It's been a while since I've consistently blogged. A couple of people have mentioned it to me now, and say they enjoy reading this. It would have been a lot of the same old, same old. Being unemployed sucks. It still sucks, but like everything in life--or at least the way I experience it--it's always a roller coaster ride with continual ups and downs every day.
Yesterday I woke really bummed. It all came crashing down on me. And today? I was called in for an audition for a viral video, which I think is really cool to begin with, and I know I nailed the audition. Whether or not I'll get the part remains to be seen, but it's nice to know that I can actually do the work.
Just like I know I can write. I haven't been blogging because, along with looking for work and a job, I've been submitting to Trazzler. They've accepted a few of my stories, and hopefully some of those "user stories" will turn into Trazzler stories. (BTW, become a friend of mine on Trazzler. I think it will help my odds of getting freelance from them.) That's the plan, anyway. I honestly believe there are things in this world that make it better. Actually make the world a better place. And I think travel is one of those things. And if I can use my promotional writing talents and skills to induce people to go travel, then I don't think I'm doing such a bad thing. Someday--and hopefully that someday is sooner than later--Sue and I hope to travel around the world. Big dreams? I don't know. What's wrong with big dreams. If you shoot high, you may miss, but you'll still probably hit higher than if you aimed low.
And Sue and I are leaving for southern Spain and north Africa in three weeks. I was laying on our bed in our guest room, where you can look out the window and see the planes coming and out of Logan, and I thought to myself, what the heck are you doing lying here? Get moving. Decisions sometimes are made quick, and Sue and I can't wait. The economy can go to hell. I found a cheap flight out of JFK. We're taking the Fung Wah bus out of South Station to Chinatown. The subway to JFK. And I can live on fifty cent burritos. I know I can. I've done it.
And one more thing about Sue. God love her. Easter is Sunday. Some of her family is scheduled to come. It's still up in the air. My Kathryn is coming in tonight. I came home from my audition to find Sue here at the apartment on her lunch hour, vacuuming. She said she wanted the place nice for Kathryn. Now, we have a really crummy vacuum cleaner. So I told her if I got this part, we'll buy a new vacuum cleaner. One that works. Her response? She said, I'd rather have an amp. You gotta love a woman like that.
Showing posts with label blog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label blog. Show all posts
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Monday, April 2, 2007
The reason God made blogs and country music
Years ago a man was engaged to a woman, but today he and another man have been together for 18 years. Long ago, he didn't know he was gay. He probably didn't know what to feel, what he was supposed to feel.
One more reason for this blog. Just to let others know there's one more miserable human being out there...just doing the day-to-day, just doing the best he can, and sometimes that isn't very good.
Last week I was reading (in No Depression? American Songwriter?) about how depressing country music can be. And the really good country can be real wrist-slashing, I'm-going-to-hang-myself music. But, at least according to the article, the reason people listen to it isn't because they want to feel miserable, it's just the opposite: It's so they'll know they're not alone. When you're going through the miseries, you tend to feel completely alone. And it helps to know you're not.
So much of everyday life is stigmatized. So much of what we go through we hide through shame. God bless the person who isn't afraid to talk. God bless the person who isn't afraid to listen.
One more reason for this blog. Just to let others know there's one more miserable human being out there...just doing the day-to-day, just doing the best he can, and sometimes that isn't very good.
Last week I was reading (in No Depression? American Songwriter?) about how depressing country music can be. And the really good country can be real wrist-slashing, I'm-going-to-hang-myself music. But, at least according to the article, the reason people listen to it isn't because they want to feel miserable, it's just the opposite: It's so they'll know they're not alone. When you're going through the miseries, you tend to feel completely alone. And it helps to know you're not.
So much of everyday life is stigmatized. So much of what we go through we hide through shame. God bless the person who isn't afraid to talk. God bless the person who isn't afraid to listen.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Why blog?
Why blog? I think the bigger question is why post thoughts and opinions on the Web?
For 16 years I wrote op-ed columns for the MetroWest Daily News, a daily that covers the suburban towns west of Boston. My first column was written from a little cabin way north in Maine where I could get only one radio station on my car radio and that was from Canada, and the only newspaper was the Bangor Daily News from the previous day. The U.S was about to invade Iraq for the first time, and I wrote about forming an opinion without the aid of television commentators and analysts, the way Americans used to do it back when the front porch rocking chair, the barber shop, and the wood stove in the general store were our society’s CNN.
Since then I wrote about everything from politics to bird feeders. But I hit a point where I just felt I wasn’t doing a good enough job, where I wasn’t able to talk about exactly what was slowly eating me up inside. There was a point, right around the Clinton administration, where I started to notice that it was getting harder and harder to tell the difference between a Democrat and a Republican. I was getting older, crankier, and a bit morose, to tell the truth. I realized Clinton was someone I wouldn’t have hung out with in high school, and since then I felt myself moving farther and farther to the fringe of American politics, so today I can’t think of a single elected official who I feel stands for me and what I value.
Who am I? I’m a middle-aged man who has won and lost at love, had it easier than some and harder than others, been lucky at times, been successful at work and hit bottom and had to start all over. I’ve had dreams come true and some just fizzle. I’ve experienced the joys of my two daughters, and the grief of burying both my parents within the span of three years. Because of my Catholic upbringing, the practice of which I’ve since discarded, I stubbornly insist on the inherent good in all people despite what my eyes tell me almost daily. I believe in a Creator, simply because I see no proof otherwise. Those are the highlights, but frankly it’s the grey area in which I revel.
And, obviously, I’m a writer. I believe in sharing the experiences that we all have in this reality that we call life, feeling that we’re not alone in any of this, that we truly all are linked together somehow, and for the most part we’re all doing the very best we can, considering the circumstances. I believe we can learn from one another.
And being a writer, despite a growing cynicism that I think is simply a logical reaction to the world, I have this burning desire to write and get out what’s inside me. What eats me up. What gives me joy. What makes me smile, laugh, cry, and yell. It’s in the bible: Don’t hide your light under a bushel basket.
So that’s the reason for Action Bob Markle. Got a comment, compliment, gripe, or just feeling like shining your light a bit, leave a comment.
For 16 years I wrote op-ed columns for the MetroWest Daily News, a daily that covers the suburban towns west of Boston. My first column was written from a little cabin way north in Maine where I could get only one radio station on my car radio and that was from Canada, and the only newspaper was the Bangor Daily News from the previous day. The U.S was about to invade Iraq for the first time, and I wrote about forming an opinion without the aid of television commentators and analysts, the way Americans used to do it back when the front porch rocking chair, the barber shop, and the wood stove in the general store were our society’s CNN.
Since then I wrote about everything from politics to bird feeders. But I hit a point where I just felt I wasn’t doing a good enough job, where I wasn’t able to talk about exactly what was slowly eating me up inside. There was a point, right around the Clinton administration, where I started to notice that it was getting harder and harder to tell the difference between a Democrat and a Republican. I was getting older, crankier, and a bit morose, to tell the truth. I realized Clinton was someone I wouldn’t have hung out with in high school, and since then I felt myself moving farther and farther to the fringe of American politics, so today I can’t think of a single elected official who I feel stands for me and what I value.
Who am I? I’m a middle-aged man who has won and lost at love, had it easier than some and harder than others, been lucky at times, been successful at work and hit bottom and had to start all over. I’ve had dreams come true and some just fizzle. I’ve experienced the joys of my two daughters, and the grief of burying both my parents within the span of three years. Because of my Catholic upbringing, the practice of which I’ve since discarded, I stubbornly insist on the inherent good in all people despite what my eyes tell me almost daily. I believe in a Creator, simply because I see no proof otherwise. Those are the highlights, but frankly it’s the grey area in which I revel.
And, obviously, I’m a writer. I believe in sharing the experiences that we all have in this reality that we call life, feeling that we’re not alone in any of this, that we truly all are linked together somehow, and for the most part we’re all doing the very best we can, considering the circumstances. I believe we can learn from one another.
And being a writer, despite a growing cynicism that I think is simply a logical reaction to the world, I have this burning desire to write and get out what’s inside me. What eats me up. What gives me joy. What makes me smile, laugh, cry, and yell. It’s in the bible: Don’t hide your light under a bushel basket.
So that’s the reason for Action Bob Markle. Got a comment, compliment, gripe, or just feeling like shining your light a bit, leave a comment.
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