Heading Back to Campus? Don't Screw It Up!

“Youth is wasted on the young,” George Bernard Shaw is quoted as saying, and never is that more clear to me than at this time of year when young people are headed back to college.  People told me that whole “best years of your life” thing all the time when I was starting college back in the late 1980s, but I just couldn't see it at the time.  To me, I was spending a lot of money I didn't have, to do a megaton of studying in a field that I wasn't even sure of at first.  I was torn between education, political science and journalism when I first started at the University of Maine in Orono in the fall of 1988, and while I was registered as an education major, the other two constantly sang their siren songs. 

College Life

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On top of it all, I was 18 idealistic years old, and wanted to be free.  High school was over, and it was time to find out who I was and what I believed.  Yet each morning, I woke up in a UMaine dormitory, more often than not put on a UMaine t-shirt or sweatshirt, and headed off for breakfast in a UMaine cafeteria, which I ate off a tray with the UMaine logo.  Then it was off to full days of UMaine classes, punctuated by study sessions at the UMaine library and other meals at a UMaine cafeteria.  To my young mind, this was vaguely cult-like, nothing like the freedom for which I yearned.

It’s not that I didn't like UMaine.  I really did.  I don’t think I would have felt differently if I had gone to school anywhere else.  And I fully understood that I was going to need a college education to get where I wanted to in the world, wherever that was.  The problem was, I wanted to get to that place in the world right now.

My sophomore year, I made some changes, transferring to the University of Maine at Presque Isle, and getting a living situation independent of school.  These things helped me feel a bit more of the freedom I thought I was yearning for, but they also set up a sort of emotional fence between me and school.  I kept my distance from almost all aspects of university life beyond academics.  College became like a drudge job for me: something you had to do and get over with so you could enjoy other things.  That outlook was a huge mistake on my part.

The college world is very different today than when I started back in 1988, but some things hold up no matter how much time passes.  If I could go back and give my freshman self some advice about starting college, I’d tell him/me these five things:

• Study.  It goes without saying that an education is what you are in college for (and what you are paying those steep tuition bills for), so taking your classwork seriously should be a top priority.  I’d qualify this, however.  I spent a LOT of time studying, but it was not necessarily the best use of my time.  Develop some study strategies, set aside regular times to study, and maybe even find a group with whom to study.  More is not necessarily better when it comes to studying, though.  Quality counts more than quantity.
• Diversify. College is a great time to broaden your horizons.  Take advantage of opportunities to get to know people who come from different ethnic, religious, and/or socioeconomic backgrounds than you.  Try listening to some different music.  Read different books.  Go to different movies.  Sample some different foods.  It’s a very big world out there.  This is the time to open your mind wide and check it all out. 
• Do active stuff.  Most likely, you are never going to be in better physical condition than you are in your late teens and early twenties.  Take advantage of that!  Ski, skate, run, hike, swim, dance!  This is the time in your life to climb mountains or ride your bike across the state during summer break.  Trust me, when you get older it will be a lot tougher to do these things.
• Take concrete steps toward your dreams. Okay, going to college is one example of this, but I am speaking about more specific things.  I recently read about a pair of siblings who spent their summer interning in Texas where they worked directly with wild tigers and bears.  They were over the moon with enthusiasm about their experience.  Keep your eyes open for internships, exchange programs, volunteer opportunities and similar things that give college kids the chance to start living life more fully.
• Get out there. These are the years when some of the best lifelong memories are made, and college usually provides ample opportunities do make them.  Go to concerts, lectures and sporting events on campus on a regular basis, and bring people with you.  Attend parties (responsibly!) and other social events.  Join groups and organizations that interest you.  Get involved in social causes that mean something to you.

During my own college years, I dreaded Labor Day Weekend and the whole back-to-college thing, due to faulty thinking on my part.  College was just work to me, a means to an end.  Getting a degree was something to get out of the way so life could really start.  Little did I know at the time that life had already started and I was letting some very important parts of it pass me by.

Now in my mid-40s and firmly ensconced in the world of work and middle age, I find myself envious of the young people I see on the roads in early September who have packed their stuff into cars in a physics-defying way, headed off to campus.  I just hope they see that it’s an adventure they’re on.  A really great one if you choose to make it that way.  Take it seriously, but never, ever forget to enjoy it!

Pray for Boston

"Phased" Out: A Post of Music and Me

I am a pretty consistent person in most aspects of my life.  Routine and structure are comforting to me.  On work days, I always wake up at 6:00, while on non-work days, it’s 7:30.  I have cold cereal for breakfast every day of the week except Sunday mornings, when I get all crazy and make French toast or waffles.  Every morning, it’s two cups of coffee for me, no more, no less.  Whenever I log onto the Internet, the first thing I do is check my e-mail, just like clockwork.  My days for serious writing are Saturday through Wednesday.  I fuel my car at the same service station in town, usually at the same pump, and often on the same day of the week.  Before falling asleep at night, I have to read something, at least for a few minutes, no matter how tired.  I've awakened more than once with drool on my Kindle.

None of these routines are set in stone, of course.  This is not obsessive-compulsive disorder.  I won’t sit behind the wheel and wait for pump #5 at the Shell station to come open if another one is available, for example.  (Well, I won’t wait for long.)  And if I am on a serious roll because the idea fairy has bludgeoned me over the head with inspiration, I will write on a Thursday or Friday.  But still, I have my preferences and try to stick to them.

One area of my life where routine and structure do not apply is in my musical taste.  With music, I go through phases, especially over the past couple of years.

I have been a huge fan of music ever since I can remember.  While I have always gravitated most strongly toward rock and pop, I've dabbled in country, jazz, and even classical to an extent.  Over the years, I've amassed quite a bit of musical knowledge and a decent-sized music collection as well.  Some people I know lament the absence of a physical product in today’s MP3 music files, but if I had to have a CD in the house for all the music I have these days, I’d be forced to live in my car and producers of that Hoarders reality TV show would be knocking at my door.  I collect music in the same way that other people collect Elvis memorabilia or paintings of kittens with big sad eyes, only less creepy. Much less creepy.

Source where you can buy this if you are so inclined. I'd have to cover it at night or whenever I ate if it were in my house.

Having so much music from which to choose and ridiculously easy access to it, I find that I have evolved into a tendency to go through phases, much like young kids often do with superheroes, dinosaurs or TV characters.  You parents who had to endure their toddler’s “Barney phase” know what I am talking about.  Some of you still have that nervous twitch you developed during that period.

The phases are kind of interesting.  I’m sure a psychologist could write a heck of a paper on them after a bit of analysis.  They began about five years ago.  Some might say I went over to the dark side then, when I got into modern country music for much of 2008-2009.  Kenny Chesney and Keith Urban were particular favorites.  Maybe it was a country with a “K” phase?  However, much like Darth Vader at the end of Return of the Jedi, I came back to the good side of the Force (rock music), and spent much of 2010 alternating between Stone Temple Pilots and the Eagles.  2011 was when I went through phases with the Foo Fighters, George Harrison, The Cars, and anything “unplugged” (a.k.a.-acoustic). 

At this time last year, I was musically reliving my twenties with lots of 1990s alternative and grunge, which narrowed itself to almost nothing other than Pearl Jam by spring.  In early summer, I had moved on to Nirvana, and that was followed by a kick for 1980s rock and pop, which is the stuff I listened to the most in my teens and is the bedrock of my music collection.  Fall brought on a mini-obsession with ZZ Top, followed by the Rolling Stones, and right now I cannot get enough of Led Zeppelin.  I wouldn’t be surprised if another Beatles jag was looming on my musical horizon too, since I often develop an intense interest in some aspect of their work every year or two around this time.

Looking at it now, the current trend seems to be one of going back further and further in time.  If the pattern continues, I’ll likely be rocking out to Thomas Edison’s wax cylinder recording of “Mary Had A Little Lamb” by the middle of 2014.

Even after a phase passes, I do not throw the artist on the trash heap.  I still listen to them, just not as intensely.  While Pearl Jam was last spring’s phase, I still click on Vitalogy or Ten from time to time.  Neither do I listen to the object of my current obsession exclusively during a phase, though they do tend to dominate.  In spite of my current Led Zeppelin phase, I just finished listening to an album by Fitz & the Tantrums, a current band specializing in retro-Philly soul style stuff.  (They are really good, by the way.  The link is to their album on Amazon. Highly recommended!)

I've discussed this tendency toward phases in my musical taste with some fellow music lovers of my generation, and they've noticed much the same in themselves.  In our conversations, we've all reached the same general conclusion: Since most of today’s music isn't really directed toward our demographic, we are mining the music of the past in hopes of unearthing some new nuggets that will set us on fire like music did when we were younger and “in the mainstream”.  It is one thing to listen to the Rolling Stones’ greatest hits over the years, but quite another to explore the contents of an entire album from earlier in their career that you've never heard, as I did with Let It Bleed last month.

On a wider scale, it gives those of us who are moving into middle age the hope that, while maybe there is nothing (or precious little) that is new under the sun these days, there are plenty of things, in music and in life, that have been around a while but that we just haven’t discovered yet.

Winter Wonderland Is Just The Worst Song Ever

Knee-deep in the Christmas season as we are, it is almost impossible to avoid holiday music.  It’s on television and radio, over public-address systems in businesses, and frequently being whistled, sung or hummed by people around us.  My own personal rule is no Christmas music until after December 1st, though after that point I will listen to and enjoy some Christmas tunes.  The Vince Guaraldi Trio, the Brian Setzer Orchestra and Bing Crosby are particular favorites of mine in the holiday genre.  Not only do they elevate my holiday mood, but their styles are quite different from the typical fare I listen to during the rest of the year (e.g.-grinding guitar-based rock), so it’s a refreshing, albeit temporary, change.

Yes, I am okay with Christmas music for the most part.  I can even tolerate some of the cheesier tunes like Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree and Holly Jolly Christmas in manageable doses.  However, there is one holiday song that will send me screaming into the hills as soon as it starts playing.  It’s a song that stands high atop the pile of the most ridiculous songs ever recorded.  A song that makes me yearn for something with a more pleasing sound to it, like a piano being fired from a cannon into a wall of Styrofoam.  That song is Winter Wonderland.  I just cannot stand it.

It's more of a Winter "It Makes You Wonder" Land, actually.

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There is no specific reason for why this song has gotten so far under my skin, but with every passing year it gets worse.  It could be that the lyrics are so incredibly hokey.  Maybe it is that the song romanticizes snow and winter weather in general, which can be the bane of our existence here in my part of the world from November until April.  It might be that the melody is one that gets in your mind and refuses to leave for hours.

HISTORY

According to that unimpeachable source of information Wikipedia, Winter Wonderland was written in 1934 by Felix Bernard and Richard B. Smith.  It is said that Smith wrote the lyrics while looking out the window of the sanitarium in which he was hospitalized for tuberculosis.  I suspect that he was under the influence of some kind of prescribed drug with unspecified mental side effects at the time, but have no proof other than the song itself, which ought to be enough.  Winter Wonderland has been recorded by more than 150 different artists.  Among the versions that would likely cause me to claw out my eardrums are those done by Ozzy Osbourne & Jessica Simpson, the Three Tenors, Billy Idol, and Radiohead.  It’s not even a Christmas song, really.  Nowhere is the holiday mentioned in the lyrics.

One of the hokier lyrics in the song involves a love-struck young couple building a snowman and fantasizing that it is a member of the clergy who will seal their relationship in holy matrimony. Surely you remember:

"In the meadow we can build a snowman,

then pretend that he is Parson Brown.

He'll say 'Are You Married?' We'll say 'No man,

but you can do the job while you're in town!'"

Seems to me that if you are goofy enough to think of something like that, then you are probably not of sound enough mind to get married anyway.  If you do take the plunge under those circumstances, you’d better get cracking on building two divorce lawyer snowmen pretty quick.

In 1953, the lyrics about having a hand-molded pile of crystalline water officiating at a ceremony initiating a lifelong commitment were considered by some to be inappropriate for children, likely by the same people who would later only allow Elvis to appear on TV from the waist up so as to protect America’s youth from those dangerous swiveling hips.  I mean, if we allow people to pretend inanimate objects can preside at marriage ceremonies, who knows where that may lead?  Next thing you know, toasters will be opening their own wedding chapels.  

But I digress.  At any rate, the lyrics were changed to the following, which did not completely supplant the originals, but can still be heard in some versions of the song:

“In the meadow we can build a snowman,

and pretend that he's a circus clown.

We'll have lots of fun with Mister Snowman,

until the other kiddies knock 'im down!”

It was out with ridiculous puppy love, and in with fear of bullying. Hooray for progress. Is it just me, or does this seem like something Dana Carvey’s Church Lady character from Saturday Night Live back in the day would have come up with?

FULL AVOIDANCE MODE

It has become a game for me to make it all the way through the holiday season without having to listen to the song all the way through.  I’ve eliminated any and all versions of it from my music library.  If it comes on the radio, I switch the station.  If it comes on TV, I hit the mute button or switch the channel.  When in a store or other public place, I have been known to leave or at least go into the restroom for a few minutes if the song comes on over the P.A. 

It’s kind of silly to do this, and I fully realize that.  My evasion of Winter Wonderland is purely for my own amusement and is not even remotely serious.  Think of it as my grown-up version of that game many of us played as kids, trying to move from one side of a room to the other without touching the floor because “the floor is lava”.  I have successfully avoided listening to Winter Wonderland all the way through for four Christmas seasons now, with one tragic exception last year.  I was sitting in a chair, halfway through getting a haircut, when it happened.  The worst possible version of the song imaginable, one by 80s pop cheesemasters Air Supply, came on over the P.A.  There was no way to escape.  My head was wet, it was -10 degrees with the wind blowing outside, and only one side of my head was trimmed at that point.  I explained my avoidance streak of, at that time three Christmas seasons, to the lady cutting my hair.  She just laughed and kept on cutting, never even offering to turn the music down or off.  She did a great job on the haircut, and I've gone back to her many times since, but I still hope she got coal in her stocking that Christmas.

I can’t help but wonder if my behavior in this regard may be genetic in some way.  My 87-year-old maternal grandmother absolutely cannot stand Bing Crosby’s White Christmas, and will mute her television or turn off the radio if the song ever comes on.  It’s kind of funny, since my grandmother on my father’s side used to practically worship the ground Bing crooned on.  (See post: Out Home at Christmas with Bing from last December on this blog.)

HOW ABOUT YOU, FAITHFUL READER?

There must be at least one Christmas song that makes your toes curl and your skin crawl.  Maybe it’s just a certain version of a particular song.  I know from listening experience, for example, that even the best Christmas songs can become cruel instruments of torture in the hands of the otherwise-talented Stone Temple Pilots lead singer Scott Weiland.  I’d like to hear from you about the Christmas songs that are your Kryptonite.  Leave a note in the comments section below, or you can contact me via Twitter or e-mail using the info in the “About Me” box at the top of this blog.

Long-Term Laundry

NOTE: An update to this story was posted here on December 30, 2012.

What follows is absolutely none of my business, nor probably yours, but we are going to discuss it anyway.

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My hillbilly neighbors have had the same load of laundry hanging from the clothesline in their yard for 43 days, and it is driving me bonkers!  I know it shouldn't.  It’s not that big of a deal in the overall scheme of things, I know.  After all, the economy is in the toilet, there is unrest in the Middle East, people are starving in Africa, and yet I am still vexed by this load of clothes that has been hanging up for longer than Noah was in the ark.

Those of you who are regular readers of this blog already know that I am kind of persnickety.  (See post: The High Poohba of Persnickety, September 2012.) I am not a total neat freak or borderline obsessive-compulsive by any means, but I do like things to be a certain way.  It is almost impossible for me to tolerate anything sticky on my hands, for example.  (See post: Don’t Pour Some Sugar on Me, March 2012.)  It is almost like an irresistible itch that must be scratched, and I can think of nothing else until I do.  If I get some jam from my toast on a finger, I must walk to the sink and wash my hands at once before I can do anything else at all.  Fortunately, my persnicketiness* rarely applies to other people.  If you, for instance, want to share a meal with me after having dumped a jar of honey over your head, I could probably deal with it, though if you attract any bears, I am out of there. 

And so it was with this load of laundry on my hillbilly neighbors’ clothesline.  After it had been there for a week or so, it didn't really bother me.  Stranger things exist in this world.  However, after the one month mark passed, it began to irritate me, and now, after 43 days and counting, it is making me somewhat crazy.

Of course, I've wondered why these clothes are still there after all this time, but haven’t really come up with any good theories. 

There are men’s, women’s and children’s clothes hanging there, so presumably it is a load of the whole family’s clothes.  I can’t imagine that someone in the household is trying to teach someone else a lesson by leaving them up there until they get the hint.  If they are, then they are failing miserably and going without their best pair of pajama jeans and “Larry the Cable Guy” muscle shirt.

It could be that the load of laundry hasn't actually been up there all that time.  Someone takes it all down after dark, the family then wears the clothes overnight, they launder them before dawn, and then put them back up to dry again before I am up for the day at 6 a.m.  While remotely possible, I think this theory of mine holds as much water as a pasta strainer.

I suppose it’s possible that my hillbilly neighbors are part of some obscure religious sect that does penance for its sins by leaving a perfectly good load of laundry on the line until such time as it is all as faded away to almost white.  If that is the case, they don’t have much longer to go.  A hooded sweatshirt on that clothesline that was once blaze-orange is already more of a blaze-peach color at this point.

Maybe, just maybe, they are aliens, and the clothes on the line are a signal for the mothership to come pick them up.  If so, the mothership is quite late.  Maybe it got called away to some intergalactic disturbance in another galaxy, and my alien neighbors are biding their time watching “My Big, Fat, Redneck Wedding” and WWE wrestling matches on their 60-inch widescreen television until their ride comes. How do I know about the 60-inch TV, you ask? Apparently, they don’t believe in curtains or blinds for some reason, and as you drive around the corner near their place, you can’t help but see whatever they are watching from the street.  Heck you can probably see it from space.

But the most plausible theory I've come up with is also the simplest, they are so relentlessly lazy that they make the three-toed sloth look like a Silicon Valley entrepreneur.  Remember, these are the same hillbilly neighbors who haven’t mowed the lawn between my house and theirs since they started renting it last July, causing it to become a haven for rodents and consequently, neighborhood cats. (See post: Hillbillies, Cats, and a Ruined Breakfast, October 2012.)  In addition, their children have left their very new and not-inexpensive looking bicycles lying on the front lawn for the past few weeks, through several rainstorms and one snowstorm.  I suspect the bikes will still be there after the spring melt, rusted solid.  I wouldn't be surprised to see those clothes still on the line then too, which by then will be faded as white as the snow they will have withstood all winter.

There have been times when, far, far in the back of my mind, I've considered conducting a midnight raid on that clothesline.  Dressed in black from head to toe, with black greasepaint smeared on my face and the Pink Panther theme playing in the earbuds of my iPod, I’d stealthily make my way into their yard and take down each item of clothing from the line.  I’d fold each with care, place it in a neat stack, and then ever so quietly place the folded pile at their back door.  Then I would slip quietly away into the night.  It would be like they got a visit from some deranged laundry fairy.

So far, I've managed to resist the urge to actually carry this plan out, and likely will continue resisting to do so.  It is not only creepy, but suspiciously like actual work.

To be fair, my hillbilly neighbors are not the worst neighbors by any stretch.  They are relatively quiet, smile and wave politely when I drive past, and seem to be nice enough people.  In the event of a disaster like an ice storm or blizzard, I am sure that we would gladly help each other out in time of need.  So, if a permanent load of laundry on the clothesline is the biggest problem I have to deal with (other than that hayfield of a lawn, which is a moot point in winter), then I guess I can live with that.  Plus, like I said at the outset, it’s not really my business.

Oh, did I mention that it’s the weekend after Thanksgiving, and they still have their Halloween decorations up?

*If "persnicketiness" is not a word, it should be.

The Thanksgiving Post

Image from doyouremember.com

Thanksgiving is coming up later this week in the United States.  It’s a holiday I really like, not only because of my fondness for food and football, but also for the sentiment behind it: giving thanks.  Most of us in western society live in a world that our ancestors of less than 100 years ago would be astounded to see.  When I was young, my grandparents often told me of the awe they felt upon getting electricity in their homes for the first time, and the thrills of their first car, telephone, and television.  The jobs people had when they were young were harder and a lot more dangerous than most today, and things we do now in the spur of the moment, like a trip to get groceries, was a weekly event that was carefully planned for and highly anticipated.  When you stop and think, we really do have a lot for which to be thankful.

For many bloggers, there is great temptation at this time of year to write the stereotypical “what I am thankful for” post, sort of the grownup version of those essays we used to have to write in grade school.  I’m going to do that, kind of, but instead of highlighting that for which I am obviously thankful (freedom, family, friends, faith, employment, health), I am going to turn my attention to some less-heralded things that make my life just a bit nicer.

I am grateful for all-wheel drive vehicles.  Although I have driven in Maine winters for 27 years, I am only in my second winter with all-wheel drive.  I never knew what I was missing.  How great is it not to get stuck in a four-inch pile of slush at the end of the driveway?  Last winter was a cold one here in northern Maine, but not especially snowy.  We had a number of small storms of a few inches, but no blockbusters, and frankly, I was a little disappointed. I never really got a good chance to give my all-wheel drive a real test in deep snow on the ski slope I call a driveway.  It was during a storm the winter before last, when it took me 17 tries to get my two-wheel drive car up the driveway, that I decided it was finally time to upgrade to something more snow-worthy than an Oldsmobile.

Everyone who lives with even a little bit of snow should have all-wheel drive.  I bet I could park on my garage roof with my all-wheel drive if I wanted to, though it would probably be best if I didn’t try to actually do that.  Upon mentioning this notion, some of my friends have suggested that I may have been a tank driver in a previous life.  Or dropped on my head as a baby.  Or both.

I am thankful for Christmas lights that do not cause the entire set to go out just because one stinking bulb does.  The inventor of those instruments of torture should be charged with crimes against humanity.

Typically, I light up a spruce tree in my yard each December.  The trouble is, it’s tall and on a steep slope, which makes it about as easy to string lights on as Mount Everest, only pricklier and stickier. In the past, I have spent hours risking life, limb and stickiness draping “net-style” lights over it, and no matter how many times I check, there are always a few that end up burning out after placement, leaving a gaping black hole in the middle. I just can’t leave it like that, and thus the battle begins, and continues through the rest of December.

In addition to going completely dark at random, the net lights also require the patience of Job to untangle, and are impossibly complicated to put up while stretched out, balanced on one foot on the top rung of a ladder in the back of a pickup on the side of a hill.

None of that this year!

Those crappy net lights are history!  They’ve been replaced by LED lights on a reel, which will go up more easily and stay lit even if tornadoes carry the tree into the next county.  Well, maybe not, but they are really sturdy lights.  My wallet is lighter, but so too is my heart. 

2012 was the year I stepped up to high-definition television, and sports will never be the same.  For this I am thankful.  One complaint I always used to have about TV sports is that it can be hard to clearly see who is who and where the ball/puck/shuttlecock/golden snitch/whatever is at any given time.  In the past, for example, a play in a football game can be over before I can even figure out where the ball is.  And hockey?  I gave up watching a long time ago, since the puck is so hard to see.  One network did try an experiment with an electronic puck that left a virtual “tail” on the TV screen during the game, but apparently I was the only person on Earth who liked it.  Now that I have hi-def TV, it has all changed.  I can see everything clearly at just a glance.  The London Olympics were especially impressive in hi-def.

It’s not all great, mind you.  The downside of hi-def sports is that you can also see whatever bodily fluids are oozing out of the participants, whether it is sweat, slobber, or blood, in nauseating crystal-clarity.  And it is  also rather sobering to see every gray hair, wrinkle, and pot-belly on retired athlete-commentators. I hate to say it, but many of them might be better suited for radio than hi-def TV these days.  Of course, so would I, truth be told.

I am thankful for great new music from great old artists.  This year has seen a number of AARP-eligible musical acts with new albums. (Is the term “albums” even a thing these days?)  Coming as they do in the face of so many musical acts that are nothing more than corporate inventions enhanced by recording studio technology, it is nice that these old war horses are not only still putting out music, but putting out really good music that is selling pretty well.

I’ll toss a few examples out for you: ZZ Top’s La Futura is one of the best overall rock albums I’ve heard in a long time, and their best in years.  Bonnie Raitt released Slipstream, a new collection of her signature blues rock that sounds as fresh as anything she’s ever done.  Bruce Springsteen hasn’t lost a step with his Wrecking Ball album, full of socially-conscious and catchy rock tinged with folk.  And Rick Springfield, yes the “Jessie’s Girl” guy, has just released Songs for the End of the World, a terrific, solid rock album that sounds like it was influenced by some work Rick recently did with the Foo Fighters.  Paul McCartney, Heart, Rush and Van Halen also had attention-getting new releases in 2012 that are worth your attention.

All of the acts I’ve mentioned are well into their 50s and 60s, and they still sound great.  I can only hope that I am as on top of my game at that age.

And finally, I am thankful for the online writing community of which I have become a part.  There are not a lot of like-minded writers near where I live.  Heck, there’s not a lot of anything near where I live, except maybe trees.  And moose.  I know a few, but connecting regularly in person is a challenge with schedules and distance being what they are.  Fortunately, Twitter, Goodreads, Writers Digest and this silly blog have helped me make connections with hundreds of talented writers from all over the world.  Some are old enough to be my parents, some are young enough to be my kids.  Some are published, some are trying to be, and some just write for themselves.  Some are famous, while others have never shared their writing with another soul.  For some it’s a career, for others a hobby, and for others, therapy.  They range from poets to naturalists, and from horror masters to technical writers specializing in physics.  It is gratifying to hear that my writing struggles and theirs are so alike, in spite of our diversity.  And it is great to be able to give and get support for our various writing projects.  Regardless of specific content, the writing process is mostly the same for a lot of us.  We also share our successes and our predicaments, we laugh and sometimes shed a tear together, and generally help keep each other inspired.  It’s been great, and I look forward to “meeting” even more of you.

Enjoy your family and your turkey (though not in the same way!).  Enjoy your football games and your holiday parades.  Enjoy your Black Friday shopping (yuck!) and your pumpkin pie.  If you are outside of the United States, well, enjoy your Thursday.  Whether it is officially Thanksgiving where you are living right now, take some time to step back and look at all the things, both big and little, that you can be thankful for right now. No matter who you are, I think you will find that are an awful lot if you take the time to ponder them.

The Rutabaga Dispensing Machine

Indulge me for a few moments.

As I walk out through the lobby of my apartment building one Wednesday morning, I catch something out of the corner of my eye.  In a once-empty corner, with tasteful potted plants on either side, is a newly-installed vending machine.  It’s a Rutabaga Dispensing Machine.

Now I do not eat rutabagas myself.  In my formative years, my family did not grow or eat rutabagas, so they are not really in my culinary repertoire and never have been.  I don’t care for the taste of them, and they give me gas.  So, most likely, I will not be ironing out dollar bills to slide into the slot for rutabagas any time soon.  Several other people in my building whom I consider friends DO like rutabagas however.  They are vegetarians.  Surely, this machine will be a boon for them and their cooking habits.

As for me, the Rutabaga Dispensing Machine is just there.  It is not in my way.  It is not gaudy or ugly.  It does not replace the lobby’s French Fry Dispensing Machine, of which I am quite fond.  And I am by no means forced to use either one.

This little story is intended to illustrate where I’ve landed on the issue of legalizing gay marriage in Maine, which I came to support in this election cycle and which was approved by a majority of voters in the state this week.  For me, legalizing gay marriage is analogous to installing a Rutabaga Dispensing Machine in my apartment building.  As long as I am not forced to use it and it doesn’t replace my French Fry Dispensing Machine, then I am fine with it.  It just adds to the freedoms available to Americans who choose to exercise them, without taking freedoms away from anyone else.

I suppose the analogy could be extended to other freedoms we have the option to exercise in this country if we choose: the freedom to choose our leaders, to bear arms, to voice our opinions, to listen to Carpenters albums, etc.  We are not required to do any of those things (most thankfully in the lattermost case), but we are not restricted from them either.

Freedom is just a part of what’s cool about this country of ours.  Never take it for granted.

Politics (Yes, I'm Going THERE!)

I tend to eschew controversy here at Wicked Awesomology, but once in a while I need to touch the third rail.  This is a rare post about politics.  However, take heart: I am not advocating a particular candidate or issue.  I am skewering the process as it currently exists.

As I write this, the political election season is reaching full screech mode, with mere hours left before voting at the polls begins.  Here in Maine, we voters have a number of choices to make, including who we want as our president, our representatives in the U.S. House, one of our senators, as well as state legislators and whether we want gay marriage to be legalized in the state.  The presidential race and the gay marriage referendum have raised the election year hysteria here this year from its typical “hyperactive preschoolers in a room full of sugary snacks” level to a new high of “Richard Simmons on crack”.  Intense media coverage and immense amounts of cash flowing in from every special interest for advertising and “special consultants” has turned many normally-taciturn Mainers, present company included, into raving lunatics.

When possible, I try to make lemonade out of life’s lemons, and one way to do this is to at least attempt to extract some lessons learned from things that have sucked out loud.  What follows are the five things I have learned during the 2012 election cycle.

Outside Influences Are Kind Of Insulting

A lot, and I mean a whole lot, of the advertisements, events, etc. surrounding this year’s elections in Maine have been developed and paid for by interests from outside the state of Maine.  I am sure that this is not unique to those of you reading in other parts of the country or world.  Now I am not talking about local candidates and advocacy groups intentionally hiring people from elsewhere.  I am talking about outside groups that have come into jurisdictions entirely on their own and tried to influence voters to go with their point of view: Political Action Committees (PACs)  It’s almost as if the PACs are saying “Oh you poor stupid people, let us tell you how you are supposed to think.”  Anyone with even a third of a brain knows that it is nothing more than a bald-faced attempt to increase their own power in some way.  Even when one of these PACs is advocating for a candidate or position that I support, I still resent the hell out of their interference.

While I am sure that this type of outside influence rubs many people around the country the wrong way, it really, really, really doesn’t fly in a place with people as self-reliant as most Mainers.  It is not only possible this interference by PACs can backfire in Maine, it is likely.

Politics and Religion Are A Miserable Combination

Religion and politics just do NOT mix well at all, and I am saying this as someone who goes to church every Sunday and takes his faith seriously.  Every candidate holds varied positions on varied issues.  How on God’s green earth are we supposed to vote only for candidates who support the tenets of our particular faith?  Is it okay to vote for a candidate who is in favor of abortion and yet also pledges to protect programs that provide direct aid the poor and elderly?  What about someone whose policies decrease the level of government interference in our lives and private institutions (including religious ones), and yet at the potential cost of decreased access to healthcare or harm to the environment?  We are told to love our neighbors, and yet oppose gay marriage?  Religious leaders tell us it is our moral duty to vote, and to do so in concert with the faith we have been taught, and yet I am not aware of a single candidate for any political office who completely “lines up” with a given religion on every issue. Every candidate and most positions seem like a Catch-22 when viewed through the lens of religion.  Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.

“He’s Worse Than I Am” Is A Lousy Strategy

The old saw “you attract more flies with honey than vinegar” has been around for such a long time because it is true.  And yet, the majority of political ads I have seen or heard this year have not been telling me what is right about a candidate or position, but instead what is wrong with the opposition.  It’s hard to deny that negative content tends to garner more attention, and the fact that it stokes the fires of fear among the less-informed is another point in favor of negative ads.  Fear is a powerful motivator.  However, if I were a politician or advocate for a side in a referendum, I would much rather want to win because the voters supported me, and not that they were merely voting against the opposition.  In other words, I would want voters to like me more than the other side, not hate me less than them.  Being the “lesser of two evils” is hardly a mandate.

Taking Politics Personally Is Pathetic And Sad

I have friends who are flaming liberals.  I have friends who are ultra-conservatives.  To say that I don’t entirely agree with either group of them would be a major understatement.  Nonetheless, they are my friends and I genuinely like them.  It’s okay if they think and vote differently than I do.  I find it terribly disturbing that so many people these days make political discourse into personal grudge matches, delighting in the prospect of bad things happening to people who don’t believe in the same political views that they do.  In my opinion, Barack Obama and Mitt Romney, for example, are both decent men who love their countries and their families.  While I lean more toward the views of one than the other, I don’t for even a second think that the candidate with whom I do not align deserves to have anything bad happen to him or his supporters.  The politics of hate has always been with us, but it has become much more pronounced over the past twenty-five years or so, since the rise of talk radio and 24-hour cable news which give those views a platform. These media entities often do so under the cover of “free speech”, but it is more often simply a means to drive up ratings and to fill time. I saw it from the inside at the beginning of that era, when I was working in radio myself.

Getting "Out There" Counts For A Lot

If you really want to attract my attention to your position or candidate, do not have a robot call me on the phone.  Instead, get yourself out there so I can come to you.  Walk in a parade in my town.  Hold a “meet & greet” in the area.  Talk to my local newspaper, radio or TV station.  Respond personally to tweets or Facebook posts.  Show me your face, shake my hand and make it personal!  Those things are going to cause me to take you much more seriously than someone who hides behind a barrage of carefully scripted advertisements, brochures, signs, and debates.  I feel that this applies to all candidates and positions, but especially to incumbents who think they can take votes in certain places for granted.
 
          And above all, no matter how disgusted you are with all of it, please, please, a thousand times PLEASE go out to vote on November 6th!

            We now return you to our regular blog programming.

Moldy Bestsellers: Today's Books Are (Mostly) All Alike

While many people, including me, thought they would never take to the concept of reading a book from a screen, I have to admit that my e-reader has become one of my most treasured electronic gadgets over the past almost two years.  It was not a purchase I made, but given to me as a Christmas gift by someone who knew I was a lifelong bookworm, and yet had not heard my misgivings about the concept of e-books.  I still read good old-fashioned paper-and-glue books often, but the scales have tipped in favor of e-books by about a 70%-30% margin.  

Source

My two primary reasons for favoring e-books would probably be obvious to any marketer: they are cheaper and they are immediate.  I can find one quickly and buy it instantly at what is usually a reasonable price.  While I love the feel of flipping through pages and always will, I know it’s going to be tough for “traditional books” to keep up in the market against the value and convenience of e-books.

One problem I’ve found in my pleasure reading lately is finding something reasonably new that is geared toward my demographic.  It’s no secret that more females than males read books these days.  Likely it has always been like that.  During my time as an educator, there were piles of research urging us to get boys reading more and better, because they as a gender lagged behind and it put their entire education (and future) at risk.  I put a particular emphasis on getting the boys to see that reading was a cool and useful thing to do, however I was but one fish in the ocean, and female readers still outnumber males these days.  Lately, however, it just seems like the number of titles geared toward women has started to completely overshadow those appealing to men, especially in the realm of fiction.

What types of fiction, exactly, appeals to males and to females?  Well, I suppose we could play into the stereotypes for a moment.  Men like explosions, violence, swearing, hot babes and lots of action.  And women like romance, feelings, love, rock-hard muscle guys, and talking.  

Whether you are a man or a woman, I am sure that neither of those descriptions fits you to a tee.  Yet that seems to be what many publishers are targeting in each gender, if the current bestsellers are any indication.  I have also seen this pattern in output from the independent author realm, of which I consider myself a part.  If you want to be successful, you need to create a product that people will want to read.  So write something that fits a formula that has worked for others, and you are bound for success. If you don’t think this is happening, take a look through the best-seller lists at Amazon or Barnes & Noble and note how many titles nowadays have the pattern “*blank* shades of *blank*”.  Formulas can’t be all bad, can they?

Well, they can be.  I guess it depends on your reasons for writing.  Are you simply making something for consumption by as many members of the public as possible in order to make some cash, or do you have a real story to tell, and numbers are a secondary concern for you?

As for me, I am probably not what one would consider a “typical” male reader.  For me, the ideal novel is told in first-person narrative (though this is negotiable), and has at least some humor and genuine feeling in it.  The characters need to be believable, multi-faceted, interesting, and personally relatable on some levels.  The plot doesn’t need to be full of nuclear weapons, dragons, spaceship chases, or loose women in bikinis, but there should be some sense of tension.  By tension in this case, I mean a pressure of some kind, causing change or growth in the characters, whether they like it or not.  When the story is done, I want the characters to be different in some way from how I found them at the start.  I don’t expect a happy ending every time, but I do like the resolution to be more positive than negative, and for Pete’s sake, make sure you resolve it! Nothing bugs me more than to be left hanging at the end of a novel, the story to be continued in the next book in the series.  I prefer each book to be able to stand on its own.

So many fiction novels geared toward teen and young adult females right now are patterned to some extent after the Twilight series by Stephanie Mayer or The Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins, with a strong, competent female protagonist in danger and in a complicated relationship to boot.  

Many of those geared toward teen and young adult males are patterned somewhat after the Harry Potter series by J.K. Rowling, with a young male protagonist suddenly discovering he is not at all what he thought he was.  

Lots of adult female fiction these days has some variation on romantic relationships, good or bad and a female protagonist who has gone through a hard time trying to pull herself up by her bootstraps.  

And adult male fiction?  What there is of it often entails crime, law enforcement or military elements, with a few struggles against personal demons thrown in for good measure. 

That’s not to say every single book out there fits these trends, but a lot of them do.  Witness, the Amazon Top Ten Bestsellers as of September 24, 2012.  The portions in quotes are taken directly from the Amazon.com descriptions of each book or series, while the comments in parentheses and bold are mine.

1. On Dublin Street by Samantha Young—“Four years ago, Jocelyn Butler left her tragic past behind in the States and started over in Edinburgh.” (A female protagonist who has gone through a hard time trying to pull herself up by her bootstraps.)

2. Gone Girl: A Novel by Gillian Flynn—“ Marriage can be a real killer…Gillian Flynn takes that statement to its darkest place in this unputdownable masterpiece about a marriage gone terribly, terribly wrong.”(A romantic relationship story, in this case a bad one, I would guess.)

3. Fifty Shades Darker: Book Two of the Fifty Shades Trilogy by E L James
4. Fifty Shades Freed: Book Three of the Fifty Shades Trilogy by E L James
5. Fifty Shades of Grey: Book One of the Fifty Shades Trilogy by E L James 

“Erotic, amusing, and deeply moving, the Fifty Shades Trilogy is a tale that will obsess you, possess you, and stay with you forever.”(Another  romantic relationship story, though it’s up to you whether it’s good or bad. Sounds nasty to me.)

6. Thicker Than Water (A Leo Waterman Mystery) by G.M. Ford—“Hard living collects its fair share of casualties, but somehow Leo Waterman avoided becoming one of them.” (A story involving a guy struggling against personal demons.  There’s crime too.)

7. A Wanted Man: A Jack Reacher Novel by Lee Child—“Four people in a car, hoping to make Chicago by morning. One man driving, eyes on the road. Another man next to him, telling stories that don’t add up. A woman in the back, silent and worried. And next to her, a huge man with a broken nose, hitching a ride east to Virginia. An hour behind them, a man lies stabbed to death in an old pumping station.” (Crime. Plain and simple.)

8. No Easy Day: The Firsthand Account of the Mission That Killed Osama Bin Laden by Mark Owen and Kevin Maurer—“For the first time anywhere, the first-person account of the planning and execution of the Bin Laden raid from a Navy Seal who confronted the terrorist mastermind and witnessed his final moment.” (Military, also plain and simple)

9. Mockingjay (The Final Book of The Hunger Games) by Suzanne Collins
10. Catching Fire (The Second Book of the Hunger Games) by Suzanne Collins

“The Capitol is harsh and cruel and keeps the districts in line by forcing them all to send one boy and one girl between the ages of twelve and eighteen to participate in the annual Hunger Games, a fight to the death on live TV.” (Not a variation on the popular series, but the actual series itself.  The first book in the trilogy is at #14 right now.)

Now I haven’t read any of these books, and I am not saying any of them are good or bad.  None of them really reach out and grab me though.  By my unscientific reckoning, they skew about 70% toward female readers.  They also all fit neatly into popular molds.  Art (which writing is, remember) is about breaking those molds.  Mozart was different.  Dali was different.  Hemingway was different.  Fosse was different.  The Beatles were different.  That’s part of what made them great.  I’d dare say that ten years from now, the only titles on this list that will still be relevant will be the Hunger Games books.  One could argue they do not fit into a popular mold, because they are the mold into which some others are trying to fit.

The moral of this post is that there are lots of other great reads out there.  Don’t just take what is thrust at you as “must reads”.  Dig around a little.  Run some Internet searches.  Blow the dust off some volumes at the back of your local bookstore (if you are lucky enough to still have one) or the public library.  See what’s out there beyond the bestsellers. 

And writers, don’t be afraid to take the road less travelled these days.  There are always going to be readers out there like me who appreciate it.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere There's Signs

I’ve spent a lot of time on the roads of northern and eastern Maine this spring and summer.  A number of camping trips to the coast are under my belt, as well as some trips to some far-flung cemeteries.  (No, I’m not shopping around in advance of my ultimate demise, which hopefully will not be any time soon.  I take requested tombstone photos for an online genealogical group for whom I volunteer with the trite name of Find-A-Grave.  I guess “Graves R Us” was taken.)  Friends and relatives have received visits too, so I’ve been around this year.  Getting out and enjoying this place nicknamed “Vacationland” is something I try to do every year during the nice weather.  A new addition this year is my GPS, which has allowed me to get off the busy highways and see some of the less-traveled roads. 

There is no question that Maine is a stunningly gorgeous place, and I have been fortunate to have been able to see some new corners of it this year.  Other corners of the Pine Tree State have been off-limits however.  A lot of them, actually.  You see, one thing I have noticed in my travels this year has been the apparent proliferation of “No Trespassing” or “Keep Out” signs on properties.  The reasons are not entirely clear to me, but I’ve had time to ponder it while driving and I have some theories.

While crime rates are probably no higher than they ever were here, I think that we are hearing more about crime nowadays thanks to the ease of access to information through so many channels, and so it seems more prevalent.  Along with increased awareness of crime comes increased fear of strangers and the unknown.  Putting up signs that read “No Trespassing” or “Keep Out” may give some people a sense of security, albeit a false one.  “Bad people won’t come near now,” is the subconscious thought process.  Frankly, if someone has malicious intent in mind, I find it hard to believe that a simple sign is going to deter them.  And if someone does not have malicious intent in mind, why worry about them?

It could be a personal safety thing also.  Some years ago in Maine, there was a tragic case in which a young mother was accidentally shot to death in her own backyard by a hunter who mistook her white mittens for the tail of a deer.  It was beyond sad for everyone involved, and raised awareness among landowners in the state that posting their land against hunting might be something to consider.  I have no doubt that the amount of land on which people may freely hunt in Maine has gone down quite a bit, especially since that incident.  Even though I am not opposed to hunting, I cannot fault someone for not wanting unauthorized hunters on their land, especially if it is near homes.  I can’t help but wonder how many of those “No Trespassing” signs might more accurately reflect the landowners wishes if they actually read “No Hunting” instead.  Someone who may not want hunters may be more open to people wishing to hike or picnic on their land.

Then there is the property damage issue.  Motorized all-terrain vehicles (ATVs) have grown enormously in popularity in Maine over the past 30 years or so.  (Full disclosure: I have one and I love it.)  However, they can be noisy and can really rip up the land, especially when used carelessly.  Over the years, I have seen a number of public ATV trails closed, no doubt due to noise, littering, or people who have literally strayed off the beaten path and caused damage to private property.  Again, if a landowner’s qualm is with ATVs but not with people who want to take a walk and maybe observe some wildlife, a more specific sign, such as “No ATVs” might be in order. 

And then there is the cynical side of me, which wonders if there are just a lot of disagreeable types out there who have somehow acquired mortal enemies, or just have become so alienated from society, and they just want to be able to prosecute more fully if someone so much as sets a foot on their property.  This thought especially entered my mind the other day when I saw, the inspiration for this post:  a nice split-level ranch, beautifully landscaped in a suburban neighborhood with a big black and red “KEEP OUT” sign on the well-manicured front lawn.  That’s not a hunting issue or an ATV issue, and on a quiet street in a small town, it’s likely not a crime issue either.  That’s a people issue!  More specifically, it’s an “inability to play well with others” issue.  It’s pretty sad that someone would adopt such a paranoid bunker mentality, but there are some who do.  A few may have good personal reasons for turning their homes into fortresses, but I’d dare say many more don’t and are just being asshats.

Or maybe all the signs are to keep people away from meth labs or pot growing operations.  Unfortunately, such things are not unheard of in rural Maine, where the economy is difficult even during the best of times.

Or maybe there are lots of stereotypical crusty old men who put up such signs to keep those “blasted kids off the lawn”.

Or maybe nudists live there.  Though in Maine, I suspect those are few and far between, and chilly too.

I could go on and on with maybes, but whatever the reason, there are definitely a LOT more “No Trespassing” and “Keep Out” signs around than there used to be.  It’s a shame that more and more of this beautiful state is being sealed off.  Remember the lyrics to the 70s classic rock song Signs by the Five Man Electrical Band?:

And the sign says, "Anybody caught trespassing will be shot on sight"
So I jumped on fence and I yelled at the house, "Hey! What gives you the right...
To put up a fence to keep me out, or to keep Mother Nature in?
If God was here, He'd tell it to your face. 'Man, you're some kind of sinner.'"

This YouTube video is from a pretty decent remake of Signs by the band Tesla in 1990.

Now I am not saying there are no legitimate reasons for “No Trespassing” and “Keep Out” signs, because there most certainly are a number of them.  Nonetheless, people would do well to consider if their reasons are good ones before slapping one up.

And put some clothes on, for Pete’s sake!