and haven't wavered or thrown in the towel. Today pushed it a little bit. I'll admit it. But I plopped my aging ass into the chair and started writing. And I'm still writing. So, I don't think I'm doing too bad.  Writing about Dr. Bob and the deflated pirate truckers project awakened a few thoughts yesterday. It also pulled a few buried regrets out

 A few years ago, maybe longer, I decided I was for sure serious and real about getting my Dr. Bob fiction off the ground. Determined and re-energized (as much as I possibly could be), I decided to add new pages to the tale each day - an effort, much like this exercise - to build the habit and muscle memory needed to build (or salvage? repair?) a writing career and at least prove to myself that could put some of these good ideas swirling around in my head to work.  I plodded through and eventually worked my way up to 60 pages in Word (double spaced), adding page after page while also attempting to track new and existing characters, their arcs, story developments, scenery, etc. I had a good narrative in my head and however sloppily, the whole thing was kind of sort of coming together.  While the Dr. Bob idea wasn't 100% mine, my plan for adopting the unlovable loser/miscreant/anti-hero and creating a universe spawned almost entirely from my own neural pathways was kind of sort of ta

So, here we are at day 3(4) of the once-ignored Speaker vote, something that while an integral, Constitutionally-mandated procedure, has for the most part been the furthest thing from people's minds for what, decades now? Centuries? Admittedly, the spectacle of it all is intriguing (think: recurring car accident). No one has seen 10 rounds of Speaker votes in at least 3 lifetimes, and the repeated failure of Kevin McCarthy and the GOP to settle the loons down long enough to take the gavel hasn't gotten any less entertaining, at least for myself (and the tiresome pundit class, which believes it should dictate and direction discussion on all things Washington, and keeps succeeding, even in spite of itself).  I do enjoy watching McCarthy get embarrassed repeatedly, taking at least some of his comeuppance for tucking tail and being a groveling sycophant to the Captain SprayTan. Well, that, and for being generally spiteful and awful and amoral and spineless and just a terrible all-a

Sometimes I sit here, and this becomes a pretty cathartic exercise. I look forward to getting my thoughts out and experiencing the release that comes with that etc. etc.  But other times, maybe even most of the time, the act of writing quickly becomes a dead end and it feels like a chore, and I feel like I'm pushing myself to do something out of obligation... to myself. And that ain't good, right? But that's part of the exercise. Building up resistance to un-motivation and creating the callus needed to dull its impact. Ideally, over time, it becomes a habit or automatic and I actually need to do this so bad that it just happens as a matter of course. Then, I get it done. I'm able to write and write and write and soon enough, I'm writing enough and need it enough that it evolves into full-blown articles and essays and, dare I say it, something I've always kind of had the urge to create but never the willpower... a book.  And then the book gets developed and it

 Is there any debacle better than a Congressional Debacle? So many voices and heads and tails and didgeridoos yammering about the latest drama in the House and the laughingstock it is and will soon become. So many know-it-alls and know-nothings chattering away on social media and CNN about the GOP's missing link and what a mess they are and how they're once and for all headed into dead-end canyon to drown and suffer the final ignoble defeat that will finally signal the end of the party of trump and tax cuts and buffoonery performancism.  Yeah, I just made that last word up. I also made up the part about the end. Not how they're chirping about "the end of the GOP" and whatnot. They've been saying the party's over since 2006. Every time they say that I think a long-lost Bush son somewhere absentmindedly evacuates a growth that will inevitably become a newer, meaner version of Mitt Romney or Rick Santorum or one of the mutants now shrieking themselves to slee

 Yes, I spelled "sux" wrong. It may a bit cutesy, but I've got nothing to lose at this point.  I write for work. Well, I write fairly often as part of the job. The rest spills over into spreadsheet and task management territory. So, not as much writing as I probably need or like. But, there is some writing involved. Writing supposedly opened these doors; unfortunately, a bunch of other nonsense spilled out as soon it did.  What writing I do do (ha!) is centered on various marketing and branding topics, though if you do that type of writing for any amount of time, you soon realize that variety is sorely lacking. Digital marketing is even narrower, and you quickly come full circle and slam head-first into "adjacent" topics.  At first, you convince yourself that you aren't actually repeating yourself. But that in itself becomes a real struggle. You find that marketing concepts really just boil down to several time-tested basics. Digital marketers throw a bunch

Time to conjure up something special. Or, to simply get the fingers stretched out a bit and try to pull dormant ideas out of the dead zone... Do I have what it takes? I simply don't know. Up until now, it sure doesn't seem like it.  I can write, sure. I can put pen to paper and jot down nonsense. In complete sentences, no less. But I sincerely doubt I can do it on a consistent basis, or with any sort of direction or focus.  Writing something substantial or marketable? The thought makes me queasy. It requires work and determination, ideas I've run from my entire life. I really don't think I have what it takes.  Here I am, already questioning my ability to get the job done. But then, that's what this exercise is all about, right? Build a habit that becomes something more. That makes me a WRITER. That pulls me out of the funk kicking and screaming and becomes something that DEMANDS to be done. Only then will I have the wherewithal to actually accomplish something or wr