The Right To Judge

I’ve been watching with a growing (if somewhat jaded) interest in the case against Mel Gibson that is being theatrically played out in the court of public opinion.

Now don’t get me wrong. I’ve heard the tapes. They are reprehensible, vile, evil to the point of being demonic. Okay? These rants are the product of a deranged mind.

(And responses have been equally vehement. Note to would-be judges – if you are going to condemn Mr. Gibson’s choices of words, please don’t use the same words yourself. It confuses me.)

And – have you noticed – these tapes (5 so far) would not have had quite the emotional impact if they had been released all at once. Instead, release for each tape has been separated by a few days, allowing the press to instigate the same call for torches and pitchforks several times in a row.

It bothers me that we don’t know how old these tapes are. It bothers me that they are being released right at the time when Mel Gibson’s child custody case is starting. I find it difficult to believe this is a coincidence. In any case, the date when the tapes are released does not make Mel Gibson less guilty. On the other hand, it appears to make Oksana Grigorieva less innocent. Why didn’t she call the police after recording the first tirade? Or the second one? Or the third one? Or … why now?

Both Whoopi Goldberg and Jody Foster have been castigated for suggesting positive aspects to Mel Gibson’s character based on their personal experiences. Since we won’t tolerate any grey areas of actual knowledge here, they are dismissed as naive or stupid - guilty by association.

Nobody has answered this question – why is he mad? What started him down an emotional hill so steep that he literally has difficulty breathing? Is he truly a monster, or is he sick? If we judge without an answer to this question, what does that say about us?

And that is what concerns me the most. We don’t really care what Mel Gibson has or has not done. He's a token. We are content with one side of the story, which allows us to anoint him king of everything despicable in the male psyche. To give our passions proper heat we cling to conclusions based on other people’s calculated sensationalism and a decided lust for witch hunting.

Innocent until proven guilty only applies to people we like.

So, in case you feel I am defending Mel Gibson, I am not. In his condemnation of others he condemns himself.

But - I wonder - are we doing the same thing?

 
j

Interesting Times

I’ve been around for awhile. I’ve seen this country change and change again. Some of it has been pretty good. We seem to be innovative to the point where it’s mind boggling. On the other hand, some of our directions and aspirations have been something less than admirable. (Why the Canadians speak to us at all has always been a mystery to me.)

During my lifetime a bunch of Presidents have come and gone. Some of ‘em were pretty good. Some of ‘em were just pretty. I’ve personally seen three, interviewed two.

I’m actually happy with the guy running the country at the moment. He’s not perfect – I think it would bother me if he was. But he still seems to be smarter than I am, and that’s why I voted for him in the first place.

Here’s an observation, then. I don’t think – in my entire life – I’ve ever seen so many disasters (man made and otherwise) fall over each other without a break as much as they have during the present administration. I saw a picture of the President today, and his hair is turning white. It’s not the first time, either. Other presidents have aged greatly during their time in office.

All this is leading to a question, rhetorical perhaps. Why would a smart person want the job? Think about it before answering. It’s a trick question.


j

Not Fair!

The Brits are unfair! Rumor has it that Sarah Ferguson may

be moving to New York. Is there not some hamlet anywhere in the British Isles willing to offer sanctuary to Sarah Palin?

A Response

I received this comment on my last post:


balcony39 has left a new comment on your post "Okay. I'm About To Intimidate A Windmill. Again":
As a foreigner, tho' frequent visitor to the USA when I first started to read this I seriously thought the Gov of Arizona had it in for illegal aliens (from Mars etc.) You guys and your politicians are so wacked it seemed utterly feasible. Then I read on and I saw the raw ugly all pervasive face of rising hard right Neo Nazism. Ugly, Ugly, Ugly!!! Think on In Xanadu. Read a bit of history and see how the little stuff, and such a nasty bill is not a small thing, leads to the total erosion of human rights. Good luck!

I thought the observations from balcony 39 deserved more than simply being buried in the comments section of my post.

First of all, I sincerely apologize for the appearance of having “wacked” politicians. The United States of America is a republic, and republics constantly evolve, and sometimes it’s not pretty. If you read our history, you will note that regardless of whatever direction we lurch, eventually – and it could take years – the will of all the people dominates.

To compare the Arizona law to Neo Nazism is to focus on the wrong period of history. (And, respectfully, it’s condescending of you not to look deeper.) Unlike Nazi Germany, this is not a national law, it is a state law, and every civil rights organization in the country is lining up to take a shot at it. They are doing this because they can do this. On the national level, our President has people examining it – closely. Already parts of this law have been revised, and this is before it even goes into effect. This is literally the will of the people in action.

The real problem here is one of attitude. The “aliens” of today are regarded the same way African Americans were regarded in the 1930’s, 40’s, and 50’s. I suspect that earning respect and equality today will be every bit as difficult as it was 60 tears ago.

But you have to start somewhere.

j

Okay. I'm About To Intimidate A Windmill. Again

A couple of days ago I was staring at a blank computer screen (“You are getting sleepy, sleepy …”) and in the background the Governor of Arizona was signing a declaration of war against illegal aliens.

I was intrigued.

In the first place, the Governor of Arizona looks like the product of bad casting.


(“No no,” you would cry, “She’s not the Governor. She’s the Governor’s ex wife’s obnoxious Aunt Florence who is the first one eaten by the pod people... in the swamp … on Mars”)

In the second place, I was attracted by the obvious and loud opposition to the law the Governor was signing.

“Illegal aliens and the crimes they bring in are overrunning the state,” the Governor says. “They have to be stopped.”

I’m not sure why, but this seemed to many to be a radical concept.

“Sanctuary,” I know of one alien claiming. “Give me sanctuary.” And this person was taken into a church, housed, fed, and encouraged to resist deportation.

Would the church be as willing to take in a bicycle thief?

What’s the difference?

By best estimates, there are millions of illegal aliens in this country. Not thousands, not tens of thousands, not hundreds of thousands – millions. I can’t even fathom that many people.

And, being illegal, they don’t pay taxes on anything.

They don’t pay for fire departments, road repairs, or city lights, yet they use these services every day.

These millions of people also get health care. Free.

The children of illegal aliens attend our already over filled public schools. Again, there is not even a beginning of financial support from their parents.

There used to be a rational that “they are filling jobs nobody else wants.” With unemployment standing at about ten per cent, I don’t think that excuse still works.

The one cry I hear from opponents to this law is that of racial profiling. Aliens must carry identification when they are out in public. This strikes me as funny. I don’t know of anyone who doesn’t carry identification with them.

It isn’t that I don’t feel sympathy for suffering people – I do. But breaking the law and stealing from the government is not a good way to start a relationship. I’m beginning to feel like I’m being pushed – and worse, secretly scorned and laughed at.

And that is a mistake.

They have attracted my attention

The last I knew, laws were still being enacted and enforced in this country by the majority.

And the last I knew, that was still me ... and the Governor of Arizona ... and one or two other people..

Comments?


j

Health Care Reform

I never intended to write a “this is where I stand” series. As most of you know, I love to pose questions that will evoke responses, but I make at least a token effort to keep my own opinions private. I’ve often commented – lamented – that a writer is more an observer than a participant in life.

However. The present political situation in this country, the decidedly unprofessional attitudes of many of our leaders, and the resulting unreasoned anger by citizens in general, have made me realize that to encourage debate without making my own position known, is not disinterested reporting, it’s avoiding confrontation.

So I’ve decided to level the playing field; this is how I feel, and why. Based on that, I invite your response. No more high altitude bombing. (I know I’m hitting something, I’m just not sure what.)

For the past year, I’ve watch the antics of congress and the senate with both growing interest and apprehension. In many instances the two major political powers flatly have refused to work with each other. Vaguely I can remember this happening one or more times in the past. During these time periods no viable business of the government was conducted. At the time there was a standing joke that this inaction may not have been a bad thing at all.

In this case, however, a purposeful antagonism seems to have abraded the distance between the democrats and the republicans. I’ve seen far more name calling and finger pointing than I expect from elected officials. Hate is an effective recruiting tool, but is almost always not satisfied until a violent action accompanies it.

Now you have my viewpoint on our present congress and senate. Their disrespect for each other doesn’t even come close to my disappointment in them as a whole.

With that as background, then, here are my observations of the progress of the present health care reform bill.

I remember when the bill was bring drafted, the President went on TV and said (paraphrased) “Here it is. If anybody has a better idea, let me know.” I don’t recall anybody stepping forward. Up to and including the time when the bill was made into law, there was STILL no better plan offered, just the demand to scrap everything and start over.


Those in favor of the law will explain in detail why it will work. Those opposed will explain (in my case with a condescending tone of voice) why it won’t work. The truth is, since none of this has been put into effect yet, nobody actually knows how it will work. Seems to me that the prudent course of action would be to observe something happening before praising or condemning it.

There seems to be a great amount of talk about “starting over.” Why? Admittedly, the work is not perfect. What’s wrong with fixing the problem areas instead of simply dropping everything? This law will provide millions of people with health insurance. Having given it to them, can you honestly face them and say you are now taking it away? What truly offends me are the people who are working so hard to withdraw the insurance have no fears of losing their own.

Comment?


j

This Is Where I Stand

Remember this thing?

When in the Course of human events, it becomes necessary for one people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with another, and to assume among the powers of the earth, the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them, a decent respect to the opinions of mankind requires that they should declare the causes which impel them to the separation.

In case you are unaware, this is the opening paragraph from the United States Declaration of Independence, signed by 56 men on July 4, 1776.

I’ve always enjoyed the pure audacity of this document. Here were a number of wealthy and influential men laying everything they held dear – including their lives – on the line for their convictions.

Two hundred and thirty-four years later it’s easy to view these people as two dimensional, frozen in portraits, a faded parchment one of the few artifacts reminding us that they lived at all.

Oddly enough, it was an Englishman commenting on my last post who unintentionally reminded me that grumbling from the safe obscurity of the sidelines doesn’t cut it. (Good show, Malmesbury.)

So. In order to give some kind of perspective to my critiques of the people who lead this country, here’s where I stand on those who either are in power, or think they are.

I support the President of the United States. I voted for him. (And was surprised when he won.) He’s not perfect – largely inexperienced. I know that. But I liked many of his ideas. And he’s smart. Sarah Palin once commented that if Barack Obama was elected, we’d have a college professor in office. To me, that was a selling point. I WANT someone as President who is smarter than I am. God knows I want someone in there who is smarter than Sarah Palin! I’ve been told that the effect of any President isn’t felt until 8 years after that person takes office. I’m willing to wait at least a little while before offering a judgment.

I have nothing against John McCain, but I felt nothing strongly for him, either. He had – has – a sarcastic streak I don’t appreciate. That turned me off, and thus so did he. As of late, he’s joined the “hell no” bandwagon. That’s fine. When I think of him, I will be reminded of the slogan. Good job, John.

I’m amazed at the popularity of Sarah Palin. The woman is hard pressed to put together two coherent sentences in a row. Yes, I read her book. Everything I see her do is motivated primarily to promote Sarah Palin. At some point I’d like to see her sink into the obscurity she so richly deserves.

On the day the Health Reform bill was made into law, the Republican minority leader, John Boehner, announced that he would make every effort to see that law repealed at the earliest possible opportunity. He has no better plan in mind. If he succeeds, I sincerely hope the 56 million people he will deprive of health insurance will take the opportunity to thank him personally.

And to those congressmen and senators who yell out during speeches and preach hate at every opportunity, I have zero tolerance. Zero. I don’t care how impassioned they are, this is unacceptable, immature, self-serving and rude. And in case you think I’m being too hard on them, consider this; forget for a moment that they are congressmen and senators. Would you want someone like that in the car behind you on the way home?

j

That's What Friends Are For

Okay. Here's the story - listen up.

(Listen up? Listen up?! Where did that come from?)

Anyway ...

I needed some decor for a play some years ago. Was driving down the street when I saw this tacky clock in a bucket of junk at a yard sale. The guy wanted fifty cents and couldn't look me in the eye when I bought it.

After the play closed, my best friend in the world admired the clock, and for years it hung in his living room, daring somebody to say something.

Eventually the thing moved to my den. I've looked at it for several years now. I'm accustomed to seeing it. It scares me. I think I might be starting to like it.

Okay, here's where you come in.

I'd like to restore it to it's original tacky glory. I think it is supposed to have columns on the sides - holes are there. And on the top a broken cherub once perched. But I can find NO information anywhere. I need somebody to tell me what I need and possibly where to get it.

Other than burying the thing in the back yard, does anybody have any experience with this sort of thing?

jb

Intermission.

It’s Tuesday, a few minutes before eleven. The night is quiet. Once in awhile I can hear a car go by on the main road, a block from my front door. I’m looking forward to writing for the next four hours or so …

HARVEY opened this past weekend. Smallish audiences. I expected nothing more. Note to potential theatrical producers – don’t open a play on Labor Day weekend and expect large crowds. Next week they will come …

Held one private audition yesterday for INHERIT THE WIND. Officially, auditions for this play aren’t scheduled until next weekend, but a possible lead player will be out of time then, so …

I miss my writer friends. I do. Directing HARVEY and INHERIT THE WIND is grand fun, but it’s not the same as creating a work, and sharing that creation with others, and hearing – for the very first time – the works other people have created.

I really enjoy the company of writers. There’s a mixture of arrogance and vulnerability. They long to be accepted, and at the same time rush to solitude. They don’t see the world the way others do. I love science fiction/fantasy writers, because they believe there WILL BE a future.

Odd. For the past few days I’ve been writing like crazy. Odd how, when I am overly busy, overly tired … that’s when the time I do have is precious …

I met an interesting man about a month ago. From the way he stood and moved, I could tell he was military – and he was, having retired from the Navy after thirty years. His final tour of duty was aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise … (Did you know a ship can have more than one Captain? I didn’t know that.) Since first meeting him, he has told me about at least a dozen adventures, each more fascinating than the one before.

“Why don’t you write these down,” I ask, with all the sincerity that’s in me.

Almost shyly he looks at me. “I couldn’t do that,” he replies. “I’m not a writer, I’m just a story teller.”

Uh-huh …

The first of October four other writers and I are renting a house on Lake Erie for a few days and just write – no television, no internet, just writing. And eating. And walking on the beach. Heaven. Heaven heaven heaven heaven heaven! (One of our writers is a potential chef who wants to write cookbooks. Now I ask you – can it get any better than that?)

The weekend after the retreat I’m conducting an acting seminar at a local theatre. The group in charge of the event is charging $40.00 a head for people to listen to me talk for three hours. (Are you kidding me?!) One of my HARVEY cast looked sadly at me and asked if I was including a dog and pony show.

Could be …


jb

Gypsy life

HARVEY opens Friday.

After being in rehearsal since late July, the opening night for this play is now just a few days away.

I suppose I should be glad. I mean, in the past – by this point – I would be more than ready to move on. As a director I would have by now proven my point (to myself), and, like many of the cast, I would already be anticipating my next project.

Still …

I’m working with an awesome group of performers. As an ensemble, they are a finely tuned instrument, and with every rehearsal we uncover and explore more shadings, more nuances.

Selfishly, it’s gonna be hard to give that up.

Still …

I’m directing INHERIT THE WIND next. Auditions are in two weeks. Already people have started calling, requesting information that, surprisingly, I’m reluctant to give. INHERIT THE WIND is a large cast show. I’m grateful for interest. I know I’m gonna need people willing to throw themselves into the work. I know this.

I’m also aware that HARVEY cast members have other work waiting for them. Two in our show already have been cast in other plays. They start into rehearsal right after our show opens. Several are planning to audition for INHERIT THE WIND. One cast member is starting his own drama school. Two others have film roles in their futures. All this I expected. These people are the best of the best. They are in demand. It’s unusual (and a draw) that they all happen to be together in any show.

This is good stuff. Good stuff! But it all reminds me that true theatre moments and performances are fleeting, illusionary. That is not only their very nature, but also their appeal.

Slowly I become aware of purpose. If we have presented the work properly, then you, our audience, our equal partner, will recognize these as moments as they are presented to you, and hold them close in memory for the rest of your life. Not too much to ask. We are such stuff as dreams are made on.

We freely admit that we are gypsies, melancholy and fatalistic. Ourselves are the only gift we have to give. Ah, but when the gift is accepted, the awareness and experience shared …

in those rare moments …

we are justified.


jb


And how was your day?

COMMUNICATIONS

Whatever happened to communicating?

Blame the phlegmatics. (That's a temperament, not the country south of Sweden.)

They invented movies so they wouldn't have to go to a play. They invented TV so they wouldn't have to go to the movies.

They invented blogging, which is a form of journaling. (Journaling is a form of autobiographical rambling which is of interest to no one, and blogging allows this egomaniac drivel to be shared with the world.)

And I was okay with that. (Blogging is "Art." Okay?)

So ... I am now on facebook. I didn't want to be. I didn't plan to be. However, since the majority of my friends are actors (and that should tell you something.) and actors love to talk about themselves, if I wish to occasionally wade in the shallow end of the gene pool, Facebook is the perfect place to go.

All this I mostly understand. All this is a form of communicating without being forced to actually talk to anybody.

Now we get to the part I don't understand.

I don't like cell phones. People stand beside me and talk to relatives they don't talk to when they are together.

And now they are sending text messages on their phones. Excuse me, doesn't this defeat the purpose of a telephone in the first place? I'm really confused here.

What's next?

I long for the old days, when everything was simple. I'm ready, Scotty, you can beam me up anytime you want.

LOL

jb

Do You Feel Weird? I Do.

So-o-o-o …

Here’s the next question for you. Is something weird going on?

A couple of weeks ago I was sitting here innocently typing away. For no good reason I could pin down, I felt strange. A little strange. This is not a new thing for me.

I looked around. On my left was a glass of warm soda pop and my notebook. On my right, a mostly empty jar of peanuts and cookie crumbs. Everything normal.

No it wasn’t. Something was … I don’t know what. Weird.

Ever get the feeling that somebody is watching you when you know you are alone? That’s the relatively uneasy feeling I was having. Earlier I’d had a wedge of cheese and a pickle. (I enjoy a varied diet.) So I knew this feeling was not the result of a change in my eating habits. (Except for cucumbers. I love cucumber sandwiches at two in the morning. Yum! What I don’t like are the dreams that follow – being chased by 100-foot-tall dachshunds with vampire fangs.) Actually, the jury is still out where cucumber sandwiches are concerned. For one thing, I love them. For another, some of my best stories have been written the morning after …

I digress.

But maybe not. I’m presently co-authoring a science fiction … something … where the main character finds himself in another dimension that looks just like this dimension. Mostly. Sort of.

Yes! That’s how I felt – I was living in another dimension that looked just like this one. A touch creepy perhaps, but nothing compared to life with my first wife.

So I’m going along, doing fine, ya know? Going along. And one night I’m invited to see a friend of mine in a production of the play EQUUS. So there I am, watching a strange presentation being performed on a raised dance floor in the back room of a gay bar. To be honest, the play was predictable. More interesting was the person wedged in beside me. I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to guess if it was a man or a woman. The highpoint of the evening was when the creature turned to me and said “I feel weird.”

Ya think?!

I let that pass. I mean …. Letting that pass is a good idea, don’t you agree?

I was standing in a department store a few days later and heard one clerk say to another, “I feel weird.” Same words. I followed the voice and saw a woman who looked quite normal. At least it looked like a woman. I hoped it was a woman. Normal.

So now I’m feeling a little anxious in addition to weird. Coincidences like this bother me. I stop eating pickles for awhile, but it doesn’t help very much.

And then – there was the evening that pushed me over the edge. I was at a Writers Group meeting … (and I’m mad crazy about this group. We don’t write anything. Sometimes we read bits of this or that. In general we gossip and eat. One night we had cucumber sandwiches. I was in hog heaven.}

Anyway, in the middle of the “meeting,” someone says “I feel weird.”

I almost dropped a cucumber.

So-o-o… here’s my question. Is there some big conspiracy going on? (No, that wasn’t the question. Here it is.)

Do you feel weird? What do you think?

(Okay. Technically that’s two questions. Sue me,)

Jb


And how was your day?

(I know. I know. Three questions. The last one doesn’t count.)

UPDATE

The play I'm working on is now at mid point. Fifty pages written, about fifty pages to go. It's progressing. Coming along. A third of the way there. Daylight on the horizon.

(Hmm. Until this moment I've never thought about how far away a horizon actually is. And when I get there, how will I know I've arrived?)

In the meantime, I've not fully responded to comments and questions aimed in my general direction. A serious character flaw, that.

So here they come - the answers, and not in any special order. Other than addressing individuals by name and adding pictures, the persons asking questions shall remain anonymous.

SAM. Yes, I will be there. How could I say "no" to a sweet face like that? I will be there - I will move heaven and earth to be there. Unless I have to work, in which case I probably won't.

BIRDIE. Thank you for sending me the picture of you on jury duty. You neglected to tell me which one is you.

MARK. Very nice. Personally, I favor something with four wheels. And a bathroom.

NANCY. Yes, there is hope for you. You appear normal. On the other hand, "normal" is subjective, isn't it? I mean, things that seem normal to a hundred and fifty pound rabbit may or may not ...

Excuse me. It's past time for my meds. I can hear the alarm. I think they are looking for me.

Sh-h-h-h ...

jb

And how was your day?

THE TEAPOT COLLECTOR

Back to working on the play ...

I have now written about 50 pages, and am keeping 36 of them.

Progress.

I am being influenced.

A couple of years ago a friend was commenting on a work at the time, and suggested that a particular description of an event was "blah blah blah." She said - correctly - that although the description was accurate, it had no heart.

BLAH BLAH BLAH is now my screen saver, a reminder to occasionally stretch myself as a writer.

THE TEAPOT COLLECTOR has become a labor of love, and a true stretch. No Pratt falls, no chase scenes, everybody stays dressed. It would be nice, for once, if the merits of one of my plays would center around actual character development and plot.

In an earlier post, I wrote about an actor who is as unlike me as two people can get, yet I deeply value his friendship. A comment on the post said that my friends were like "a bouquet of wild flowers." I hadn't really thought about it that way, but it's true.

And, because of that, THE TEAPOT COLLECTOR has evolved. It started out to be a study of a friendship between an old man and a young girl. It has now expanded to include his relationship with a mean-spirited relative and a former co-worker. Each individual is represented by one of the teapots he collects.

Sounds good. We'll see if it works out that way.

And that's where I am so far. I'm still trying to come up with a logo for the play, but so far no pitcher has come to mind ...

Sorry. I can only stand it for

so long.

jb


And how was your day?

For The Record ...

We won.

Julie was, as always, lavish in her praise of our partnership.

However ...

This was
Her idea. Her direction.

Her name on what would ultimately be the success or failure.

'nough said?

jb

And how was your day?

For Everything There Is A Season ...

Identity.

There are people who love me. I never asked to be loved, although in truth I believe all people need at least one person to teach by example what we consider the best attributes of humanity.

There are people who think they hate me, not many, but a couple. In truth I think these people live in fear, and hate seems to momentarily quench a never ending thirst to be loved.

Ironic, isn't it?

Who am I?

This seems to be the age old question. Who am I? I learned long ago not to take my identity from what I do. If you asked me, I'd say I was a playwright, because I know that's how I'm most easily identified. But this is what I do, not who I am.

I'm directing two plays this year. I start with "Harvey" in June at a theatre about twenty miles from my front door. I'm following this by directing "Inherit The Wind" in September at a theatre about twenty miles in another direction. If this makes me anything at all, it would be temporarily insane.

I teach acting classes and have just started leading a quite active creative writers group.

And the list goes on and on. Honestly, I've done everything in life I've wanted to do, gone in every direction that appealed to me.

But none of this is me. I've learned that I'm one of those people who actually enjoys mowing the lawn, I enjoy being there when a friend wants or needs to share a thought. Genuine creativity makes me cry for happy, "adult" material of just about any kind bores me. I'm a product of my own morality and generation.

More and more I think that who I am depends on what is in front of me at any given moment. There are few constants . I take what I do seriously, but I never take myself seriously.

Maybe there's one constant.

I'm a child of God - not because I say so, but because He says so.

Yeah, I can live with that.


JB

SUVCW

Sometimes good things just happen …

So … this friend has these old swords, right? And at some seeming great distance I hear someone say, “Oooohh, my husband knows all about old swords. He can tell you all about them.”

Huh?

So … that’s why I’m standing there holding this pair of rusting old relics from the year one half. And a thousand eyes are staring at me in breathless anticipation.

(Okay, so maybe it was eight eyes in mild curiosity – ten eyes, if you count the rabbit in glasses. Oops. No. Wait. That was me. Eight eyes for sure.)

Here’s one of the swords. Not overly forbidding. A little on the petite side to be a for real fighting weapon. Probably carried in some social club of some kind. Purely symbolic something.

First clue. Figures on the hilt are dressed in Civil War garb.

After some research I find the same figures on a present-day logo.

Here’s the story. A number of years after the Civil War ended, the Union veterans were becoming more and more aware of their own mortality. Yet they felt that their individual stories, their very lives stood for something unique, and their passions should not be lost with their deaths.

SONS of UNION VETERANS of the CIVIL WAR came into being. In addition to the stories, all the rituals have been carefully handed down.

The group still exists, modernized, to be sure. Yet “camps” can be found all over the United States. The swords in my hand once adorned the alter in one “camp” in Michigan.

I know this because I talked to one of the present day leaders. Wistfully, he asked if my friend would consider donating the swords to the group, returning them to the very spot they occupied with honor a hundred and twenty-five years ago.

And my friend is going to do exactly that, which seems to me to be the coolest thing ever.

JB

And how was your day?

AAchhhhhhhh

I'm bored.

I've been sitting here for eleven hours, typing away on my almost sort of could be overdue play. It's going slowly, thank you, and not at all in the direction I wished it to go. Why is that? If anybody knows why these things never go in the directions you want 'em to go, I wish you'd explain it to me. I'd really like to know.

Birdie is throwing a big meeting of artists, musicians, writers, actors, and other assorted miscreants next weekend, and I can't go. I'm too far away and already committed to other theoretically creative mischief. Pshaw.

Nicki was out camping. Camping! Is it warm enough to do that yet? The last time I went camping a for real buffalo snorted on my tent. In case you're interested, nothing wakes you up faster than discovering the front of your tent covered in buffalo snort.

Julie hasn't posted anything today, so it's easy to presume she's out riding somewhere on her monster motorcycle. I rode a motorcycle once. Once. I traveled a distance of perhaps four yards, and ran over someone's foot. Although this occured many years ago, I've often wondered in that motorcycle is still laying in the spot where I dropped it.

My friend Mark is an attorney. He's a very pleasant individual. Actually, he's the third attorney I know who is genuinely good company. I guess I'm incredibly lucky in knowing all the attorneys in the world who are fun to be with - all three of 'em. Anyway, I called Mark, thinking he might like to go out and grab a bite. He couldn't - he's in a play. What? What?! He's doing a play and I'm sitting here?! He's having fun and frolicking and I'm sitting here typing and don't have a frolick to my name. Wa-a-a-a-a.

Okay. I'm better now. At least you are still with me.


Uh ...


You ARE still with me, aren't you? Breathe heavy or something, will ya, so I know ...

Yoo-hoo ...


JB

And how was your day?

Flint

I've shared this story with other friends.

Every once in awhile I hunt for arrowheads. A buddy who is very good at it will call me, and off we go to spend an afternoon stomping around in an empty field somewhere in northern Ohio.

Now my friend is very good at this arrowhead business. He would tell me about the glaciers that once covered North America. I can almost picture them. I've seen the dramatic gouges in the ground that created Lake Erie. (They are stll there, in case you are wondering just how old I am.)

My friend would tell me that 2,500 years ago most of Ohio consisted of forests and ponds. Arrowheads, he would tell me, are almost always found near the top of any given hill. At the time, these places would have been beaches. Being a romantic by nature, it's easy to see the former waterline in the ring of hills south of where I live. It's easy, once you know what you're looking for. Further, if you are a fan of the garden of Eden, it's no great stretch to picture it in ancient Ohio.

Okay, so maybe could be this is what the natives looked like. I've been told that they would gather in mid northern Ohio and make arrowheads by the thousands, and trade them for furs with other Indians coming down from Canada.

Sounds reasonable.

Who knows? I am one quarter Ohio Indian. This could have been my great-great-great-great .... Well, you get the idea. On the other hand I am three quarters German. This draw in my heritage insists on a warm bed, walls, a roof, and indoor plumbing (and has the urge to invade Poland on occasion, but that's another story.) What I'm trying to tell you is that an outdoor adventure for me is usually no farther than from here to the porch swing and back again.

And ...

In the maybe eleven or twelve years I've been doing this, I have yet to find an arrowhead. Not one. My friend finds 'em. Of course. I never find any. I've found horseshoes and an old medicine bottle once, but no arrowheads. (My friend even offered to give me one of his. I didn't take it. The rule is that ya gotta find 'em yourself.)

But I've found lots and lots of flint. It may not be an arrowhead, but it works for me. It's been chipped while chipping something else - a spearhead, an axe, maybe even an arrowhead. I pick it up off the ground, and rub the dirt off of it with my thumb. I realize the last person to hold my find passed this very spot 2500 years ago.

I get chills.

From somewhere, an ancestor smiles.

JB

You Know You Are Getting Old When ...

Okay. I'm now reduced to this; blatant stealing.

My friend Nicki posed the question on her blog - "You know you are getting old when ..." She commented on the new refrigerator that was installed in her apartment. It didn't have an ice maker. http://nickilovesdrama.blogspot.com/

I thought about that question. I thought about that refrigerator. (No, I am not seriously in need of a life ... at least not seriously. Not TOO seriously.) In case you don't know this fact about me, I'll tell you. At the moment I am deeply engrossed in writing a play. In short, there are people who think this play is completed. I have no idea why they think that. Well, maybe I might have a suspicion. In any case, I'm working away at this thing, and take a few minutes to breeze thru the blogs I enjoy. And there is Nicki's question - a distraction. So here's my secret. when I'm under self-induced pressure, I am drawn to distraction. The more pressure, the more I cling to distraction. It's like moss growing on the north side of a tree. (Does moss really grow on the north side of a tree? How does it know which way is north? I learned this bit of trivia from a John Wayne movie, so it must be true. John Wayne has never lied to me. Actually, I think it was William Holden who said it, but he was standing beside John Wayne at the time, and if it wasn't true, John Wayne would have corrected William Holden. I don't recall anybody ever correcting John Wayne.)

Where was I?

Oh. Yes.

Anyway, I was drawn to Nicki's question. I can easily remember a time before refrigerators HAD ice makers. Does that mean I know I'm getting older? (Don't tell anybody. When I was really young - I mean minus two or something like that - I can remember a friend of my parents who had a refrigerator that had no electricity. It was a big wooden box with ice in the bottom drawer. But that was in Chicago in the summer. In the winter they didn't even need the wooden box. They just put their milk and hot dogs out on the window sill, and whatever was out there stayed cold just fine. But that was Chicago - very progressive.)

In the meantime, I thought the question was a good one, and - being a writer, I'd love your response. How do you know when you are getting older? (And I'll make it easy on you - you don't have to talk about refrigerators, or even Chicago, if you don't want to. Personally, I think Chicago is a pretty interesting place, and I think there's plenty to write about, but not much of it makes me feel older. S0 maybe you shouldn't write about Chicago.)

On the other hand, I'm not at all suggesting that you CAN'T write about Chicago if you want to. I mean, if Chicago makes you feel old, I'd love to hear about it.

So. Ya got it? "You know you are getting old when ...

(And to make it even easier, the kind blogger people have provided a comment box for you. I'm not kidding. It's about three inches down from where you are reading at this very minute. If you don't believe me, go ahead and scroll down and see, and then come back. That's okay. I'll wait.

Do be do be dooooo ...

See? It's there - waiting for you. Ya ready? "You know you are getting old when ...'

Fun.

JB


And how was your day?