My Take Or Yours?

I have an admission.  I was checking my stats recently and noticed that I had quite a few followers.  I was thrilled!  “Look honey!”  I said to my wife excitedly.  “I have almost 300 followers! I am scared.  What should I write?  How do I please all these people?  I am sure to write something that they don’t like or agree with.  How do I choose ‘safe’ topics?”  “Shut up and just keep writing.”  Was her response.  We were lying in bed so she probably just wanted to be left alone.

My wife’s answer sobered me up and I thought of the reason my blog was called ‘My Vuze’.  It wasn’t because I wanted to write what people were thinking or how they felt about something.  It was my opinion, whether popular or unpopular.  How I felt and what I thought.  If I changed that to satisfy my readers, then I would be dishonest.  I would be misrepresenting my blog.

From reading other WordPress blogs, I know that I am not alone.  Some writers double think the content of their posts so as not to offend anyone or even to attract readers.  If that’s your wish, sure go for it.   Not me.  Life is too short for that.  Granted, I won’t be rude, crude or offensive in any way and there may be a topic or two that I may prefer to steer clear of.  Some of my vuze might seem to clash with my spirituality but trust me, God is the ultimate base for my takes and I never claim to be more than human.

I promise never to doubt myself again. I would tell it like it is.  Or like I think it is.  If you don’t agree, feel free to tell me why you don’t.  Maybe your information can sway my opinion.

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He Said What?

This morning I was listening to 92 CITI FM when I heard the dj say, “Son of a b###h!”    Now I’m not a prude or nor am I perfect, even though some may think I am, but it sure caught me off guard.  Does everything goes on radio and tv now?

I have three young kids and I censor what they hear and see on radio, tv and computer.  I  know most kids these days hardly know what a radio is much less to listen to one early in the morning but I still think colorful language and conversation has no place on radio.  That fine line that separates the acceptable from the not-so-acceptable is getting blurrier and blurrier.

 

 

Freshly Pressed? Well I’ll Be Damned!

It was my 149th post.  Just another take on another day.  And just like the other days and the other takes and the other posts, I checked my email immediately after publishing.  In fact, I kept checking every few minutes.  (Just habit).   I was not counting on receiving an email with the subject ‘Congrats, you’ve been Freshly Pressed!’ so quite naturally and being the suspicious person that I am, I was dubious.

 Freshly Pressed? Yeah right.  Nice one. Now what do these internet hackers want now?  Click on the message and I get a virus, right?  Finally curiosity got the better of me so I opened it, and there it was!  An email notifying me that my post ‘A Real Eulogy‘ was selected to be Freshly Pressed!  I read it again and again then sent a ‘thank you’ response to WP.   Thank goodness this blog was one of my best.   Nothing like getting a blog recognized that you personally think is among your worst.  Read my blog Freshly Press But Not The Best.

I started blogging on WordPress just over a year ago.  It was my umpteenth attempt at blogging but this time I vowed to stick it out and see where it takes me.   Like most bloggers on WP, one of my main goals was to be Freshly Pressed.  Not that I thought I was a great blogger but getting pressed would make me consider myself a genuine blogger.   I thought I was ‘different’ but that’s beside the point.  After a few months of blogging and waiting for that break, I got lost in my blogging world.  I found my rhythm and became more concerned with content than I was with getting Freshly Pressed.  Publishing a blog that I thought would be a good and interesting read became my main priority.

Getting Freshly Pressed was indeed an honor.  I now consider myself a blogger.  (I hope you do too).   FP gave me some legitimacy.  I thank the WordPress admin team for selecting my blog but most of all, I thank my regular readers and followers.  You take the time to check out my blogs and add a comment or two.  There are times when I feel like quitting but realizing that I have readers waiting patiently for my blog, gets me back on the computer.  Thank you!

I have kept all the email notifications and will be going through each of them and promise to view the blog of each and every blogger who liked my post.

If you are a blogger who have never been Freshly Pressed, keep on pressing.  Your time will come.  Stay true to yourself and your blogs, no matter what.  Today, I will bask in my recognition but I know that soon I will be right back to obscurity, toiling in the trenches.

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The Food Of Love – Country?

Keith Urban crooning for the ladies

I grew up listening to old country music blasting throughout our house on Sunday mornings.  (Yes, we listen country in the islands.  Bet you never thought that).  From Hank Williams Sr. to Jim Reeves to Kenny Rogers, we had the lovesick blues.

I still love country music.  I prefer the old stuff as the line that separates the new stuff from pop or rock genre is blurred and for nostalgic reasons.  Sundays were the days we relaxed and even though I am not sure how relaxing listening to a song about losing ones lover could be, we found solace in the country songs that could be heard emanating from just about every house that had a radio.

Country is often labeled as redneck music and sappy.  The dog left and the wife left with the truck of course.  There’s a joke that goes like this, ‘What do you get when you play a country song backwards?’  ’You get your house back, your wife back, your dog back…’ With a young, bright and good-looking stable of singers like Carrie Underwood, Keith Urban and Taylor Swift to name a few, Country is hipper than it has ever been.  It is no longer the music your parents listen to.

So is Country music the food of love? Well it could be the food for D.I.V.O.R.C.E and picking up girls in the bars.  There are some good country love songs that bring out that loving feeling but there are more that makes you want to take a baseball bat to your ex’s pimped out ride or make you believe that Earl really had to die.  So maybe it really isn’t the food of love.

The search continues…stay tuned.

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Cell Phone Issue

English: T-Mobile’s G1 phone (HTC Dream), using Google’s Android software (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Know what makes me uncomfortable?  When someone gets a new cell and they are showing it off to me and hands it to me to check out.  Now where do I start? Ok it has apps. Most phones do.  What else do I look for?  How long should I keep it in my hands to not seem rude? Should I make a test call? What? What? What do you want me to do with the thing??  I feel the same way when someone passes me a freshly born baby.  Cute but what do you want me to do with it? 

 

Now I like my electronics, don’t get me wrong.  I am just not a huge fan of the ever-evolving-but-staying-the-same cell phones.  Maybe I need to text more or play more cell-based games.  Yeah, maybe that’s what my problem is.  I am underexposed to the infinite power of the smartphone.  Until a couple of months ago, I didn’t even own a smartphone.

I am lukewarm on cell phones.  As long as it’s a smartphone, I don’t see what all the fuss is about.  How many Gs does one really need? What’s a G, anyways? So understandably, I don’t get it when my friends get all giddy on their Facebook statuses about their impending acquisition of the latest in cell phone technology.  ”I get my iPhone today!!! Woot! Woot!”  Woot Woot?

The art of writing

 

Writing (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

This blog should have been aptly titled, ‘The lost art of writing’ since that is exactly what it is, lost.

 

While listening to the radio yesterday, yes I do subscribe to ancient technology sometimes, the announcer was having a contest where the question was about the small number of people who still do a certain act, to which the act was ‘writing love letters’.  And I’m not talking about writing on Word or Notepad.   Love letters tediously written by applying pen to paper.  Don’t laugh, believe it or not, we did that in the not-too-distant past.

 

Well I had never paid much attention to this dying art, if you could call it that.  I did, however,noticed that when I had to take a step backwards and actually write, it was an embarrassing process.  The pen felt awkward in my hand and I could not settle on a style.  The finished product looked like an insect had fallen into a jar of ink and after making its way out, wandered blindly across my page.   My writing always left something to be desired but with effort, I usually could produce something of worth.  Now it was just a humbling experience.

 

Remember cursive?  If not, don’t worry about it, it’s gone the way of the dinosaurs.  Why search for a writing utensils when your phone is in your hand and text-ready?  Even email-ready also.  It’s a shame.  The more we advance, the more we deteriorate.

 

The female announcer, apparently of the old school demographics, challenged listeners to write a love letter to their loved ones.  I liked that.  Maybe it’s too late to resurrect the art of writing but it sure would be refreshing to get a hand-written love letter once in a while, wouldn’t it?  Hey Christi, could you maybe post those letters on your station’s website?

 

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The Food Of Love – Rap Music?

English: Eminem performing at the DJ hero party on June 1, 2009 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“If music be the food of love, play on…” Said Duke Orsino in one of my favorite quotes and one of my favorite Shakespeare novel, Twelfth Night.

Music could indeed be the food of love and much more.  It has the capability to transcends barriers, whether racial or otherwise.  It is one of the most powerful tool available to man but can also be a dangerous weapon if in the wrong hands.  Music can be the food for other things that are not so loving.

In a series of blogs, I will set out to look at some of the more popular genres that I regularly listen to and how they affect me and maybe even you.  Are they the food of love? Or the food of anger, hate and other anti-social behavior?  I enjoy all music and each affects me differently.  Now let’s unwrap rap music.

Forgive me if I step on toes or go against the grain with my take.

As a bar-hopping twenty and thirty-something, rap was my get-me-pumped music of choice.  If I wanted to get attitudal, rap was the pill.   At the bars, I would chill and listen to the likes of Easy E and NWA.  Under the influence of rap, straight or mixed with alcohol, I walked around feeling like I should be packing heat and wasting all haters who dissed me or got all up in my grill.  When the music stopped, I was unfortunately, still just skinny old me, who wouldn’t hurt a fly.  Some of my friends were more influenced and succumbed to the music.  Fights after the bar were all too common.  ”Step to me, punk! How you gonna play me, bi@@h!” were the common phrases tossed around.  (Now where have you heard them before?).

I  drove around with rap music pulsating through my windows and dared the drivers beside me to do something about it.  Rap made me feel tough. I wanted to have that ‘who cares’ attitude just like the rappers did. They looked at me menacingly from my tv screen and beckoned me to join some sort of rap brotherhood.   Even the way I drove was influenced by the music and videos I watched.   Leaning way too far back in my seat with one arm outstretched on the wheel and my head tilted.  Total gangsta.  If I was listening to rap, I had to look the part.  I wasn’t packing heat but I felt like I was.  I was ready to throw down.

Rap music preys on our young children’s mind.  With lyrics that promote bullying, drug use and criminal lifestyle, it appeals to their longing to fit in and be a part of the scene.  White teeny girls feel tough as they talk gangsta and hang with the rapper crowd.  Boys wear their pants around their knees as their idols do and use disrespectful language and signs.  Love is definitely not in the air.

This is not saying that rap music on a whole is bad and should not be listened to.  It would be hypocritical of me as I know that there are some very good rappers out there who deserve a listen.  Eminem is a master at his craft.  A few questionable lyrics in some of his songs but one of my favorite lyricist.  There’s also Rap Gospel for those who like rap but want something with a positive message.  Rapping is an art form.   I envy the way my fledgling-rapper nephew could put lyrics together effortlessly and spit like a quick-firing machine gun without biting his tongue.

In my opinion, no music genre right now packs a powerful but negative punch as rap does. From clothing, to speech, to video games, rap has the market cornered.  As for being food of love, I say nay.

Check back for my take on Country.

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Dissecting a mass murderer. Can we stop them?

James Holmes (Photo credit: DonkeyHotey)

As a kid, I was cruel to small animals.  I slowly tortured lizards and small insects just to watch them die.  I had a pellet gun that I used to shoot birds as they sat on a wire sunning themselves.  Chickens were target practice for my  deadly rock throwing  arm.   Our cat was not spared.  I would test his agility by tossing him from heights.  All this while living in St. Vincent and only there.

Now the reason I am telling you this is not to brag or boast.  I am not proud of what I did but everyone’s got skeletons, right?  I want to ask, could all the above be signs of a psychopath in the making?  If I had been the guy who gunned down those people in the theater, you would have been reading about my exploits in the newspapers instead of this blog.  Witnesses to my dirty deeds would have come forward to attest to my guilt.  From my acts as a kid, they could see it coming, they would say.   “Oh, I am not surprised, he abused dogs when he was a kid.” they might say.  ”There was just something about him.” Another might say,  So what’s the difference? What separates me from the other guy who apparently had a less checkered past?

James Holmes, the latest mass murderer in the US, was an exemplary student in university.  His only other previous misdemeanor was a speeding ticket.  No cruelty to animals or humans for that matter.  As we speak, it’s a media frenzy out there with everyone trying to find something, anything that could shed some light on this good boy gone bad.  An ex? Abused as a kid? Bullied? Terrorist indoctrination?  Talk show hosts try to explain how it could happen. Each voicing just their own opinion.  Still no one knows.

Maybe a stellar student suddenly struggling through his classes was a sign but is that enough for the cops to take interest in someone?  Hardly sounds like the making of a mass murderer, you have to agree.  But what sounds like the making of a mass murderer?  Abusing small animals as a kid?  Then if so, I am not realizing my true potential, am I?

While at the hospital waiting to have my blood drawn for testing, I thought, what if I went out,  got a gun and started shooting  the people in the waiting room? Would I derive any pleasure from that? I felt disgusted even thinking about it but I had to.   I would have checked myself into a psych ward or turn myself in to the authorities if I had gotten excited over that thought.  Thankfully, the thought made me disgusted and I concluded that it would not be a pleasurable experience to watch people die at my hands.  But then, I am not a psychopath.  I am not sick and my wiring is intact and I hope they stay that way.

So no matter how much we try to dissect, the mind of a madman will always be something we can never understand.  We will never be able to point out with any degree of certainty, who among us is going to go postal.  Can we stop them? How could we if we don’t know who they are and how they think?  Scary huh? Don’t lose sleep over it.

Note:  I love and respect all living things.  What I did as a kid was due to not knowing any better.

Just my take.

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Who Needs That Crap?

Elvis Presley, 1973 Aloha From Hawaii television broadcast (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

What a society we have become.  Our ancestors would be embarrassed to see us now.  Reality television,  Celebrity addiction, paying big dollars for crap…yes crap and I mean the one that belongs in the toilet not on your trophy wall.

Yesterday, the first story I read was one in which a used pair of underpants once worn by Elvis Presley was going on sale.  The final price was expected to be in the tens of thousands.  I could not stop thinking how ridiculous and disgusting this was.  Not to mention the waste of money.

To further illustrate how far our race has fallen, the seller was brave and confident enough to actually described the undies to be ‘unwashed’ and ‘stained’.  In the stores, you are not even allowed to try on underwear but here we are, so enthralled by celebrities, that we are willing to pay top dollars for an old poop-stained one.  Now what would anyone do with a used undies? And also, what makes Elvis’ poop more important than yours or mine?  This underscores the saying,  ’His sh** doesn’t stink?.

Seriously though, what exactly would the buyer do with this trophy? Or maybe I don’t want to know?  How does it authenticate it?  Is it really the King’s poop? Would he wash it and wear it? Or wear it as is?  Or smell it?  Help me here because I must be missing something.

Yes, we are one strange species.  I think it’s time I holler for Scotty to beam me up.  Lots of life form down here but no intelligence.  To those who were before us, I am sorry.  Glad you are not around to see us like this.

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Casting the first stone

A Mexican standoff. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Let he who is without sin, cast the first stone.”   We all know this Biblical saying.  But imagine what a boring world it would be if we subscribe to it.   None of us are without sin, even if we do not kill, we may lie.    Sin is sin, isn’t it?   if I am to judge my kleptomaniac neighbor, he also has the right to judge me, so  what we have here ladies and gentlemen, is a Mexican standoff.  No stones will be cast today.  You may now proceed to your homes.

In this day and age, casting the first stone is a luxury not readily affordable.  There is a race to get to that first stone and prizes are awarded.  Well at least so it seems.  Everyone’s fingers are pointed at everyone else but themselves.  We see the guy creeping on his wife but our own spousal abuse is overlooked.  As long as we are not cheating, it’s all good.  Sin that is highly visible takes precedent over sin that is behind closed doors and that makes it easier for the closeted sinner to cast the first stone.

Isn’t it funny that casting that first stone is almost the same as being the first one with the correct answer?  We all want to be the one who outed the sinner.  ’I caught him red-handed’ is a triumphant cry, worthy of a trophy but our hands stay in our pockets for fear that they too might be seen to be red.

So why is it so much easier to cast the first stone even if we do not fit the criteria of a qualified stone caster?  Why is it easier to ignore our own failures while pointing out those in others?  Is it even possible for us to first look at ourselves before we look at others?  I fear not.