Category Archives: twitter
Every Day I Write The Book
Robots, rockstars, a grieving parent, 100 Word Songs and my personal adventures as a man surrounded by women prompt a daily spectacle that over a hundred and fifty of you choose to click. Breaks at work, laying by the pool, watching sports, and stretched out on my bed on a saturday morning are how I provide something worth your internet surf. Four hundred and eighty five posts covering two years and three days later, blogging has made me a better writer and person . As Helene rocks her way into your hands and kindles, I’ll keep showing you my soul.
****blogger’s note****
May 23, 2010 I took my wife’s advice and staretd My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. I decided to recognize it in 100 words through my friend Velvet’s 100 Word challenge. http://www.velvetverbosity.com/ Her word this week was “SPECTACLE” .Thanks for reading, commenting, tweeting, the facebooking, and allowing me into your consciousness. Happy 2, My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog.
Here’s the great Elvis Costello.
100 Word Song – Within Me
Nearly 20 entries for The Beatles Revolution including a few new people. Leeroy is impressed with your spirit and talent. There’s always a let down after a revolution. That euphoric feeling as change sweeps through means that you’re emotionally spent and destined for a moment of darkness. So today’s 100 words is perfect. It’s World Goth Day.
Frelle has stepped up to provide this week’s song pick. I don’t even think she saw the calendar. But her Liam and Caera story is full of angst and dark emotional places to go. I love it. Here’s her 100 from las week: http://mademorebeautiful.com/2012/05/21/how-much-longer/ She even used Evanescence in her post. This girl knows how to theme. Her choice is Within Me by Lacuna Coil, an Italian goth rock band with two lead singers. Plenty of inspiration there.
I went back into my archives of Millicent, the Cinnamon Girl serial poisoner for my 100. This little scene didn’t make the cut when I edited my Cinnamon Girl short story. http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/cinnamon-girl/ This happens before her perp walk when she goes to jail for three murders.
Millicent swept the tiny brush through her black eyelashes one more time before getting dressed. She sat naked, with perfect posture and and frowned at her reflection.
“Dad was right. This world doesn’t understand genius. “
She studied the two off-white capsules displayed several feet away.
“I should take them. That’s better than going to jail.”
Millicent stood, regained her pride, and walked to the bed that displayed her black bra, panties, and dress. As she put them on, the frantic murmurs of her lawyer and bodyguard made her smile.
“I’m not taking those pills. This dark, unforgiving world needs me.”
As always, anything you need to know about 100 word song is located here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/100-word-song/ You have until next Tuesday, May 29th, at 7pm to write your 100 word song interpretation. Get your Goth on today and stare into the abyss that is the darkness. Here’s Lacuna Coil’s Within Me.
Pictures Of You
It was a little after one in the afternoon on a sunny saturday and my kids were playing chicken in the pool. My two youngest daughters were on the shoulders on their oldest sister and her friend who is a boy.
The moment seemed innocuous but with the sunlight showing their smiles, the teenagers actually paying attention to the younger ones, and my phone in my hand tweeting about some ballgame, I felt compelled to snap a photo. What I beyond the smiles was the candidness of everyone involved. My daughters and their friend had no clue I was shooting a picture. The sincerity of the moment meant everything. Its photographs like that one that I find the most interesting.
I’m the least photogenic person I know. The camera not only adds ten pounds with me, but also 10 aging lines in my face, and exposing every flaw in I possess. When I started on social media in 2006, MySpace, I shuddered at having to put pictures online. We’re all judgemental. I saw the duckfaces, overly planned poses, and the wannabe models advertising their “best” look. I’ve taken maybe three good pictures in my life. At the time, I couldn’t track down my high school football photo so I tried the most cheesy “superhero” pose I could muster.
I’m envious of the gorgeous candid shots of people I see on twitter profiles, the Facebook albums, and blogs. I wish I could hire Annie Leibowitz to follow me around and wait for me to eat a cheeseburger in the sexiest fashion and shoot it for posterity.
This is one of my favorite pictures my family has ever taken.
There’s a lot going on here. It seems that me, my oldest daughter, Tay, and her mom, the Bobina are in crisis. Everyone appears miserable. The truth? This was us in a nutshell. Sixty seconds earlier we were happy, laughing, and enjoying a birthday party. Then, Tay, only 13 at the time because this picture is 3 years old, got into a small tiff with her mother and I over something ridiculous. Life with a teenage girl is like that. Her mom is flustered, I’m trying to avoid eye contact until the mood lifts and Tay is likely plotting her escape. Thirty seconds after the snapshot we were happy and laughing again. This picture is perfectly authentic. It was a moment in time and brutally honest. Here’s another favorite, again, about 3 years ago, when the girls walked into the ocean together unannounced. This one screams something.
If The Twitter and The Facebook really wanted to be interesting, they’d require that 90 percent of all photos posted be natural and poses be damned. We’d really get to know each other, then, wouldn’t we?
Now, if you can excuse me, I have to get my daily minumum low-level social media stalking in before bed.
Toady’s song was easy. I almost when with Elliot Smith’s Pictures of Me but since only six of you know who he is, I decided to play The Cure’s Pictures of You.
100 Word Song – Revolution
I know every week I say that we’ve had the greatest, most creative, bestest one ever of all-time. But this time I really mean it. The entries for Tracy Chapman’s Telling Stories were tremendous. Marian, Cam, t, frelle, Tara, Vic, so many of you went above and beyond the pale with creative takes that required a lot of thought and editing. My favorite belonged to my longtime friend Barbara of The Purple Moose Gazette. She lives in another country, Alaska. Since she has to share space with Sarah Palin and she can see Russia from her house, writing is a heck of a great way to manage her stress. Barbara and I have been doing these 100 word deals with www.velvelverbosity.com for almost two years. Her writing is terrific. Her 100 word song : http://purplemoose.kenaiwriter.net/2012/05/09/telling-stories/ was cute, poignant and very deep. I couldn’t stop reading. I asked her to pick this week’s tune and since Barbara is a touch older than me, I wondered if we’d recognize the decade. She chose The Beatles’ Revolution. Our souls will be saved this week. Please go see The Purple Moose Gazette. It’s a great place.
Everything you need to know about 100 word song is located here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/100-word-song/
You have seven days from right now to play Revolution. Another song will be posted at 7pm Atlanta, Georgia time next Tuesday.
We check in with Helene Troy for my 100.
A peanut butter bagel and two more aspirin staved off her hangover. Helene shuffled into the Soho loft flanked by her bandmates. She expected trouble after her drunkedn behavior the previous night.
“So, let me have it.”
The manager sat behind a small wooden desk studying his laptop. Helene could feel Sadie and Mara creep behind her like scared children. She chewed on her left cheek while approaching him. The manager grinned while handing a Village Voice newspaper to Helene.
“Read the headline.”
Helene’s sharp green eyes couldn’t contain her surprise.
“The Helene Troy Revolution Has Begun, Count Us In!”
Your 100 Word Song for this week is from Barbara at The Purple Moose Gazette. Here’s The Beatles’ Revolution:
100 Word Song – Telling Stories
There were some outstanding 100 word singers this week. Some of you made a Deadman’s Gun a metaphor for storms, real and imagined. Others put some muscle into thetheir and kicked some ass with the literal interpretations. I dug the testosterone-filled writing. As usual with 100 word song, we like to change course each week. After Cameron’s risque piece and subsequent song choice I went over to k and her humor mixed with tension mixed with drama of her Lillie story http://bloggitwrite.blogspot.com/2012/05/petersons-gun-lillie-and-100-word-song.html?spref=tw The interpretation of the song was perfect for the story and it’s emotional impact. k’s musical choices are a lot difefrent than mine so Leeroy and I were surprised at her excellent and quite versatile 100 word song pick – Tracy Chapman soulful “Telling Stories”. You 100 word singers should shine with this one.
Back to Helene for my 100:
Last time: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2012/05/08/sour-girl/
Helene glared at Mara then turned and walked to the patio. She cringed while sliding the door open. Sadie followed.
“Leney, ignore Mara. Our manager wants to meet today so we can get paid for last night and talk about the next gig. I know you got me the job with Ramona. I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
Helene sat in the white plastic chair. She yelped in pain opening the beer. It spewed over the concrete. She raised her bare feet onto the white plastic table.
“You’re welcome Sade. Now, why are my hands are killing me?”
Everything you need to know about 100 word song is located here: http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/100-word-song/
I’ll see all of you through the week. Make sure you get your entries into Leeroy by next Tuesday at 7pm Atlanta, Georgia time. Here’s Tracy Chapman’s Telling Stories.
Extraordinary
So, tell me, do you love yourself? Six years ago, this week, I sat on a therapist’s couch (yes, she really had a couch) and asked me that question. I couldn’t answer. Frozen by brutal, soul crushing truth that I hated who and what I was, at that time in my life. She talked to me some more, recommended books to read, and told me to write love letter to myself. It all seemed stupid. Not intellectually, but it seemed ridiculous because I was ill-equipped to even try.
Years have gone by and I’ve deconstructed that sad fool who sat on a really comfortable sofa asnwering nosey queries. Now, I try to extend the knowledge I’ve acquired through experience to my wife and three daughters. I tell them every day how beautiful, talented, and special they are and can be. I know the cynics (I used to be one so, go screw yourself, I know the secret handshake, jackass) reading this will say I’m setting my kids up for failure. This is a cruel, hard world that will slap them in the face if they walk around with so much sunshine blown into their behinds. Maybe. But at least they won’t have to fight the devils of each day doubting themselves and wondering if they’re loved.
If you haven’t been keeping up with the villains of the internet, let me introduce you to British journalist, Samantha Brick.
Samantha’s basic tenet is her life is really friggin hard because she’s so beautiful, women hate her, men don’t take her seriously, and she’s unapologetic because her dad told her how awesome she was growing up.
The first column she wrote, about two weeks ago, I reacted the same way you just did. “What a delusional, arrogant, snotty little twit.”
This latest column, discussing how her father’s great love bestowed on her gave her this abundance of self-confidence, makes me kind of dig her point of view.
Sam Brick is about my age, early 40s, and I’m a bit envious of her chest thumping. I don’t take compliments well. I think I’m below average looking. I wonder, despite my wife being completely great to me, if I’m good enough to hang with her.
Miss Brick has a point. Maybe if parents, especially fathers, said and did the things women need to hear growing up and later as adults, we wouldn’t have as many eating disorders, suicides, and plastic surgeons wouldn’t ever do another boobie job again? Strip clubs would close down tomorrow and “daddy issues” would become a a great ironic all-girl punk rock band name instead of the reason young girls get on a pole.
Everytime I hear the great Liz Phair’s Extraordinary, I want to implant the tune in my three daughters ears, especially my teenager, and tell them to never stop listening. As many female readers and writing friends as I’ve gathered over the past two years, I say, from the bottom of my robot heart, you’re extraordinary, too. Really, turn this song up, and listen to what Liz, Samantha and I are saying. You’re extraordinary.
The Way It Is
Blogging is therapy. If you don’t think so or you don’t realize it, then you’re doing it wrong. There is no difference in typing out your words, hitting publish and getting response versus sitting in a comfortable chair in front of someone who doesn’t really know you and talking.
I don’t understand people who write under pseudonyms, have multiple online identities, or play characters on Al Gore’s internets. I’ve done it before. I was wrong and I felt stupid. I don’t blame any of you or have ill feelings. There are people who are abused and write to escape their horror. There are others with judgemental jobs or family members and they type under a shield to experience the freedom they need to survive. Good on all of you.
If My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog is about anything, other than serialized fiction, then it’s about me and my changing perspective as I grow up. Twenty years ago, Wall Street was my favorite movie. I idolized Gordon Gekko, played by Michael Douglas. His speech to Teldar Paper, where he drops “Greed is good”, was something I mimicked and spoke verbatim in exuberance. Now, it makes me ill. I still like the film, but, currently, my favorite line comes from Martin Sheen’s character Carl Fox. When his son, Bud, played by Charlie Sheen, lectures Carl for not being more greedy and savvy about the real, cruel world around them, Carl says this:
“I don’t go to bed with no whore, and I don’t wake up with no whore. That’s how I live with myself. I don’t know how you do it.”
There’s no scandal inside My Blog Can Beat Up Your Blog. The title is ironic, unless you’re a whore. If you are, then, yeah, my blog can slap you around.
I love writing. It makes me feel alive. I’m more proud that this place is authentic to who I am and what I value, the way it is.
***blogger’s note***
Although personal, the word scandal is used so this is my response, a weak one they’ll think, I’m sure, to my friends at Trifecta Challenge http://www.trifectawritingchallenge.com/
scan·dal noun \ˈskan-dəl\
I’m an unashamed fan of Tesla. Today’s song says a lot about where my head’s at, right now. Here’s The Way It Is. Blow a speaker.
Idioteque
I don’t know what excites me more about week two of 100 word song. The response to week one or the chance to play week two’s musical inspiration.
Remember, the rules are very loose here. I give you a song, usually under 4 minutes, then you give me exactly 100 words inspired by the tune. How the inspiration manifests, is up to you. Deadline for entries is next Tuesday, 6pm Atlanta, Georgia time.
We’re all winners at 100 Word Song. Just like the politically correct Little League baseball leagues we all grew up with, everyone gets a virtual trophy. Several pieces from last week stood out for me. Michael gave us a great interpretation: http://innocentsaccidentshints.blogspot.com/2012/01/lances-100-word-song-challenge-polly.html Marian showed us what music can do when we’re young and impressionable http://www.runawaysentence.com/2012/01/goodbye-yellow-brick-road.html but the one that seemed to get me the most was Lisa http://www.seekingelevation.com/2012/01/take-me-to-pilot.html laying in a tattoo artist’s chair, facing pain and physical change. She had to sing to sing Elton John to prove herself. That’s good stuff. Lisa got to pick this week’s song. She and I are huge Radiohead fans. Get ready to get weird. I love weird. This week’s 100 word song is Idioteque.
Here’s my 100:
She’s good looking enough to make me leave my house. She’s not interesting enough to make me stay in this dance club. The strobe lights are making my 40-year-old eyes hurt. I’ll be wearing my glasses for weeks.
“Hey buddy, here’s your change.”
I can’t believe I gave that guy a twenty for a whiskey sour and all I got was $11. There she is. Damn she looks gorgeous. Her smile is dangerous. I don’t have the heart, yet, to tell her she’s my rebound girl.
“You got a drink! Woo hoo! Having fun, yet?”
Dating is lying.
“Yeah, of course!”
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19th Nervous Breakdown
“Daddy, what’s puberty?”
The perfect ending to a terrible week. Her gorgeous eight-year-old blue eyes caught my fearful surprise and I stopped playing with my phone mid-tweet. Over my right shoulder was a brochure that read “Puberty for Girls, How To Have The Conversation”. You know, what, American Medical Association? How about, not putting that pamphlet in a doctor’s exam room where you wipe noses and check fevers!
You’ve read about our deceased kitten, Jerri, on Monday http://lancemyblogcanbeatupyourblog.wordpress.com/2012/01/24/animal/ That started a domino fall of crap that included work stress, financial strife, the worst anxiety attack I’ve had in over two years, writing angst with both the Robots novel and my beloved Helene story then finally, a sick middle child asking about boobies and periods.
I don’t lie to my children. I also don’t hide things or distract them from pertinent information. I have a blended family of multiple parents, baggage that Delta could make a fortune off of, and so many screwed up issues that would keep self-help authors busy for decades. In my house, we talk, a lot.
“Lyla, honey, do you really want to know?”
Nursing a sour stomach due to a viral infection, I thought she may be too dehydrated and tired. No. She wanted the skinny on female development. She smirked, then smiled and let me have the hard time.
“Daddy, just tell me. You’re supposed to tell me everything.”
I referenced her 16-year-old sister. There was discussion of bras, the body cleaning itself, and becoming a woman. My stomach grew sick. I think my heart stopped beating once or twice. The doctor bolted into the room like an NFL defensive end busting up a play action pass. I felt safe.
After we were done. My daughter and I walked across the lobby and saw the same brochure. I was screwed.
“Okay, daddy, so when I’m sixteen like Tay Tay (her older sister Taylor) that means I’ll be a woman with boobies and periods?”
I just wanted to be drunk or away or not in the moment. I put my hands over my face and audibly sighed.
“Sweetie, you will always be my little girl. Your sister isn’t a woman but her body is preparing her to be one. Promise me you’ll ask you mom about this next time?”
She laughed. An actual guffaw. Not a giggle. Not even a chuckle. It was an obvious, malice aforethoughted laugh. I still love her, but at that moment I wanted to lock her in a room with no windows.
“Thanks, daddy. I like it when you talk to me.”
Parenting is hard. Really, friggin hard. I have 3 daughters.
Excuse me while I get back to my 19th nervous breakdown….
Kids in America
We all lie to ourselves and say that we have good relationships with people. The truth is we wouldn’t iphone, ipad, ipod, twitter, facebook, and blog is we were really talking and connecting.
Other than my wife and my three daughters, I don’t have a single friend. I have dozens of aquaintances and a lot of internet communications. Some of them would make amazing real life friends if there wasn’t real life keeping us apart. I don’t think I’m different than most, especially to those of you reading this post. As a result, I work very hard at being my wife’s best friend and my 3 daughters, father.
Talking to a teenager is like having a conversation with someone from France. They don’t like you. They intentionally act like they don’t understand what you’re saying. Most of all, they’re rude and dismissive. I’m not stupid enough to think that my 15 year old likes me. I do think that staying connected with her day to day life will give her the comfort to come to me when she needs to talk. So far, knock on particle board, she’s stayed out of trouble and in touch with me on important issues. She’s changed what she wants to be when she grows up 3 times since the start of 2011. I still have hard cash money on her being a writer, but for now she’s set on bio-chemical engineering. One day, she’ll make my anxiety pills. At least my influence is palpable.
I’m smart enough to know her favorite snack food is flaming hot cheetos. I never come back from the grocery store without them. This leads to her popping into my room or meeting me in the kitchen and giving me a hug and saying something about her day. I believe I deserve a Nobel Prize for parenting. Also, you know it all, super moms and dads who only feed your child organic health food can go pound sand. Flaming friggin hot cheetos is creating a future President of the United States under my roof!
My daughter is a high school cheerleader. She’s involved in a lot of school activities. I’m around many teenagers. I don’t like any of them but her. I bet those kids eat apples and never say more than shut up to their dads.
I don’t know what I’m doing, but I’m not a lazy parent. There’s a message in that, and a halfway decent blog post.
If you have kids, don’t take them for granted. In between wanting to choke them out, listen to what they have to say and take their grocery list requests.
Today’s song is old, like me. I heard it on an 80s station on the way into work. I forgot how much I liked Kim Wilde. Here’s Kids in America….ohh I miss New Wave.
