It’s here again. I find myself afflicted with that dreaded summer writer’s block and the first symptom is constipation of my creative orifice. In layman’s terms, for you non-professional writers in the magazine audience, I just can’t think of a dog-gone thing to write about for September’s end of summer/beginning of fall issue. As most of you know, I suffered from this same ailment last year and out of absolutely nowhere I came up with an incredibly entertaining article on our neighborhood block parties entitled Summer Writer’s Block Party. I’m so darn talented I impress myself sometimes.
But, alas that was last year. This year…I got nothing. The past few weeks I’ve been asking everyone (wife, kids, co-workers, mailman – he sure seems to be around a lot, and the milkman – I didn’t even know there was such a thing as a milkman anymore and he sure resembles the mailman), but no one came up with any suggestions, ideas, interesting stories or even a colorful Haiku? I love a good Haiku.
Perhaps the way to go about this is to simply compile a sampling of ramblings. I see it in the newspaper all the time. When a writer doesn’t have enough material for an entire article, he/she assembles a collection of short blurbs, dare I say vignettes, on a variety of topics to make his/her deadline with the required word count. I could do that. Here goes nothing.
Dreaming – I’ve been dreaming a lot lately. Get your mind out of the gutter. These are harmless PG-13 dreams. Maybe my nocturnal dreamscape is due to the warm summer nights or the Peyote toothpaste I’ve been using? Either way, I often wake-up drenched in a cold sweat having just dreamt that I was running from someone trying to kill me. Coincdentally, it’s usually our handsome mail/milkman. My kids tell me they’ve also been dreaming a lot more than usual, probably about how they’re going to adjust to a new dad who has two labor-intensive delivery jobs. Even our dogs seem to be dreaming, however their dreams are likely connected to 5 lb. steak bones, peeing in every yard in Danville or hopefully biting the mail/milkman.
There are all kinds of websites to help us interpret our dreams. Check out www.dreammoods.com, www.dreamforth.com, www.dream-dictionary.org or www.dreams.com. I’m a little reluctant to have my dreams interpreted for fear of what it could tell me, starting with my insecurity about delivery men.
Kickin’ it – Growing up, kickball was one of my favorite summertime games. For those of you unfamiliar with this totally awesome competitive sport, it’s a unique blend of softball, soccer, dodge ball and Hunger Games. On any given summer day, the kids in our neighborhood would assemble and teams would be drafted. If I happened to be selected a captain it would go something a little like this; “I’ll take Terry Ivie, Laura Faravelli, Victor Martina and the Mocking Jay—Katniss Everdeen.” To start to play, the pitcher would roll a hard rubber ball to the batter and that person would kick the ball. If someone caught it in the air the batter was out. If the ball bounced along the ground the fielders had to pick it up and throw it at a runner. If they hit the runner before that person reached a base they were out. If the runner eluded the thrown ball they were awarded the base. The offense scored runs the traditional way, every time a runner crossed home plate. However, in our neighborhood, the defense could score points by throwing the ball so hard a runner was knocked down, or if the runner cried, or in the event of a decapitation. I’ve convinced our old neighborhood has such a disproportionately high level of adult homelessness and unemployment due to the long-term effects of kickball-related concussion syndrome.
Alive and Kickin’ it – I’ve only sold approximately 17.5 copies of my latest book, Alive and Chillin’. My first book, Alive and Kickin’, sold well into the 20s. Granted, Kickin’ is probably more appealing than Chillin’, but now I’m a little depressed. A good game of kickball would probably get me out of my funk, but now that all my buddies are in their early 50s someone would undoubtedly break a hip. I was truly hoping my book would be released last December so I could capitalize on the holiday gift buying season. Unfortunately, we had to push out the release date due to complicated publishing issues. I couldn’t find anyone to “Like” my book and give a positive testimonial. I’ve seen people post photos of their feet and get 50 “Likes” on Facebook. Hoping to take advantage of the Valentine gift buying season, we tried to drop the book in February, but sadly that didn’t happen either. The book finally came out in May, but the Memorial Day gift buying season did not generate the sales we anticipated. I’m hoping for a Back-to-School gift buying push or I’ll be handing out signed copies to Trick-or-Treaters on Halloween.
Fear of Flying– I’ve done a fair amount of air travel these last few months, for business and pleasure, but I’m not what you would consider a frequent flyer. First Class and Business are too pricy for me so I typically travel in the coach section. Lately, due to all the mergers and acquisitions in the airline industry, I’ve had occasion to travel in Going out of Business class. You don’t get all the perks and benefits of actual Business Class, but you can really negotiate a great deal on the fare. The seats are about as roomy as a high school math desk and to be honest, I get a little tired of the Kirkland brand drinks and snacks, but at least the seat-back televisions in GOOB Class offer a reasonably good selection of 1980s Beta and VHS tapes. Meatballs, Strips, St. Elmo’s Fire and Who ya gonna call? Ghostbusters!
Higher Education – I recently decided to further my education by getting a degree online. I liked the idea of working toward my advanced studies at my own pace in the comfort of my own home. However, things started going wrong right away. First I didn’t get into the online dorms. I got my housing application in late and now I have to look for off campus cloud housing. Next, I got cyber bullied when I rushed a virtual fraternity. Those guys from Apple Dell Toshiba (ADT) are real jerks. Finally, my 22 year-old test proctor put me on academic probation when I had an unexplained absence during my final exam. Unexplained? I had to give the kids their lunch money and sign for a Fed Ex delivery. Now I have to do 150 hours of web-based community service before I can get my e-diploma. I’m considering dropping out of school.
I’ve got more material on everything from recycled water fill-up stations to Donald Trump and the pre-election election, but frankly I’m exhausted and want to take a nap. All-in-all, I’d say this article is better than nothing unless of course there’s a general consensus that nothing might have been better? I promise to come back with something stronger in the next issue. Something that’s seasonal, topical or spiritually uplifting. Anybody have any ideas?
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