Should Bristol Palin host a talk show? Should Danny DeVito play for the NY Knicks? Starting a blog with two questions indicates a certain lack of vitality. If one has things to say, why end with a question mark. And speaking of my writing temperature… I took my writing temp… or profile.. or analysis via a computer program called “I Write Like.” Try it for yourself! Here is the link (http://iwl.me/) The program asks you to paste in a few paragraphs of your writing and then tells you which famous writer you most resemble.
First time I showed up as Margaret Atwood, my prose correlated most closely to Ms. Atwood. Not a bad writer to be compared to and she’s very ecologically minded. Then I ran another writing sample of several paragraphs, through the computer and I correlated to Ian Fleming, of James Bond fame. That seemed a bit more masculine, you gotta love 007, at least I did back in the Sean Connery era. And I did read Fleming’s books in my teenage years and found Bond to be very compelling. Knew his guns, his liquor, his way around a woman. So that’s my starting point, Margaret Atwood and Ian Fleming.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Five Seconds of Fame (Jumbotron)
JT Diary (Sunday, Sept 26, 2010)
Went to UT football game. Team (our team- Texas Longhorns) seemed unfocused, not able to see the end zone. We sat in the usual seats, on the alumni end of the stadium. We get shade starting at about 2:00 PM and that’s not an accident. Generous alumni must not be submitted to the torture of the Texas mid-day sun. The stands got restless, some profanity was hurled at the officials… who else?... as things went from bad to worse on the field.
I got my biggest thrill by engaging in some texting from my seat. An outrageous blonde with big boobs pushing forth from a plunging neckline sat directly behind us. When I say plunging I’m talking about the stock market following dot.com bust or maybe, even better, the flash crash of a few months back—we’re talking jaw-dropping plunge here. She was part of a foursome, including a slightly more modest but equally attractive brunette. So, wouldn’t you know it… the stadium camera crew found our little enclave of fans for the first time in the history of the Jumbotron, the huge screen at the south end of the stadium. The screen towers the size of a building emitting images and ads and game play and fan shots for the entire ballgame. We were never on there before but the two outrageous babes got us there this Saturday.
Happy, with my white hair shining like a beacon on the side of an electronic wall, I texted a few folks about my elation. Turns out I texted about ten people more than intended. It was fun to get the response of people around the nation, many knew nothing about my attending the game. The electronic world with its powerful embrace, and full of frivolous chatter, seemed different to me. I had the stage, a microphone of sorts, and my buoyancy carried me outward to my own little audience. They responded in various ways—my nephew the UCLA grad enjoyed what was happening on the field with the downfall of mighty Texas, my family in New York seemed bemused, my high school buddy, a sports guy, seemed curious about the setting. One friend put it best: “Ah, the sweet satisfaction of fame, at last!”
Went to UT football game. Team (our team- Texas Longhorns) seemed unfocused, not able to see the end zone. We sat in the usual seats, on the alumni end of the stadium. We get shade starting at about 2:00 PM and that’s not an accident. Generous alumni must not be submitted to the torture of the Texas mid-day sun. The stands got restless, some profanity was hurled at the officials… who else?... as things went from bad to worse on the field.
I got my biggest thrill by engaging in some texting from my seat. An outrageous blonde with big boobs pushing forth from a plunging neckline sat directly behind us. When I say plunging I’m talking about the stock market following dot.com bust or maybe, even better, the flash crash of a few months back—we’re talking jaw-dropping plunge here. She was part of a foursome, including a slightly more modest but equally attractive brunette. So, wouldn’t you know it… the stadium camera crew found our little enclave of fans for the first time in the history of the Jumbotron, the huge screen at the south end of the stadium. The screen towers the size of a building emitting images and ads and game play and fan shots for the entire ballgame. We were never on there before but the two outrageous babes got us there this Saturday.
Happy, with my white hair shining like a beacon on the side of an electronic wall, I texted a few folks about my elation. Turns out I texted about ten people more than intended. It was fun to get the response of people around the nation, many knew nothing about my attending the game. The electronic world with its powerful embrace, and full of frivolous chatter, seemed different to me. I had the stage, a microphone of sorts, and my buoyancy carried me outward to my own little audience. They responded in various ways—my nephew the UCLA grad enjoyed what was happening on the field with the downfall of mighty Texas, my family in New York seemed bemused, my high school buddy, a sports guy, seemed curious about the setting. One friend put it best: “Ah, the sweet satisfaction of fame, at last!”
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Reality Hunter
Reality Hunter
Reality Hunter is my name. Finding reality is my game. I find it, I hunt it, I dominate it, I eat it for lunch….
Allen Ginsberg was a distant relative of mine… but as my dad like to say… “not distant enough.” Hey that’s not fair. Ginsberg is as much a part of realityas the next guy…. Or at least the next bearded homosexual, poetry reciting guy. Skepticism…
Are you a skeptic… skeptikos from the Greek… I think.
Then there’s always “I think, therefore I am…” or is I think and I blog but nobody cares… if a tree falls in a Chevy dealership… does it still qualify for a bailout.
What is life beyond a photo caption?
Or maybe life is the photo and writing is the caption?
Life is an indulgent exercise more than a paradigm shift… and what’s a paridigm other than twenty cents?
He makes his readers do Sure shit happens and when the shit gets bad enough a gag reflex happens… but don’t limit youself to sentence… go for stanzas. And don’t worry about brevity. Sure it’s the soul of wit… but if you are too brief.. things get exciting and dangerous. But least of all things is…, plagiarism.
Like James Frey and his “Million Little Pieces”of bullshit. Now that’s art… a man for the Internet age.. a MySpace page ... But don’t worry about originality and the hell with authorship. What kind of author drives a ship anyway?
Reality Hunter is my name. Finding reality is my game. I find it, I hunt it, I dominate it, I eat it for lunch….
Allen Ginsberg was a distant relative of mine… but as my dad like to say… “not distant enough.” Hey that’s not fair. Ginsberg is as much a part of realityas the next guy…. Or at least the next bearded homosexual, poetry reciting guy. Skepticism…
Are you a skeptic… skeptikos from the Greek… I think.
Then there’s always “I think, therefore I am…” or is I think and I blog but nobody cares… if a tree falls in a Chevy dealership… does it still qualify for a bailout.
What is life beyond a photo caption?
Or maybe life is the photo and writing is the caption?
Life is an indulgent exercise more than a paradigm shift… and what’s a paridigm other than twenty cents?
He makes his readers do Sure shit happens and when the shit gets bad enough a gag reflex happens… but don’t limit youself to sentence… go for stanzas. And don’t worry about brevity. Sure it’s the soul of wit… but if you are too brief.. things get exciting and dangerous. But least of all things is…, plagiarism.
Like James Frey and his “Million Little Pieces”of bullshit. Now that’s art… a man for the Internet age.. a MySpace page ... But don’t worry about originality and the hell with authorship. What kind of author drives a ship anyway?
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