Tag Archives: reading

QOTD – What’s Your (Guilty) Pleasure?

by J. Gabriel Allan

I have a confession to make and it isn’t going to be easy. I really hope I’m among friends here.

Preemptive, interesting sidebar – the term guilty pleasure is almost a misnomer. The “guilt” one feels, most often, in a guilty pleasure is actually a fear of other people finding out your secret, sordid, or embarrassing activity you find enjoyable. A pleasure you should feel guilt over would be supporting a company who uses its profits to exploit third-world and minority workers- being a man who loves listening to Taylor Swift’s catchy ass music is something to feel embarrassment over. But, alas, until I am elected dictator of the world we will continue to have misleadingly coined phrases running amok.

Everyone, every reader, has his or her “go-to authors” — that author whose books you will buy whenever you see them on the shelf. You may or may not have the entire collection, but you certainly know that if that author has a new book out you will most likely buy it as soon as you see it.

Myself, I have almost every word Chuck Pahalniuk has written (and had published in a novel or non-fictional account of Portland). I used to be much more aggressive in my collecting of his work, but then I got a little fatigued by what felt like his desire to make things as disgusting or disturbing as possible simply because he could. Haunted was difficult to enjoy- but I did.

If Brian Michael Bendis is writing for a comic series, I will give it at least an issue or two to get hooked. And usually do. Even his painfully repetitive New Avengers arcs (Luke Cage needs to quit to be with his wife, they need Luke so he stays to perform his duty to keep society safe, Luke Cage needs to quit to be with his child, Luke needs to stay with the Avengers to keep society safe for his child, rinse, repeat) kept me purchasing at a ravenous pace.

A lot of people love John Grisham. Stephen King puts out a book a week and can’t keep up with demand.

But these are all acceptable forms of bibliophilia. No shame. No guilt.

I have a confession to make and it isn’t going to be easy. I really hope I’m among friends here.

I have a guilty pleasure. I …

I enjoy reading Dan Brown’s Robert Langdon novels.

It has been an exercise in will-power that I have not yet purchased Inferno. Just typing that sentence gives me an itch to get out of this chair and go grab a copy at the B&N across the street.

They are so horribly written. There is not a sentence to be found in the thousands of collective pages that is well crafted. The plot is so formulaic it becomes easy to predict what page the female character is going to help him escape murder/arrest/certain death and in which chapter the would-be villain is shown to actually be working on the same side.

Yet, just sitting here typing this I am growing more intrigued about what happens in Inferno.

This is my guilty pleasure. Maybe it’s because the books are so poorly written and so formulaic that I am intrigued. In a sick way, maybe it’s like watching an author paint himself into a corner and then fight his way out with a toothpick in a knife fight. (horrible mixed metaphor courtesy of the Dan Brown School of Writing)

I mean, how can he possibly pin another tail on this same beaten horse (donkey?) skeleton?

Everyone has their guilty pleasures with literature, some people read trashy romance, some of us read Sue Grafton, my wife will read any YA novel with a paranormal romance (what does that say about me, I wonder?).

QOTD – What’s your guilty pleasure with reading? Which author or which genre do you love to read, but hate to admit?

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QOTD – When Is Fiction More Than Fiction?

by J. Gabriel Allan

When Joey Tribiani reads The Shining, he has to put the book in the freezer and take a break during the really scary parts.

Rachel later convinced (convinces? Do television shows take place in the present tense even if they’ve been off the air for close to a decade?) him to read Little Women and he is worse than scared. He becomes emotional, not just sensationally, invested. Beth is sick and it doesn’t look like there’s anything they can do… so he puts the book in the freezer to keep himself safe.

On July 16, 2005 I wish I would have had a freezer cold enough to numb what I knew had been coming for six books as I paced through my living room reading and rereading the chapter The Lightning Struck Tower in Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince.

I was way too old to be distressed by this. I had seen this coming. I expected Dumbledore to die during Sorcerer’s Stone or Chamber of Secrets. Yet, there I was unable to sleep after finishing the book. I sat up a good portion of the night rereading for clues and answers. Why did this happen now? What will make it all okay? Is Snape the world’s most powerful dark wizard playing both sides against the middle or are he and Dumbledore willing to sacrafice everything to stop Voldemort/save Harry? And where, oh where, are these Horcruxes? (I tried rereading key chapters from each book, convinced there was one in each of the 7).

I found my way to Mugglenet’s discussion boards and wandered into a room that had *Spoiler Alert* as a description. This was the room for people who had finished HBP and needed consoling, needed answers, needed to mourn and vent and rant.

After a while I found myself consoling a small handful of readers- convincing them all was not lost, that hope will always be given to those who ask for it, citing evidence from the text and referring back to her oft-used literary techniques. It was somewhere at this point that I realized I was probably 1.5-2x as old as my fellow chatters. My thoughts at the time were mixed between “what a loser” and “I need to stop taking my work home with me” (I was a 7th grade Language Arts teacher at the time). Looking back now, my perspective shifts away from myself a bit and toward that 12 or 13 year old who had started the series as a child, had grown with these characters, looking up to these characters, and not having the outside perspective of the formulaic hero-quest and death of the mentor to lean upon.

If, as a 25 year old with a degree in English and a Master’s in Teaching (specific to English and Theatre) I experienced such distress at an event I should easily have been able to rationalize, what must it have been like for a reader Harry’s age (or younger). If I had been so pulled into the events (so pulled in that I am a little ashamed to be admitting all of this), what must it have been like for young readers who had yet to take Studies in Fiction, et. al.?

This completely fictional event changed lives.

That is the power of fiction. That is the power of truth. That is the power of words.

If you were to ask me my favorite book I would vacillate between answering Fight Club or The Great Gatsby. I used to include The Catcher in the Rye in the rotation, but I think there comes a time -probably somewhere around the midtwenties- when you have to outgrow that one (don’t get me wrong, still an AMAZING book -but it shouldn’t speak to you as personally as an adult as it does as an adolescent).

The poetic prose of Fight Club is beautiful. Reading the book is an extremely enjoyable process. Your eye is dragged through the story word by word, expertly crafted paragraph by paragraph.

Though a dramatically different style, Fitzgerald’s prose brings Gatsby’s world to life and makes the world jump off of the page.

However, it is theme that draws me toward these two books. And, though they appear very different, they are the same book (thematically).

Manifest your own destiny.

Reinvent yourself. You are Tyler Durden; You are Jay Gatsby.

Believe in the green light- this is not a weekend retreat…

Nothing is static, everything is evolving, everything is falling apart- but that’s no matter, tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther…

This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time- so we beat on, boats against the current . . .

QOTD – What work of fiction (a book, poem, or song would work for this) do you connect with on a personal and/or emotional level? What work of art is more than art for you?

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————-I put no asterisks or SPOILER ALERT warnings for anything included here. The most recent book referenced came out eight years ago. Dumbledore dies, Beth dies, Jack dies, Gatsby dies, Tyler dies, I will die and so will you- but how, my friend, does that spoil anything?

Hey, hey, hey, here’s Joey reading Little Women

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Science and Math and Philip of Macedon’s Atoms: How Reading Will Train You To Read Better

by Doran Simmons

In his fantastic book, A Short History of Nearly Everything, Bill Bryson begins with an invitation to think about just how lucky each of us is to exist. He discusses how, so many millions of years ago and against all rational odds, the conditions on this planet became suitable for life, and how that life found a way to flourish. But even so, the path from those first organisms to us was not a safe one. It was winding and dark and full of danger. He reminds us that the number of things that had to go right to produce anything like humanity is truly mind-boggling.

99% of all species that have ever existed on this planet have gone extinct. Yet somehow all of my ancestors, human and otherwise, managed not only to be born into a species that did not die out, but to live long enough to reproduce themselves.

I’m thinking about all these things as I sit at my desk and stare at gossip websites and pop-up ads that disguise themselves as interesting and make me watch commercials for cars I will never buy. If he were here, Bill Bryson might tell me that some of the same atoms that now make up the hands typing this sentence once belonged to Philip of Macedon. He may remark on how the same basic building material that constituted my crappy laptop once burned in the heart of a star, as he offered me some tea. He might also wonder why, if I already knew of my illustrious pedigree and universal sense of destiny, I was sitting here in the semi-darkness of my office reading about how Jenny McCarthy is causing some real controversy since taking over for that other crazy blonde on The View.

“It doesn’t matter what you read, as long as you’re reading something.”

I had a professor in college who found that statement infuriating. Of course it matters what you read. I can’t remember his exact argument, but I think it came down to math, which is weird for an English professor. His point, I think, is that there is more stuff out there that is proven to be good than one person can read in a lifetime. If your goal was to read all the real literature humanity had to offer, every summer paperback or Stephanie Meyer atrocity you picked up would burn reading time you don’t have.

I don’t necessarily disagree with this. The only problem I have is that it makes it all sound like work.

It is absolutely true that some books are better than others. But I think that, in time, a reader learns to tell the difference. Reading is a skill, like juggling. You start off slow, but with lots of practice and perseverance pretty soon you’re doing flaming bowling pin tricks and considering adding a running chainsaw. Crowds love a chainsaw.

It’s possible that juggling was a bad example, but you get my point. A smart person with a library card can teach themselves to spot good writing just by reading widely. After a while, good readers will find themselves unable to focus on a book that isn’t written well. Once enough time is invested, it won’t be a question of reading the books you want to read or reading the books you should. As your skill as a reader becomes honed to a razor edge, you won’t stand for anything less from your reading material.

I don’t want to sound like a snob, but in a lot of ways I totally am. Not that I demand all the best in a Robin Leach, MTV Cribs, rich kid, irritating kind of way. Those who know me know that I still eat like a college kid and drink wine from a bag.* But I do demand the best from my entertainment. It’s a totally different kind of irritating.

It’s also more than a little hypocritical, since I started out this post by talking about how I was reading articles from the Yahoo! homepage and drinking tea with an imaginary Bill Bryson. Well, guilty as charged, I guess. Luckily, I can justify reading this crap by blogging about it. That’s another writer’s tip I learned from that same professor. Nothing is wrong if you can justify it.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, that Jenny McCarthy is making a lot of sense about corn syrup and autism, though I suspect she doesn’t really need those glasses and is just wearing them to look smart.

It isn’t working.

 

*Yes. I take the bag out of the box and drink from that, because I live like a shitpig.

QOTD- What’s Your Plan, Writers?

by Doran Simmons

“When did you realize that your life wasn’t going to turn out the way you thought it would?”

Often, when I’m out of ideas, I open the little folder on my desktop titled ‘unfinished’ and see if any good sentences jump out at me from the half-finished poems and drafted introductions to short stories that never really led to any sort of story. Sometimes, I’ll spot an idea or a well-written thought that fits into another piece and helps it move forward. Sometimes, I’ll just see something that makes me think.

The line above was the first line of an unfinished story about… something. I’m not sure what it was supposed to be about, which is probably why it was never finished. It was a line of dialogue uttered by a young woman to a young man as they huddled together and slowly froze to death. I think I meant it to be profound. I can’t be sure because I don’t remember writing it.

But it did get me thinking about expectations. I remember a conversation I had with a friend just after we graduated high school. We were talking about the future and all the amazing things we were going to accomplish. We were really enjoying ourselves since, at that age, the future is still exciting and hasn’t yet become terrifying. Oh, we had some ambitions. I think I claimed my first novel would be published by the time I was 25, which seemed totally plausible at the time. She would, by that time, have turned her modeling career into a fashion empire, and we would basically spend our time being the coolest people ever. It’s a memory that seems at once shamefully naive and totally adorable.

Nostalgia is the pain of remembering, but the pain is not entirely unpleasant. As Sir John Cougar Mellancamp* would say, it “hurts so good”. As we age, we grow, and that can be a painful process. Not only do we grow softer around the midsection but we grow more realistic in our goals. That novel remains the X on my treasure map, but time frame has had to change. And probably for the better. I don’t think I’d want to read the book a 25 year old me would have written. But, then again, I don’t even like reading my old drafts. As stated above, I usually only do so out of desperation, when writer’s block strikes.

As writers, we understand deadlines. Or at least we should. When I was 18, I set a deadline while trying to impress a girl and drinking warm beer in a park. I don’t think anyone would consider that legally binding, but it stuck with me because I broke it. Let’s see if I can’t recreate that experience for all of us.

What is your five year plan? Where will you be as a writer in 2018?

Once it’s written down, you’ll be able to look back fondly at how young and naive you were. Or, you’ll have something to stare at angrily while you reminisce on your failures and drink.

Either way, fun stuff.

*He was knighted, right?

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QOTD – Who Ya’ Shippin’?

by J. Gabriel Allan

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Walking into my classroom after rehearsal several months ago I overheard bits of a conversation that had me wondering if I’d accidentally wandered into a FedEx office.

“I would totally Ship that.”

“I do NOT approve of Shipping those two.”

“Why not, that’s a good Ship…”

Turns out Ship should have been ‘ship and there was a slight slang gap.

ship
N: Short for romantic relationship, popularized in fanfiction circles.

V: To endorse a romantic relationship.

N: I see a ‘ship developing between Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.

V: I ship Ron/Hermione

As someone who feels fanfic is a horrific form of art, at first I was annoyed, then a little amused, then realized that this concept of ‘Shipping is brilliant. What a great new way for readers to engage with text.

After overhearing several more, and participating in a few, ‘Shipping convos I found the fun in taking characters who never become romantically involved (apparently, that Ron/Hermione example from Urban Dictionary would be no good after book 6/7) and putting them together. Particularly fun is making people explain why the characters would make a good couple. You can even cross-novel or cross-genre ‘Ship.

Here are a few examples:

  • I ‘Ship Holden Caufield and Esther Greenwod – after wallowing in their own depression for so long, these two would have a who has it worst contest that would somehow buoy both spirits. Plus, let’s be honest, they’re both way too insightful and smart for their age. Half their depression is lack of a kindred spirit.
  • I ‘Ship Daisy Buchanan and Bella Swan – they are both just horrible females who deserve each other.
  • A very common ‘Ship is Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood because she’s quirky and Neville’s shy- but I would ‘Ship Luna with Hamlet to lighten him up a bit, and Neville with Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took into an unbreakable bromance cultivating the Longbottom leaf…
  • Lastly, I ship Dumbledore and Gandolf. No explanation needed.

 

QOTD – Who Are You Shipping? Which literary characters would you like to see in a relationship and why?

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QOTD – What Book Have You Pretended To Read?

by J. Gabriel Allan

This started a few months back, and I am 100% stealing this idea from a friend of mine who I am sure does not read the site. And if he did visit the site on a whim today, probably wouldn’t choose to comment. Anyway, this friend, we’ll call him “AP Human Geography Teacher” because he teaches AP Human Geography, which, to me, sounds like anatomy- but isn’t.

For the sake of the story it is a relevant detail that AP Human Geography Teacher is smart (such that “smart” = scored a 34 on the ACT and can speak knowledgeably, albeit often arrogantly, on just about any subject including non-academic areas such as music, movies, or sports -though, it must be noted that he thinks punting on third down would be a sound strategy and Jacoby Ellsbury is not one of the fastest players in the Major League).

In setting the scene, we will say the story begins on a Tuesday. Why a Tuesday? Didn’t feel like a Monday, and a few days need to pass before the climax of the story on a Friday.

(I am playing fast and loose with the word “story’ here, what you are about read hardly qualifies as an anecdote)

I was getting my morning coffee and dropping by to say hello in the English wing when AP Human Geography Teacher drops into American Lit Teacher’s room and drops off a copy of The Great Gatsby, saying, “good book,” as he sets it down on the stack of student copies.

“You don’t have a copy?” I asked, surprised, possibly assuming it had gotten damaged in a flood or lost in a movie.

“Naw, I pretended to read it in High School.” And without thinking about what that meant I went on with my life.

Cut to Friday. For the sake of setting the scene, let’s say we are in a bar. The conversation shifts to Gatsby.

“Let’s be honest,” says AP Human Geography Teacher, “we’ve all pretended to read at least one book.”

To be clear, we were not talking about the book that you don’t read for class but hope to pass the test (and, sadly, usually do. Easily.) We’re talking about that book you did not read but have gleaned enough information about to join in on a conversation about it or quote from it. You represent to other people that you have read the book. When its name is brought up you chime in about what a great book it is. If someone makes an esoteric reference about it, you use social context to figure out if you should laugh or just shake your head. You’re pretending. We’ve all done it. We all do it a lot.

I joined in the conversation and threw out a few books that I’d pretended to read for class (pretty much anything other than Catcher in the Rye for high school and most of the curriculum for Studies in Fiction my junior year of college). I have since read most of those books -other than Robinson Crusoe, I gave it 100 pages and that’s all he gets.

We also talked about movies you’d pretended to have seen. (People do this more often and are usually more willing to admit it).

Finally, the honesty dam broke and I had to admit:

I’ve never actually read 1984.

Relevant detail: AP Human Geography Teacher has a sign on his wall espousing that We’ve Always Been At War With Eastasia. I had often referenced this joke. I had learned enough about 1984 by listening to others talk about it, read essays, articles, etc. that draw from it, and having the common knowledge of an allegory that I could effectively reference the book without having read it. I felt dirty.

But the honestly of finally admitting it was great.

I went home and found the free ebook and read it that weekend. Great book. I assumed it was good. It was great. I thoroughly enjoyed the first two sections and then the third section, at the ministry of love, I felt dirty and awful and didn’t want to read it- and that is when I knew what an amazing work of humanity this book truly is.

I have now read 1984 (so you don’t have to feel dirty if you read We’ve Always Been At War With Eastasia – a pictorial essay), but I had pretended, quite effectively, for years.

Why? Probably because people had expected that I had read it and I didn’t want to let them down. Probably because I wanted my image as an intelligent reader to stay in tact. Probably because it was so easy to quote without fully understanding (seriously, pay attention to how many people use the term Big Brother incorrectly).

But, I have now read 1984 and there was never a time when I had not read it. I had always read 1984.

QOTD – Honesty time: What book have you pretended to read?

(or, failing that, what movie have you pretended to have seen?)

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The Bedroom is a Sanctuary for Sleeping, Sex, and Reading.

by Christopher Margolin

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It’s 80 degrees in Vancouver, Washington right now. It’s almost 7pm, and it’s finally that time of the year where I regret not having air conditioning, or larger fans, or that the insulation in my attic is too thin and far from up to code. I’m in the process of recovering from surgery, and I’ve been fairly bed-ridden for the last week, and with a few days to go, I think I’ve watched my way through Netflix, caught up in Californication, killed a handful of flies, and stared out my bedroom window enough times to memorize the curves on the gutter down spout that sits almost three feet from the sill. The one thing I’ve yet to do is the one thing that I’ve truly wanted to do this whole time – read.

I thought that given my situation, I’d be drawn to books, but unfortunately that has not been the case. I ordered a lot of them, and as they’ve begun to show up, I’ve definitely been excited to see them – but I haven’t opened them yet. Well, I opened up the autographed copy of Chorus by Saul Williams, and it made me smile to know that I have something I’ve coveted for so long.

I don’t read much beyond my basic curriculum during the school year. For some reason I felt as if reading during the school year made me lose focus on what I was doing in my classroom. It’s a sad excuse, and one that I know is an excuse. I’ve been using it for a long time. The honest truth is that I enjoy the mental shutdown of watching television, and reading at home sounds tedious at times. All that changed over the last couple of days.

I spent the first five days of recovery at my parents’ house, in order to give my fiance an ample opportunity to move around the house a bit. We combined households almost a year ago, but have finally started to make the home ours versus mine. She moved our bedroom into a different room, changed around the living room, and reorganized to truly make this place look like a home for the first time in the three years I’ve lived here. One of the main changes is that we’ve removed the television from the bedroom. It had become a distraction. The bedroom, as she would say, “is a sanctuary for two things: sleeping and sex.” How on earth can I argue with that? That being said, now that I’m home, and confined to the bedroom for a few more days, it’s become a room where I can sit down and read instead of watch movies the entire day.

Last night, I read B by Sarah Kay. It was a short children’s book of a solitary poem, with gorgeous simplistic illustrations. Well worth the read, and a nice way to ease back into things. Tonight I will start on Chorus by Saul Williams. I’m a huge fan of his work – both music and poetry – so I’m truly looking forward to digging into the text. It’s a signed copy, so I’ll take my notes on sticky notes instead of inside the book itself, and unfortunately, this means I won’t be underlining phrases, or highlight things that truly stick out. I’m okay with that. I’ll survive on scattered yellow notes throughout the book.

So, tonight I settle in with a margarita, and a nice book of hard-hitting poetry. Sounds like a fantastic evening to me.

Bill Hicks : What Are You Readin’ For?

by Doran Simmons

(CAUTION: THIS VIDEO CONTAINS SOME SALTY LANGUAGE)

One summer, when I was ten or eleven, my stepbrother came into my room with a very serious question.

“Are you sick?”

He asked it with an expression not of concern, but of genuine confusion. You see, it was a beautiful afternoon, and I had repeatedly declined his suggestion that we go ride bikes in favor of sitting on my bed and reading a book.
For my part, I didn’t understand why my explanation of “I’m almost done with this book,” wasn’t enough to explain my reluctance to go do something else. In my head, that sentence should still be enough to get me out of anything, including jury duty.

Now, his confusion had more to do with my preference at that time for reading to going outside and causing minor property damage like a normal suburban boy. I think Bill Hicks is talking about something else here, an active anti-intellectualism in the form of a preference for passive entertainment to active.

Bill Hicks was one of the best comics of the 20th century and he responded perfectly.
“I’m not reading Hee Haw the book.”

(Hee Haw was a TV show. Google it.)

The experience is different, and the biggest difference between reading a book and watching TV is that the book won’t move on without you. It requires 100% of your attention 100% of the time you are engaged with it. You can leave a TV on and leave the room. Not so with a book. Unless you’re right in the middle of it it’ll just flip itself closed.

And look up more Bill Hicks. Because sometimes hilarious anger is the logical reaction to the things around you.

How My Favorite Pandora Station Became a Microcosm of the Entertainment Industry. Or Something.

by Doran Simmons

This is really important, you guys.

I know I like to joke around, but this is serious. I have a critical warning that you need to hear, so stop playin’ grabass for one minute and listen.

Stay away from that ‘Thumbs Up’ on Pandora.

Seriously, I know what I’m talking about here.

If I can get nostalgic for a minute, I remember when I had to buy whole damn CD because I liked one song that I had heard on the radio. Yeah. This kind of a story is my generation’s version of the ‘I had to walk 15 miles through the snow to get to school when I was your age’ speech, except this one is TRUE! We had to do that, and God only knows how many poor bastards ended up with an entire album by the Squirrel Nut Zippers because of it.

But the internet changed all that.

First, there was Napster and the Wild West years, where everything was free if you had a fast connection. Then Metallica mobilized and got Napster shut down, and all it cost them was their fans. That left people like me, who were only savvy enough to steal music online when their roommate did it for them, out of luck. Unless I wanted to pay for my music again. Ugh. Even if it was possible now to just buy that one Squirrel Nut Zippers song for $.99, I couldn’t go back to paying to listen to music. I’d tasted freedom. I couldn’t go back there. I wouldn’t.

Then Pandora came along, and it was like they made it just for me. I work in front of a computer, and I listen to music all day. Even an extensive iTunes library gets boring after a few days. I need variety. I like to be surprised.

Pandora was a gift from the gods.

But she wasn’t everything she seemed…

There’s always a catch. In mythology, it was Hope, trapped in the bottom of the jar for better or worse. In technology, it’s a little icon that pops up with two choices you can click on, one a hand with its thumb up and one with its thumb down. Like an emperor in the Colosseum, you can decide if the track lives or dies. It’s an intoxicating power, I won’t lie.

And like so many intoxicating things, I became drunk on it.

I was delighted with this new discovery, and every time a song I remotely liked came on I gave it a big ‘Thumbs Up’. I was like Roger Ebert on ecstasy; I was that loose with the thumbs. (RIP Roger. I almost considered not writing that joke, but in a strange way, I feel like he would have wanted me to?)

But the good times were not to last. After week or so, I found myself getting bored again. I was hearing the same songs, over and over. They were songs that I liked, sure, but where was the variety that made me fall for you in the first place, Pandora? Where had the spark gone?

Deep down, I think I knew. Pandora was playing it safe, and it disappointed the hell out of me. I had to watch this new and exciting thing go the same way I had seen almost the entire entertainment industry go before it.

Call it a generalization if you must, but everything widely available to us as entertainment is boring. It’s all safe. No one wants to try anything they haven’t already seen somebody else do successfully, which never creates anything of real value. Pandora was now catering to me the way the movie industry caters to 14 year olds, and I didn’t like it. Like a dog that has been beaten before, my favorite station was now cowering and trying so hard to not get beat that a dark and irrational side of me sort of wanted to beat it. I’m not proud of it, but if I was better with computers I might have found a way to virtually smack Pandora on the nose with a newspaper.

In an age where media is surrounding us all the time, it’s so rare anymore to be surprised by it. Those who take significant risks are often marginalized in the industry if they make any impact at all. I want my variety back, Pandora. I want the old you back.

After all was said and done, I switched to Slacker. And I never let on that I like a song too much. I act distant with Slacker. I’m an enigma.

And every once in a while, Slacker will still surprise me.

Skee-Lo? Well played.

I wonder if he ever got any taller…

QOTD – Do You Hear The People Sing?

by J. Gabriel Allan

I composed this tweet while driving1 to my step-father-in-law’s2 retirement from the Missouri Air National Guard.

2. I usually refer to him as Bill to avoid all the hyphenation
1. I was actually passangering, not driving. Safety first.

Chris really enjoyed the #LifeAsPoetry tagline and we decided to run with it for a while, which got me thinking. A dangerous pastime, I know*.

*Pardon my Disney reference, but no one is quite like Gaston.

There is so much beauty in this world that gets ignored. There is too much beauty in this world that gets ignored.

By now, I hope you have heard the story of Joshua Bell playing his violin in the Washington DC Metro stop. If you haven’t, you need to internet** more. You can read the full article here, or you can just understand that a world renowned violinist displayed his skills in a subway station and was widely ignored by the masses too busy with the glorification of busy to stop and listen to the roses.

**Yes, “to internet” is a verb – it is usually done on the Google machine or the Facebook, occasionally the Tweeter.

I recently attended an amazing professional development workshop on engaging students of poverty lead by Eric Jensen where he told an amazing story that you won’t find on the internet. This story takes place on a school bus. It was, as school busses are wont to be, a loud, noisy school bus full of talking, screaming, singing children. The bus driver fought daily for the students to sit down, quiet down, shut up…

until he missed a day and there was a substitute bus driver.

Adding to the overwhelming cacophony of noise was a ten year old named Darrel. Darrel was singing. Darrel was always singing.

As Darrel approached the doors to get off the bus, the substitute bus driver did something beautiful. Instead of telling Darrel to shut up, he told Darrel you have an amazing voice and gave him a phone number of a relative who was involved in music.

Darrel, whose full name is Darrel Labrado, released three albums, had two Billboard Top 100 hits and has performed on MTV and in New York for Billboard.

Because someone took the time to listen to his voice instead of telling him to shut up.

Because someone took the time to hear the music over the din.

How much beauty, how much poetry gets lost in our world because we forget to look, to listen, to see?

Art does not imitate life. Life is art.

Artists merely capture the moments.

 

QOTD – Where do you find beauty, art, or poetry in the world around you? What is your #LifeAsPoetry moment?

Respond here, on Facebook, or on Twitter.