Sunday, July 18, 2010
My first published writing
6S held a contest recently to write a six-sentence story with the writing prompt "Who is the Mysterious Dr. Ramsey?" I submitted my six, and my story was selected to be in the print collection. It's on Amazon, if you care to check it out. That I can now say that I am a published author is quite surreal, and I'm digging it!
Kevin Smith I'm Not
The Six Sentences Social Network is hosting a Summer Film Festival, where participants are asked to create a short film - between 0:06 and 2:06 minutes in length - based on a six-sentence blog post. I made two videos for the competition:
My Analog Mind
and
Soulshine
This is my first attempt at video editing and I'm happy with the results, but I'm not looking to win any Oscars. I think I'll stick with written word for now, even though it sure was fun making those videos!
My Analog Mind
and
Soulshine
This is my first attempt at video editing and I'm happy with the results, but I'm not looking to win any Oscars. I think I'll stick with written word for now, even though it sure was fun making those videos!
Blue Ridge Reflections
Posted on the 6S Social Network 15Jul10
I started the day by taking a drive along the parkway: windows down, radio off, a full on thinking binge. I was lying on my back; now in the woods of the Blue Ridge Mountains on a crisp fall afternoon, utterly alone, looking at the multi-colored leaves resting peacefully in chaotic order on the ground. Jesus Christ, last week my kids were babies and now they’re grown, making their own babies. My eyes grew heavier, but I knew that if I went to sleep, I would lose the time, so I fought to keep them open, burning as they were. Clichés the only thoughts running through my mind: I should have spent more time at home with my kids and less time working...I should have taken more of an interest in my wife’s hobbies...what were her hobbies...Did she have any?Just before I closed my eyes for the last time, I looked over at the rattlesnake that I beat to a pulp and asked it, “What have we accomplished?”
I started the day by taking a drive along the parkway: windows down, radio off, a full on thinking binge. I was lying on my back; now in the woods of the Blue Ridge Mountains on a crisp fall afternoon, utterly alone, looking at the multi-colored leaves resting peacefully in chaotic order on the ground. Jesus Christ, last week my kids were babies and now they’re grown, making their own babies. My eyes grew heavier, but I knew that if I went to sleep, I would lose the time, so I fought to keep them open, burning as they were. Clichés the only thoughts running through my mind: I should have spent more time at home with my kids and less time working...I should have taken more of an interest in my wife’s hobbies...what were her hobbies...Did she have any?Just before I closed my eyes for the last time, I looked over at the rattlesnake that I beat to a pulp and asked it, “What have we accomplished?”
To Each Their Own
Posted on the 6S Social Network 11Jul10
If the world were blind, music would be the vision of beauty, not the catalyst for lust. Words would be spoken, not written; the first draft would be the final draft. If the world were deaf, music would be a manuscript, passed along from soul to soul, each deciding the rhythm and reason. Spoken inflections would be lost to time, the con-artist losing purchase. If the world were mute, words would be written with conviction, no explanation of why a sentence had to be written, only more useless words. "I love you" would come from proof, not from thin air.
If the world were blind, music would be the vision of beauty, not the catalyst for lust. Words would be spoken, not written; the first draft would be the final draft. If the world were deaf, music would be a manuscript, passed along from soul to soul, each deciding the rhythm and reason. Spoken inflections would be lost to time, the con-artist losing purchase. If the world were mute, words would be written with conviction, no explanation of why a sentence had to be written, only more useless words. "I love you" would come from proof, not from thin air.
Soulshine
Posted on the 6S Social Network 30Jun10
Over fifty years I've worked my fingers to the bone. Fifty-some years I've been saving, scrimping, making sure my family had what they needed, waiting for my rainy day. I've looked forward to the things that I would do in retirement for over half a century, once my kids were on their own. Stage four colorectal cancer the doctor tells me; chemotherapy, he says. I sit in this house all day, I'm still waiting on my rainy day; it looks like my rainy day wont get here until stage five. Son, don't wait for the clouds, they don't seem to care.
Over fifty years I've worked my fingers to the bone. Fifty-some years I've been saving, scrimping, making sure my family had what they needed, waiting for my rainy day. I've looked forward to the things that I would do in retirement for over half a century, once my kids were on their own. Stage four colorectal cancer the doctor tells me; chemotherapy, he says. I sit in this house all day, I'm still waiting on my rainy day; it looks like my rainy day wont get here until stage five. Son, don't wait for the clouds, they don't seem to care.
Hugo
Posted on the 6S Social Network 27Jun10
We were up all night listening to the wind howl, feeling the house shake, and collectively cringing each time we heard the trunk of a two foot thick pine snap, hoping that it wouldn't be the last thing that went through our minds. The noise was deafening, our silence more so. Our consistently sporadic eye contact took the place of words that would be lost in the gale; the dog, oh god we forgot our dog. The storm passed and we ventured out into a new world; at least a dozen pines that once stood tall in the yard were strewn about like fuzzy matchsticks, somehow none of them hit the house or our dog. Walking into the aftermath of a category four hurricane on a cool September morning was a surreal moment for everyone; there was destruction and disarray as far as the eye could see, but it was all washed clean by the torrents of rain and was utterly pine scented. It was beautiful chaos at rest.
We were up all night listening to the wind howl, feeling the house shake, and collectively cringing each time we heard the trunk of a two foot thick pine snap, hoping that it wouldn't be the last thing that went through our minds. The noise was deafening, our silence more so. Our consistently sporadic eye contact took the place of words that would be lost in the gale; the dog, oh god we forgot our dog. The storm passed and we ventured out into a new world; at least a dozen pines that once stood tall in the yard were strewn about like fuzzy matchsticks, somehow none of them hit the house or our dog. Walking into the aftermath of a category four hurricane on a cool September morning was a surreal moment for everyone; there was destruction and disarray as far as the eye could see, but it was all washed clean by the torrents of rain and was utterly pine scented. It was beautiful chaos at rest.
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Bittersweet Burden
Posted on the 6S Social Network 19Jun10
I was on the way home with the radio low and my subconscious high. A garbage truck was ahead of me driving slowly, smelling like political promises. A small plastic bag flew out of the back of the truck and floated for many seconds, due to the updraft of the hot midday asphalt. I found myself wondering where the bag came from, its origin: did it contain something that brought someone joy…hate…resentment...elation? Does that plastic bag have a story, or is it just a plastic bag? It was at that moment that I knew…I have no choice but to write
I was on the way home with the radio low and my subconscious high. A garbage truck was ahead of me driving slowly, smelling like political promises. A small plastic bag flew out of the back of the truck and floated for many seconds, due to the updraft of the hot midday asphalt. I found myself wondering where the bag came from, its origin: did it contain something that brought someone joy…hate…resentment...elation? Does that plastic bag have a story, or is it just a plastic bag? It was at that moment that I knew…I have no choice but to write
Thursday, May 20, 2010
...And to the Republic, For Which it Stands
I published this on GoAmericaProject 09Nov09
When asked the question “Can you name the form of government that is in place in the United States?” I would be willing to bet that a large portion of Americans would get the answer wrong. I contacted Gallup and Rasmussen via e-mail to ask if this poll had ever been conducted. I haven’t received a response from Rasmussen, and a representative from Gallup told me that they haven’t asked that particular question. I believe that the media’s attempt to skew our view for profit, along with silver-tongued politicians that tell us what our opinion should be, have made our knowledge of government fundamentals all but disappear.
The form of government that is in place in The United States of America is a republic, not a democracy. Article IV, Section IV of the Constitution of the United States reads: “The United States shall guarantee to every State in this Union a Republican Form of Government, and shall protect each of them against Invasion; and on Application of the Legislature, or of the Executive (when the Legislature cannot be convened), against domestic Violence.” And that’s the way we should keep it.
On November 30, 1928, the War Department issued Training Manual No. TM 2000-25, which was a manual that taught our young men in the Armed Forces the fundamental principals of government and culture. Training Manual No. TM 2000-25 (section 120) had very clear definitions for democracy, autocracy (which I will omit), and republic.
According to the training manual, a democracy:
- A government of the masses.
- Authority derived through mass meeting or any other form of "direct" expression.
- Results in mobocracy.
- Attitude toward property is communistic — negating property rights.
- Attitude toward law is that the will of the majority shall regulate, whether it be based upon deliberation or governed by passion, prejudice, and impulse, without restraint or regard to consequences.
- Results in demagogism, license, agitation, discontent, anarchy.
A republic:
- Authority is derived through the election by the people of public officials best fitted to represent them.
- Attitude toward property is respect for laws and individual rights, and a sensible economic procedure.
- Attitude toward law is the administration of justice in accord with fixed principles and established evidence, with a strict regard to consequences.
- A greater number of citizens and extent of territory may be brought within its compass.
- Avoids the dangerous extreme of either tyranny or mobocracy.
- Results in statesmanship, liberty, reason, justice, contentment, and progress.
- Is the "standard form" of government throughout the world.
- A republic is a form of government under a constitution which provides for the election of (1) an executive and (2) a legislative body, who working together in a representative capacity, have all the power of appointment, all power of legislation, all power to raise revenue and appropriate expenditures, and are required to create (3) a judiciary to pass upon the justice and legality of their governmental acts and to recognize (4) certain inherent individual rights.
- Take away any one or more of those four elements and you are drifting into autocracy. Add one or more to those four elements and you are drifting into democracy. — Atwood.
In short, a democracy is a form of government that is ruled solely by its people with no checks and/or balance. There are no personal rights unless you’re in the majority. A republic is a form of government that guarantees individual rights by keeping tyrannical masses under control through the rule of law. The rule of law, in our case is the Constitution of the United States.
The most widely used example that I have found to explain the difference between a republic and a democracy is a lynch mob. It’s a grim example, I know, but it fits perfectly. If a lynch mob, consisting of twelve people, want to hang a man for a crime that he may or may not have committed, thirteen votes will be cast on whether or not he should be hanged. The only “no” vote will come from the man that is swinging from the gallows. That is the rule of law under a democracy. Under a republic, the lynch mob brings the accused man to the police because it is illegal for them to be judge, jury, and executioner. The police see that the man has a fair trial, and a jury of twelve people have to unanimously pass down a guilty verdict in order for the man to be hanged.
The way in which the leader of the government is elected in a republic may seem similar to a democracy at first glance, but the structure of the electoral system is vastly different. In a democracy, the leader of the government is elected by popular vote; the person with the most votes will win the election. In the American Republic, we use a system called the Electoral College. When we cast our vote, we are advising our elected representatives on whom we would like to have elected. It is up to the elected official to cast the actual vote. More often than not, even with the Electoral College, the presidential candidate that receives the popular vote will win the election. In the history of the Electoral College, only four candidates who have received the popular vote have lost the presidential election, Bush-Gore in the 2000 Presidential Election being the most recent example. George W. Bush won 47.9% of the popular vote, while 48.4% of the voters were in favor of Al Gore. Bush received 271 electoral votes versus 266 electoral votes for Gore, therefore awarding the Presidency to George W. Bush. The Electoral College isn’t a perfect system, but it is the result of a compromise that was made by the Founding Fathers in order to ensure that neither the people nor the government would have complete control over presidential elections. I’ll have more on the Electoral College in a future post.
Democracies always break down over time, mainly due to human nature. The underachievers of a society will slowly elect more and more government to take care of them, while the achievers prefer to fend for themselves, and enjoy having the freedom to make their own decisions. As the government grows, the achievers of a democratic society get tired of seeing the rewards of their hard work going to support lazy, able-bodied people. It becomes more attractive for an achiever to become an underachiever because they can live nearly the same lifestyle without putting in long hours of work. Eventually, the majority of the people aren’t willing to support themselves, companies go under, and the government has complete control over every aspect of each individual, because the government has control over the wealth of the entire country.
The point of everything I have written so far is this: we need to educate ourselves instead of relying on a television news station to educate us. We need to educate our children instead of being satisfied with a passing report card. We need to take anything that a politician says as an invitation to dig deeper into the subjects at hand.
If people don’t know such a simple fundamental aspect, such as what form of government is in place in their own country, what else are they missing out on? If the majority of Americans can name every contestant ever to sing on American Idol, but can’t name their local and state representatives, we have a problem. Many politicians would love nothing more than to have complete government control over the country. If those politicians can convince people that Americans will be better off by having the government taking care of them, our republic will turn into a democracy over time.
When the Constitutional Convention adjourned in 1787, a woman walked up to Benjamin Franklin and asked him what form of government he had given us. Mr. Franklin replied “A republic ma’am, if you can keep it”.
Past Away
Posted on the 6S Social Network 07 Mar 10
He thought kicking the heroine addiction would be the hardest thing he
would ever do, until he had to deal with his family leaving him for
dead. Staring at a wave of indifferent faces every day, sleeping in
strange places every night without someone to assure him that tomorrow
would be a brighter day was far worse than stepping off of the junk.
Each time he felt the warm wisp of normalcy brush the nape of his neck,
he would turn to see a fleeting vision of hope, drenched in profundity
at its worst. Cynicism ever at the cusp of entering his mind, a
natural belief in love kept it at bay. Through hard learned lessons
and strong-willed determination, he found a family that allowed him
into their life; accepted him as one of their own. On his first day of
kindergarten, Lenny walked through the threshold of the classroom with
a paper sack in hand, head held high, and a broad smile across his five
year old face - ready to start the day.
He thought kicking the heroine addiction would be the hardest thing he
would ever do, until he had to deal with his family leaving him for
dead. Staring at a wave of indifferent faces every day, sleeping in
strange places every night without someone to assure him that tomorrow
would be a brighter day was far worse than stepping off of the junk.
Each time he felt the warm wisp of normalcy brush the nape of his neck,
he would turn to see a fleeting vision of hope, drenched in profundity
at its worst. Cynicism ever at the cusp of entering his mind, a
natural belief in love kept it at bay. Through hard learned lessons
and strong-willed determination, he found a family that allowed him
into their life; accepted him as one of their own. On his first day of
kindergarten, Lenny walked through the threshold of the classroom with
a paper sack in hand, head held high, and a broad smile across his five
year old face - ready to start the day.
Yellow Weed
Posted on the 6S Social Network 26 Feb 10
After being thrust into the wind by a child’s innocent breath, a gray-white seed was deposited by a water flow into a crack between layers of asphalt, where a dandelion began to grow. The seed did not ask, nor was it told, where is was bound; a small patch of processed rubber and tar, long since abandoned by its human creators, would be its home. The gray-white seed produced a green sprout which produced a yellow flower, which begat a spherical plume of gray-white seeds. The dandelion never questioned its origin, never envied the flowers that covered the grasslands, never pitied the sprouts that didn’t make it. When it was plucked from its hold in the earth, the dandelion allowed its seeds to be thrust into the wind by a child’s innocent breath before its bare green stalk was discarded, now useless. The dandelion never dwelled on adversity; adversity loves you not.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
In Luck With Love
Posted on the 6S Social Network 16Feb10
She never seemed to have any luck:The few men that flew through her life left her
with only one thing: her children. Children that depended solely
on her; a boy without a daddy; two girls that knew from an early age that men
were only good for two things: fighting and running away. She never relented, never faltered; she knew
that these children would be doomed if the thought of submission entered her
mind; one week, one day, one hour at the time.
There was no such thing as sacrifice, there was only necessity, duty and Love,
with a twist of inspiration. Day by
day, mouths were fed and wounds were kissed to speed up the recovery. luck was only for the unlucky; as long as
there was Love in the house, luck be damned…Love built this family.
She never seemed to have any luck:The few men that flew through her life left her
with only one thing: her children. Children that depended solely
on her; a boy without a daddy; two girls that knew from an early age that men
were only good for two things: fighting and running away. She never relented, never faltered; she knew
that these children would be doomed if the thought of submission entered her
mind; one week, one day, one hour at the time.
There was no such thing as sacrifice, there was only necessity, duty and Love,
with a twist of inspiration. Day by
day, mouths were fed and wounds were kissed to speed up the recovery. luck was only for the unlucky; as long as
there was Love in the house, luck be damned…Love built this family.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
The Great J of Yore
Posted on the 6S Social Network 11Feb10
In the grand scheme of life, every night befalls every morning light, until that one day. For my friend Jimmy, that night befell his last breath before his twenty-seventh birthday as he succumbed to his life-long struggle with diabetes. He wasn't the closest friend I have ever had, but he was more than just a pleasant acquaintance. As my grief from his death, more than three years ago, subsides, my mind generates only what seems to me to be bitter cliches. If you love someone, love them deeply and completely; if you hate someone, hate them ferociously and without remorse; no matter what you believe about anything, believe it until it hurts - make it true. There is never a tomorrow for any of us, only a pleasant surprise when we open our eyes against our most recent slumber...make it count.
In the grand scheme of life, every night befalls every morning light, until that one day. For my friend Jimmy, that night befell his last breath before his twenty-seventh birthday as he succumbed to his life-long struggle with diabetes. He wasn't the closest friend I have ever had, but he was more than just a pleasant acquaintance. As my grief from his death, more than three years ago, subsides, my mind generates only what seems to me to be bitter cliches. If you love someone, love them deeply and completely; if you hate someone, hate them ferociously and without remorse; no matter what you believe about anything, believe it until it hurts - make it true. There is never a tomorrow for any of us, only a pleasant surprise when we open our eyes against our most recent slumber...make it count.
Teacher
Posted on the 6S Social Network 11Feb10
He was out of place at this kind of party from the start, but she was a close friend and had asked him, so he would do his best to put on a smile and mingle with the shifty-eyed patrons. He stood in a semi-circle of men of varying age with varying degrees of facial hair as they talked shop, each of the men elegantly and politely stating that their job, their life, was more important than the next. As he tilted his expensive flute filled with expensive champagne up to his lips, one of the men seemed to notice him for the first time and asked him to what profession does he serve. He cleared his throat and replied "I'm a teacher at the public middle school". As the semi-circle gained it's composure, the inquisitor asked him what a middle-school teacher made; the semi-circle was silent, he had the floor. "A middle-school teacher makes do with what he is provided, and he stretches it as far as it will go, then he makes his personal budget razor thin in order that none of his kids ever goes without, then he gives a piece of his soul to each and every student to let them know that no matter what happens, they are loved; what I make, sir, is a difference."
-I wish I could claim that this was an original concept, but I can't. I heard the premise of this many years ago from somewhere, I wish I could remember where, and it stuck with me.
He was out of place at this kind of party from the start, but she was a close friend and had asked him, so he would do his best to put on a smile and mingle with the shifty-eyed patrons. He stood in a semi-circle of men of varying age with varying degrees of facial hair as they talked shop, each of the men elegantly and politely stating that their job, their life, was more important than the next. As he tilted his expensive flute filled with expensive champagne up to his lips, one of the men seemed to notice him for the first time and asked him to what profession does he serve. He cleared his throat and replied "I'm a teacher at the public middle school". As the semi-circle gained it's composure, the inquisitor asked him what a middle-school teacher made; the semi-circle was silent, he had the floor. "A middle-school teacher makes do with what he is provided, and he stretches it as far as it will go, then he makes his personal budget razor thin in order that none of his kids ever goes without, then he gives a piece of his soul to each and every student to let them know that no matter what happens, they are loved; what I make, sir, is a difference."
-I wish I could claim that this was an original concept, but I can't. I heard the premise of this many years ago from somewhere, I wish I could remember where, and it stuck with me.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
E.S.C
Posted on the 6S Social Network 2Feb10
When my son was a newborn, he had a fascination with my hands. He would wrap a brand new, soft hand around one of my calloused, scarred fingers and hold on. Each scar on my hands has its own story; not all are bad, but most are. I have used these hands to love and comfort; to mend and fix; to hurt and kill. His hands have not felt the sting of rejection, nor the joy of love; bone cracking from a well placed blow, nor the feel of a soft caress among lovers. When he holds my fingers, I hope that somehow he is learning from my mistakes so he wont repeat my life.
When my son was a newborn, he had a fascination with my hands. He would wrap a brand new, soft hand around one of my calloused, scarred fingers and hold on. Each scar on my hands has its own story; not all are bad, but most are. I have used these hands to love and comfort; to mend and fix; to hurt and kill. His hands have not felt the sting of rejection, nor the joy of love; bone cracking from a well placed blow, nor the feel of a soft caress among lovers. When he holds my fingers, I hope that somehow he is learning from my mistakes so he wont repeat my life.
Good Vibrations
Posted on the 6S Social Network 2Feb10
A young boy walked along a sidewalk, using his fingers to create clean lines on dirty glass. The vibration that was sent through his body from each slow step reinforced that thought in his mind. The thought that he is living life in small increments; a short burst of meaning between silent travels of time. He stopped, lifted his fingers from the dirty window, and inspected the filth that had accumulated. He looked back at the four lines that were cut into the dust, and he smiled. He looked forward, wiped his hand on his shirt, and ran.
A young boy walked along a sidewalk, using his fingers to create clean lines on dirty glass. The vibration that was sent through his body from each slow step reinforced that thought in his mind. The thought that he is living life in small increments; a short burst of meaning between silent travels of time. He stopped, lifted his fingers from the dirty window, and inspected the filth that had accumulated. He looked back at the four lines that were cut into the dust, and he smiled. He looked forward, wiped his hand on his shirt, and ran.
Hooked on Ferrets Worked for Me
Posted on the 6S Social Network 3Feb10
There are two professions that I know of in which the real world experience of the teacher means nothing to the student: teaching the ropes course of life to a teenager, and a kamikaze pilot. When my wife or I try to tell our one-month-until-I'm-thirteen year old daughter a valuable life lesson we've learned, it's like trying to teach string theory to a ferret; they look you in the eye at first, then they go and gnaw the strap button off of your 1974 Fender Stratocaster. We try to stress to her that the world is a wonderful place to live (because she has no choice) but the world can be treacherous if the wrong moves are made. There has to be some point in which a teenager turns into a human being. I thought about drawing upon my own teenage experience to set her straight, and then I remembered that I can't remember much of my teenage years. I was way too busy having way too much fun.
There are two professions that I know of in which the real world experience of the teacher means nothing to the student: teaching the ropes course of life to a teenager, and a kamikaze pilot. When my wife or I try to tell our one-month-until-I'm-thirteen year old daughter a valuable life lesson we've learned, it's like trying to teach string theory to a ferret; they look you in the eye at first, then they go and gnaw the strap button off of your 1974 Fender Stratocaster. We try to stress to her that the world is a wonderful place to live (because she has no choice) but the world can be treacherous if the wrong moves are made. There has to be some point in which a teenager turns into a human being. I thought about drawing upon my own teenage experience to set her straight, and then I remembered that I can't remember much of my teenage years. I was way too busy having way too much fun.
Horses?
Posted on the 6S Social Network 4Feb10
I lived in The Netherlands for a year in 1999-2000. I learned as much Dutch as my American tongue would allow before I moved there. When I started talking to Dutch people, I couldn't help but notice that they were giving me odd looks when they found out that I spoke only English. When a Dutch person would greet me, in Dutch, I would say, "Pardon?"...then came the odd look. I found out a little later that "paarden" (pronounced pardon) in Dutch means "horses". When someone would ask me, in Dutch, how I was doing, I was replying back, in Dutch, "horses".
I lived in The Netherlands for a year in 1999-2000. I learned as much Dutch as my American tongue would allow before I moved there. When I started talking to Dutch people, I couldn't help but notice that they were giving me odd looks when they found out that I spoke only English. When a Dutch person would greet me, in Dutch, I would say, "Pardon?"...then came the odd look. I found out a little later that "paarden" (pronounced pardon) in Dutch means "horses". When someone would ask me, in Dutch, how I was doing, I was replying back, in Dutch, "horses".
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