So just write something...

I started this blog as a means of renewing my lifelong interest in writing. I can recall doing little 2-4 page stories in 3rd grade while I waited for my classmates to complete assigned work. I was always swift with completing assignments; creative writing made for a quiet, still student to my teacher Mrs. Logan.

My love for writing continued through Junior High School but somewhere in the Sr. High days my skills laxed. I did not take the time to write anything more than what was assigned. Instead I would gladly sit alongside an older student named Brent Zirnheld as he developed his stories and novel ideas. I recall throwing out silly scenarios and character names for spoofs. But that was where it ended for me. When Brent graduated, the yearbook included his Senior will. Though I can not quote it completely, he said something along the lines of "I will to Jamie Davis the ability to use his writing and creative skill. You've got it buddy so use it." I was stunned and humbled. I proceeded to enroll in an Independant Study class my Senior Year - Creative Writing. I wrote nothing. I considered no viable ideas. I lost a bit of my skill and style. I ceased writing...

I ceased writing until late 1994. I was living in TN. I had dropped out of college and decided to learn how to live as an independent, strong-spined man. I was between jobs. And on the day after Christmas I sat in my apartment alone. It was chilly because I had to keep the furnace temperature down to maintain ease of bill payment. My roommates were actual students at the local university and would not return for another 10 days. It was just me, the TV and my thoughts. Jamie meet Depression. Depression this scrawny, bewildered little bitch is Jamie.

I picked up a journal that someone had gifted me in the previous years; it was empty. I was depressed. And the only thing on TV was Dead Poets' Society. Pen meet Paper. Depression can be incindiary. I discovered that my self loathing, disappointment, loneliness and pain made for some really powerful strings of words - poetry. I filled that journal and then I bought another. My mind became stronger; my confidence improved; I found gainful employment. My writing became less. The journals kept being purchased year on year. And the ink on the pages became less and less.

I have written increasingly less (for my own personal pleasure) in the last decade. I fell flat on butt in love. I married. I have been granted a wonderful life complete with support, affection, income. I feel warm inside and happy most every minute of every day. And I have no idea what to say or what to write. My skill is weakened; my poetic bursts are nearly extinct. The bursts are like the polar bear, giant panda and the manatee.

I recently promised Lisa a 5000 word composition on anything that I wanted. I made this promise in preparation for my trip to India in September. I carried home pages of little notes about my experiences while there. I noted little things about my colleagues with whom I traveled. I took pictures; I noted colors and smells. I have done nothing more.

This blog (all 12 entries though weeks and weeks have passed since it's creation) is my sole enterprise for creative outlet. Yet very little is ever presented that is genuinely creative. My blips of thought are typically pragmatic not creative. It's commentary and not witty prose. It's a reminder of what I am missing so dearly - a genuine creative bonfire.

Thanks Walker Lamond

Yesterday I was listening to Book radio on Sirius. I was not listening to the reading of any particular novel but rather to an interview with a throwback hipcat named Walker Lamond. He was discussing his book 1001 Rules for My Unborn Son. It is a hodge podge of little things that he finds to be important, simple, endearing. It's a message for his lil' boy on how to be be a boy and how to be a good man. I found it to be both an entertaining interview and enlightening.

The book (I learned) is a collection of good advice, great quotes, photos and sincere humor. It started as a blog and became a hardback complete with vintage cover art.

Rules offered included things on appearance like "hem all your pants by 2 inches so they actually fit properly" and "wear a sports coat at the airport for an easier experience." Very true rules though the majority of us either do not know them or more frankly do not care. Our generation is the business casual generation after all. Walker also presents more social rules like "Don't ask where someone got their eyeglasses" and "Sometimes your best bet is to bet on her." Sound advice on all counts.

So what brings me to this blog entry besides unoriginality? The answer to that is honestly very little. The interview included a portion wherein Mr. Lamond admitted that he gets a lot of hate mail from California because his rules indicate faux pas that are perfectly acceptable there. Walker is a NYC resident; he admitted in the interview very proudly that he is a Northeasterner. I thought on that comment and concluded that some rules are universal and some may be environmentally-influenced. The universal ones are even subject to the eye of the beholder.

So here are a few of my own. I think some are universal; some are Southern. And some are bullshi- (or they may be to you):

• Be eclectic. Culture, music, film and literature are diverse and beautiful.
• Memorize, embrace and love the poem If by Rudyard Kipling.
• Don't wear a kilt to dinner.
• Learn to defend yourself.
• Read.
• Iced Tea is always in season.
• Play Chess.
• You never get too old to look at the toy aisles in any store.
• Learn to dance (it might be the only thing that gets you laid).
• Question everything respectfully but still question.
• Listen to Frank Sinatra, REM, The Temptations, VAN MORRISON and Mozart.
• Spend money on great food and drink.
• Real men say "I love you"
• Don't be a douchebag.

If you want to know more about Walker Lamond he is on Twitter (rules_unbornson), Facebook and his website is http://www.rulesformyunbornson.com/.

Cheers.

Haggis New Year!

On New Year's Eve, my beloved wife and me decided that we would have a nice meal and then retire to our neighbour's home for a quiet, WII-filled celebration. It was low-key and easy compared to the more exciting days of youth. But at this point it's a perfectly acceptable option for toasting away the decade that was the single digits.

We failed to make a reservation for dinner at any of the finer restaurants in town. So after some banter we decided to venture across the city to an Italian chain restaurant that serves a fine steak for the money- Carraba's Italian Grill. For anyone who has not tried the Filet or Sirloin, do it. It's a great, great meal in spite of not being a traditional steakhouse. And better than some steak house steaks in my humble opinion. I digress.

Anyway our drive to the restaurant was fine; there was minimal traffic given that it was the 6 o'clock hour. The restaurant had a crowd but the wait was not ridiculous. So we took a seat in the lobby alongside a few other parties and the usual waiting game began. This is where my New Year's Eve ceased being like any other. The waiting game shifted to something very different- it became peachy, wrinkled.

A woman walked into the restaurant; she was in black garb complete with a purse covered in skulls and crossbones. Her dark hair was short and appeared to be colored even darker black than what was probably a nice auburn or brunette color. She was a good-sized lady who clearly embraced her plus-sized frame. A moment later she was joined by a man who was at least 6 feet tall and somewhere in the territory of 275lb (perhaps even a 300 pounder); Lisa remarked that he looked like a wrestler. He had a bald head and a red goatee. His appearance matched his partner's in pride and volume. This was a huge dude - a huge dude in black boots, black coat and a pride-plaided kilt! Lisa remarked that they were probably going to have a nice Italian meal before enjoying the New Year at O'Shea's or some other pub in town. A likely plan in my opinion- an evening that I am certain I too would enjoy.

We watched quietly observing. They talked for minute or two whilst others waited to be seated until two seats opened on the bench opposite us. Like a true gentleman he motioned to the seats and his lady walked to take a seat with him following. She sat. And then he stepped to her left, turned around to face us and sat straight down. He sat like a strong man- a man with real posture. He sat like a man wearing a pair of pants. But he wasn't. No he was not wearing pants. He was wearing a kilt. A kilt that clearly fit him far better at 240 pounds. The man skirt rose with the straightness of his spine and underneath there was no thong or tighty whities. Nope. The noble Scot was a traditional lad. And his red-headed, wrinkly ballsack greeted the Davis family. Lisa's head snapped to the right with whiplash speed. My eyes diverted like Chandler Bing in a familiar Friends episode. The only difference being that shift of focus apparently came with an involuntary vocal response.

"Ohhmahgoodness..."

It was apparently loud enough for them to hear because out of the corner of my eye I saw his position change complete with a hand on his no longer bare lap. The goth, big girl seemed to go a tad pink under her powdered cheeks. Lisa was silent. I was mute. And no one dared to make eye contact with anyone. The damage was done. We had seen his scrotum. His Andre Haggisie. The only saving grace was that the sausage did not appear with the potatoes.

Shortly thereafter a young blonde girl greeted us with menus and took us to our meal. We walked directly past the couple still not looking at one another. The couple eventually took their seats a few tables from us. And he faced the other direction. Thank goodness.

Needless to say, we had our steak for New Year's Eve dinner. But we had some haggis first.

Cheers!

The Soundtrack of My Existence

As previously noted I find that my life has a soundtrack. It seems like the years all flow with some sort of song continuously playing in the background (at the very least in my head). There are countless songs in my little mental rolodex. Every genre is represented. Some just stand out more than others when I consider my life.

So what seems to define the years for me? Here is a little year by year for you...Some are awful; some are the wonderful gift of Sirius Radio. But all jump to mind when I think about the years that were.

1981
I Love Rock N Roll
Joan Jett

1982
Up Where We Belong
Cocker & Warren

1983
Beat It
Michael Jackson

1984
Footloose
Kenny Loggins

1985
Take on Me
A-Ha

1986
Best of Both Worlds
Van Hagar

1987
Talk Dirty to Me
Poison

1988
Pour Some Sugar on me
Def Leppard

1989
Love Shack
B-52's

1990
All Lips and Hips
Electric Boys

1991
Shameless
Garth Brooks

1992
Alive
Pearl Jam

1993
Informer
Snow

1994
Last Dance with Mary Jane
Tom Petty

1995
Man in the Box
Alice in Chains

1996
In the Meantime
Space Hog

1997
Walking on the Sun
Smash Mouth

1998
You, Me & The Bottle
BBVD

1999
Bittersweet Symphony
The Verve

2000
Beautiful Day
U2

2001
Beautiful Girl
INXS

2002
Dream A Little Dream
Dean Martin

2003
Throwing Punches
Page Hamilton

2004
I Need More Love
Robert Randolph & The Family

2005
Best of You
Foo Fighters

2006
Nearly Lost You
Screaming Trees

2007
Crazy Bitch
Buck Cherry

2008
Apologize
One Republic

2009
I Like You So Much Better When You're Naked
Ida Maria

Your turn...