Embed on Text Post

Trying out this experiment to put in code for a youtube video that won’t start at 0:00 but at a designated spot in the middle. Let’s see how we do.  I figured out that you can make a video post to do that… but I’m not sure that fits into the overall goal.

This video should start at 00:59.


Visiting memories?

The question posed: “If you could go back and visit one memory which would you choose?”

Well that’s a silly question… Anyone care to venture as to why?

Simply because visiting memories isn’t something you have to choose one of-they are memories, you can visit them all… That’s what the concept of a memory is…

I suppose the asker really meant to phrase it to mean “If you could relive or reexperience one memory which would you choose?”
That’s more of a loaded question.  Would it have the butterfly effect, would I know I was reliving it, and would I have free will to make different choices, actions, or statements?

This is way to heavy for a night like this. Save this question for later. It’s getting quite sad and scary at the same time.

Strong enough to be my man.


, ,

Strong enough to be my man.   It’s a song, for those of you who don’t recognize it.

But what does it mean exactly. Does it mean he has to be physically strong enough? Emotionally strong enough? Strong enough mentally?

I suppose we must look at the other lyrics. Look at the whole picture shall we?

Nothing’s true and nothing’s right so let me be alone tonight cause you can’t change the way I am are you strong enough to be my man.  Lie to me. I promise I’ll believe.  Lie to me. but please don’t leave. Don’t leave.

I have a face I cannot show, make the rules up as I go, try to love me if you can, Are you strong enough to be my man. My man. Are you strong enough to be my man.

And when I show you that I just don’t care when I’m throwing punches in the air when I’m broken down and I can’t stand would you be man enough to be my man. Lie to me. I promise I’ll believe.  Lie to me. But please don’t leave. 

Sounds like she’s a bit of a spit fire, huh? She’s a pusher, though deep down she wants him to stay with her no matter the cost-lies.  Is he strong enough to hold her when she’s running away. Is he strong enough to see past her fears, fibs, faults. Is he strong enough to show her he loves her.  

I would ask…Is she strong enough to love herself despite the faults and differences?  She will lose him if she’s not. Watch the movies… The story line is played out over and over. Boy loves girl. Girl loves boy. One of them gets spooked and pushes the other away until ultimately at the end he/she comes groveling back at the end of the movies saying they made a mistake and they can’t live without the other one. (Exhibit 1: Pretty in Pink) 

So really this song should be sung to oneself in the mirror.  Are you strong enough to go out there and be loved? No? Okay grab some popcorn and pop Molly Ringwald into that VCR…



, ,

It takes a lot to stand up to your bully. Everyone who’s seen just about any preteen movie knows that.  What about standing up to an adult bully?  And what about an adult that isn’t bullying you but someone in your presence?

It’s tough. I remember recognizing my first “adult” bully.  It wasn’t pleasant. I was in a group of guys, some many years older than I. One of the fellows was filling in this dart match for a team, and the opposing player he was matched up against was one of the best in the league.  It should have been obvious to all involved who was going to win. And awesomely enough as guys go it had to be a blow out. Fair enough. But it couldn’t be left at that. Passive aggressiveness at it’s finest.  The better player couldn’t even give this newbie-someone who hasn’t picked up a dart in who knows how long-someone who needed a refresher on the rules-a chance.  He clobbered him and enjoyed it and reveled in high-fives and hand shakes and cheers from his friends. Very unsportsman like. Very disturbing. I hated it.  I didn’t do anything though…besides talk about it amongst a few close acquaintances I had there; one whom had grown up being bullied by said unsportsman like player.

I didn’t do anything. I didn’t feel very poorly about not doing something because I felt a girl speaking up in this situation couldn’t possibly make any part of it better. So I kept my mouth shut. And I have become increasingly aware of adult bullying.

I’m trying to do my small part to change it.  And I have found out, as all bully-interferrers do, that it gets much worse, and it gets pinned on you, before it will get better.

Enter Stage Right: My boss.

He’s a generous man, a loving family man, but he’s mean.  He says things that shouldn’t be said about people. I’ve always just let it go. But recognizing it as bullying I decided I wasn’t going to allow him to talk of such people in negative manners in my presence.  He is welcome to his opinions and to share his opinions but he can not say horrible things about undeserving people in front of me.  So I started to tell him what he was saying wasn’t nice, was mean, was rude, etc etc… And such things go worse, and he started picking on me! He’s made foolish comments before and I’ve sort of laughed them off or ignored them to keep him from getting the satisfaction of irking me…but he’s getting more intense and so much more cruel. To the point today that my co-worker couldn’t believe how degrading he was to me FIRST thing this morning when he came in.  

Honestly I was one comment away from walking out the door for the day. And it wasn’t even 10 o’clock yet.

Bullying is bad. It’s unfair and it leads to some pretty awful things.  I don’t think myself a crusader for standing up and putting up with all his bullshit or anyone else’s. But I do hope that I may enlighten someone, even if not my boss, on the ridiculousness of bullying and it’s evil, life-taking results.


Her posture holds her power. She is upright and walks with momentum.
Head held high she knows where she is going.
Her hair falls in her eyes and the wind misses not a beat as it relocates it on her cheek.
If her face was marred she would still exude beauty.

The fabric on her body was made to fit her curves.
The shoes on her feet mold to her step.
So strong. So sturdy. Like the mighty oak in the forest.

It happens to even her though. She misses a step.
She falters and fears the impending fall.
She is so strong though, how can she fall?
Her strength is just out of grasp. What does she reach for?
Her eyes turn downward; her lips grasp a breath. A sigh. To soothe her body.

She’s not panicking. Because she can’t.
She is the Oak Tree. She does not bend, she can not break.
She must say strong. Stronger than the falter. 
Because if she doesn’t. Who will hold her?

Last Call

An empty chair sets between them a line of courtesy that isn’t broke.
A safe zone that is honored.
Passionate voices pass over, maybe a slight, gracing, outstretched touch
but nothing more occupies that empty chair.
Two strangers converse from either side of this emptiness.
Topics vary and jump furiously but each is pushed with that passion.
Strong, yet understanding viewpoints are exchanged. Agreed upon. Argued and Discorded. 
Their passion extends into the airwaves and bounces down on bystanders sitting near
Changing their topics and easily bleeding passion from these new conversationalists.
A once apathetic evening is now absorbed with patrons expressing opinions, getting heated and debating with their souls.
The energy has been awakened, minds are enlightened and then she calls out:
“Last Call.”

Four Guys, Eight Eyes.

Wallflowers stinking of metal watch the patrons.  Watch over the Mirth.
Their history is unknown but knowingly vast.
They silently observe and take notes with their historic minds.
The presidential ensemble could so easily pass judgement
But they speak their two cents to no one. They sit in silence.
Hidden by their size and possibly their face value
Yet they are so commanding of intrigue.
If you are lucky enough to notice 
You are indebted to ponder.


Opening Entry

I really wish I could type while I drive. I get all my good ideas then. Story lines story ideas, wrting prompts. It all comes when I’m driving.  I had the grand idea of coming to “Mad Elf Tuesday” by myself. To work on my creativity.  I brought both my writing tools and my sketching tools. And as you can see I choose to use my writing tools. Atleast first.  

So here I sit at the 2nd “Mad Elf Tuesday.” Alone. But with my thoughts, so I guess no more alone than is typical. The bar is actually full and there is one other table occupied by a pair of not-so-bad looking men. One of which held the door for me.  Its the actions of others you remember, not their words.

One of my writing prompt ideas was to do sort of a call and answer with songs.  I heard a song by Toby Keith where he sings of a bartender and the “hope on the rocks” that he serves. That song really struck me in that you need one object to write a good set of lyrics.  One object and tell of what that does. So that is my first writing prompt. But first I must select an interesting object.  

Side-bar. I just noticed that the faux chair rail next to me has a quart, a nickel and two dimes resting on it.  They are watching the patrons. Perhaps that can be my first perspective. That of the coins. Ready. Set. New Post.