Showing posts from August, 2020

For the Love... Writing About Writing

     When I was 12 and in seventh grade, my aunt came to visit my English class.   She was, unbeknownst to me until that class on that day, a published author and a good friend of my teacher whose name alcohol has erased from my 41 year old memory.   She spoke of a book she had recently written and was on the way to publishing that happened to be stories of my family and her and her siblings (including my own father) during their own upbringing. These were stories I knew first hand, but the way she presented them made it so…   ENTERTAINING.   It was something completely new to me to see something so mundane as a story that every kid knows of what begat them presented in a manner that could hold the attention of 20 twelve year-olds.      I was hooked… As a middle child, also-ran, “who is that guy” kid, I have always been used to things just being whatever they are and cruising through life without any specific dream other than “making it,” whatever that means.      I deci

True Story©... The Snailest of Mail

     Home life has me WILD bored… [ Phlip note : y’all benefit from this in the form of consistent output ] I have been in my house and have only ventured outside of my OMB-designated Combined Statistical Area one time since March, with most of that time spent in my own home.      That has left me with plenty of time for online retail therapy, documentary films and series, a couple of old movies revisited and some around-the-house projects.   That said, I have spent my spring and summer keeping myself busy.      During my above-mentioned (and previously discussed ) departure from my own area code for a few days right at my birthday, Disney+ threw the world a bone and released the Broadway smash Hamilton to at-home streaming instead of the planned 2021 theatrical release.   Upon my return home from my little trip, the wife person and I dug into it together and repeatedly.   I would be embarrassed to admit how many times we have watched it in this 53 days if it weren’t s

True Story©... First Day

     As both of you know from a previous post, my daughter is nine years of age. Factoring in one year of Pre-K, one of Kindergarten and three years of grade school in my rear view, this Monday was due to be my sixth swing at this “first day of school” thing.   Then back after I got home from Vegas on Super Bowl Sunday, the whole Wuhan Bat Flu ™  thing hit the states and a failure of nationwide leadership served it that six weeks later that all the kids would finish the school year in the crib with their newly-working-from-home parental units.   A summer spent handling things not much better wound up meaning that STILL working-from-home parents like myself would be also helping to facilitate virtual learning with their students close by during work days.      This story is not about that, but it helps to frame the “why” of it all.   Also, big shout to Khan Academy, DuoLingo and Read Theory for keeping my baby sharp over the summer coming into 4 th grade.      Anyway… I

True Story©... Defensive Smalltalk

     There’s some things that kids these days will never have to grow to understand.           Mexican brick-pack headache weed.           Waiting next to a phone that you CAN NOT move from for that lightskinned girl to never return your page.           Daily driving a $500 bucket while PRAYING it doesn’t inevitably do what a $500 bucket is bound to do. … and, naturally…           …   taking small town public transit from the spot where your above-mentioned $500 bucket stranded you to your place of employment. That last one is where we start off today…      On the city bus in anytown USA, size bedamned, you’re bound to encounter a ton of what one could refer to as, umm…   “Characters.”   In the late 90s/early 00s, the ubiquitousness of available digital media players was not NEAR what it is now.   If you wanted to have some portable music, you needed a small CD player and some EXPENSIVE-ass headphones.   Needless to say, a dude who is only on the bus because he ca

True Story©... The Floor Is Lava

     Rona life has made shit super weird this spring and summer.   One good thing to come of this is that having to wear a mask everywhere has allowed me to operate as NOBODY, as opposed to having to employ Moe Phillips when I need to complete my shenanigous behaviors.   No one sees the whole of my face and beard, and lord knows if I wear a hat, I could rob a fucking bank. Don’t worry, I fear prison rape FAR too much to actually go out and commit felonies.      One thing I have discovered in my not having left the house is The Floor is Lava on Netflix.   My interest had more to do with having played some version of the game as a kid in my grandma’s house in the enormous den downstairs. It should be said that Rutledge Wood is as bad on this show as he was on Top Gear America, and if I had the option or duty to regularly leave my house, I might not have bothered watching the show if not for him alone.      Naturally, I am not in my house glued to my television all the ti