Dog Ear
Little help (DOG EAR) PDF Print E-mail
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Thursday, 08 June 2017 00:00

ou might remember that I'd written about doing a podcast with Ben Lockett. He'd agreed to host me on a podcast about Bikes And... In this case, it would be about commuting, something I'm a strong advocate for.

Well, the first attempt did not go well at all. Not only could my brother not get his Skype to work, the combination of his phone and his echoey den proved too much for audio purposes. The connection was the shits and Ben contacted me a couple of days later asking if we could redo it (assuming I could find something better than a rain barrel to broadcast from). Please note - I'm not blaming my brother - it just wasn't the NBC Recording Studios is all.

Tried to get Skype up on my own computers, all four of them, without luck. Some would allow you to hear but not speak, some the opposite. The only one I got it to work on was my ancient HP 1010, a tinytop, which was problematic in that it was running slow and the audio was a little choppy. Pondered what to do and then remembered by friends-over-the-decades, Brian Wajda. Brian is a drummer in the Spanish rock band Espada. Brain also has a good recording room in his house, not a true soundstage but a quiet room with a lot of equipment which he uses for meetings and proposal-pitching.

With his son Ty's headsets (from gaming) and assistance from Dave Kroll, another friends-over-the-decades who helped Brian tune his Skype days before to maximum crystal clarity, we were able to do another attempt with Ben. This time the sound was sharp, the com flawless. And I was much more at ease (Dave told me the first attempt was a rehearsal, true that). So we knocked it out and everyone was smiling. Soon as the cast goes live, I'll post it in my links section (hell, I'll cry it from the rooftops).

Ben also needed a picture of me for the piece. For that, I contacted Kim Warden whom I've worked with for years at both FedEx and Lockheed. She is a sharp photographer with her own little business, Photography by Kim Warden. She was kind enough to bring in one of her long-lens serious cameras (not a smart phone), which she used to shoot a little photo set on the parking garage roof, me and my bike against a cruel corporate setting, perfect for the image I wanted to send.

And so what's the lesson here? I'm a small business owner (very small, since those books just trickle out). Brian and his band are working hard for recognition. And Kim's got her own little side-business with photography. But all my friends came together to help me get this project done. They took it from the initial shambles and helped Mr. Lockett create (I hope) a funny and insightful piece). So it’s my storytelling, sound-engineering and photography coming together, and not a buck changed hands.

And you get all this for free!

So anyway, thanks to all these guys and gals for making this happen. Show your support - visit their sites, look around, and maybe do business with them. Links are...

Bikes And...


Photography by Kim Warden

And, as always...


Last Updated on Thursday, 08 June 2017 05:59
Mr Blue Sky (DOG EAR) PDF Print E-mail
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Thursday, 01 June 2017 00:00

kay, I’ll admit it – I’m a Guardians of the Galaxy fanboy. Me and wifey own the first move and just went out to see the second.

A quick synopsis – a kid is abducted off Earth in the 80s, and all he’s got is a Walkman with taped music from that time. Now mercing around the Galaxy, he’s a goodnatured goofball who takes on dangerous missions and assembles a team of powerful misfits to assist him. And one of these characters is Groot, a huge treeman who is obliterated in an act of selfless sacrifice at the end of the first flick.

But we’ve seen a twig from his shattered remains being potted, and now at the beginning of Volume 2 he’s a tiny cute little Groot. The movie opens with his friends defending a client’s property from a marauding space monster. It’s all flaming breath and jetpacks and rayguns and glorious chaos. And Groot? He plugs in the amplifiers and dances to Mr. Blue Sky from Electric Light Orchestra. It is the cutest thing. You be the judge. Check it out HERE.

Anyway, musing back on it, I got to thinking: can you imagine the guys of ELO even imagining that their music would be used in such a way three decades later? A dancing plant in the middle of a firefight?

I just finished The Borrowed Man, a novel where an author finds himself cloned (and nobody asked him) in some future world. He lives in the library and gets checked out from time to time when people wish to consult with him. If he doesn’t see traffic he will be burned, something he doesn’t like to think about. Could he have seen his life (and second life) ending up as this?

Nobody can imagine how their acts of creativity might be used in the future. Herman Melville watching his whale story flop on the shelves, never imagining that it would be become one of the more famous stories ever written (I didn’t care for it, as you can read HERE. But a friend felt strongly enough to rebuttal it HERE). Could HG Wells imagine his Martian tripods refabricated as flying saucers being atom bombed (and lets not think about the hash made of his story by ID4). Alexandre Dumas would have a difficult time recognizing the leather-toting gunslingers of the BBC version as his beloved three gentlemen. Medias change. Tastes change. And stories, to chase those profits, must change.

Which isn’t a bad thing. For example, in my own Early ReTyrement, the opening chapter settles into the day-to-day affairs of a villa on the Phoenician island of Tyre. There, in roughly the story-telling time it takes for us to learn of the “young unconventional master” who is blonde and sings strange songs which we recognize as a hip tune from the 60s. And of course, as I wrote it, in my mind it was “roll title and credits and pull back to a panning shot”.

Hey, an author can dream, can’t he?


Phased out (DOG EAR) PDF Print E-mail
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Thursday, 25 May 2017 00:00

t’s interesting (in a bittersweet way) to see how things change.

For some reason, this morning while getting ready for my bike ride in, I thought of World War One aviation. I think it was in response to the ideal of dawn patrol, of an early morning moment of getting ready for going somewhere few souls would dare traverse, kitting up, checking the crate, sniffing the wind, eyeing the sky. Yeah, it’s only a bike, but I’m a romantic.

It got me thinking to a book I’d read over and over as a kid, Goshawk Squadron, by Derrick Robertson. Needless to say, I’ll review that one sometime so there’s no point of doing it here. But it was a great book, a folly of youth forced to grow up into killers, of steel-gray skies and German offences and Pfalz fighters snarling about. All this came from a childhood reading everything the library had about WW1 planes. I remember reading The Unfeeling Sky series (Peter Saxon, I think was the author). And everything from Arch Whitehouse. In those long slow summers, my friends and I would play Richthofen’s War and Fight for the Skies. Oh, and Dogfight, with the plastic planes and the cards – fun. But the big take away was reading, reading, reading everything I could on planes of that day.

It’s funny now to look back at those times. Most bookracks (even in 7-11’s) would have a history book or two, usually WW2 but even WW1 (if I were lucky). The library had a whole shelf of fabric fighter thrillers, and every two years we’d move – another library to loot! It seemed there was a constant awareness of that era in history.

And that’s what I realized this morning. You don’t really see books about The Great War anymore. I don’t see novels about biplanes. I don’t see history books about canvas falcons. It’s just an awareness, I suppose – perhaps there still are but when I browse the shelves at the local Barnes and Noble, they just aren’t there. Nobody seems to be writing tales of the times. What novels might be set in that era, it’s usually only background. What was once a dim memory of a terrible time just past has now sunk from cultural awareness. The world accelerates. The past fades.

Actually, I think it would amaze me now if something were to show up on the shelf, something about that time of wire-braced wings and chattering guns. I simply don’t see such a book coming out these days, in a world of internet and political infighting and global warming. So maybe I’ll holiday in some of my older books in the coming weeks, picking a biography or fast-paced aviation thriller out of my old shelves. It would be like going home, I suppose.

Watch for the review.


Last Updated on Thursday, 25 May 2017 06:52
Overtime (DOG EAR) PDF Print E-mail
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Thursday, 18 May 2017 00:00

don’t think I’ve ever gapped in posting my DOG EAR column (nor my book reviews, for that matter). Since 2012, I’ve been religiously posting up my observations on media, on writing, on techniques. I’ve talked about shows I’ve enjoyed (for TV and movies are just another form of storytelling). I’ve even talked about the societal changes to our reading habits (such as the impact of cellphones – people who know me are now going nooooooo! Say it isn’t so!)

I’ve written while sick, while tired. I’ve written in the middle of the night. I’ve written from work (shh!). I’ve even written on commuter trains (this is starting to sound like Green Eggs and Ham).

I even had the site queued up to spit out articles while I traveled across Europe and India. Strange to stroll through exotic ancient temples, their squat (and obscenely carved) columns cloaked in rustles of ivy, and think, “I guess that piece on sentence structure should be popping out about now.” It’s the world we live in.

But last week beat me.

We got caught with a surprise audit, surprising in that we did so badly in it. To my defense, if this was a ship, it wasn’t my part of the hull that failed. No, we had a dribble or two but the other side caved in with a total failure of everything and filled our compartments. The auditors demanded full records for a year back. A good friend of mine and a superior (in those nebulous corporate hierarchies that sometimes form) was tasked with meeting an impossible deadline. I rolled up my sleeves and helped.

It was brutal. While everyone else flounced off to a company picnic, we began organizing our methods – how would the data be collected? How would it be presented? Who would do what? Since it was bike to work day (and I had), I worked that first Friday until twilight fell and then bolted for home before the drunks came out. That weekend we worked until midnight each night, pulling data and being all heroic. The next week was pretty much full sixteen hour days. I’d work data, QA others’ results, and generally move us forward.

But I remember sometime midway through Wednesday, with the realization that I wouldn’t be going to the astronomy club that night (just as I’d given up on the train club two nights past) that I had no time and no idea for a DOG EAR piece. My mind was simply locked in construction and interpretation of sheet-after-sheet of data, numbers, dates, failure percentages.

I’ve always said (and you can check prior DOG EAR pieces for confirmation) that a writer can power through anything. Sickness, exhaustion, child-care. If a writer is a writer, he or she can push through any obstacle, even if it means getting up at 4am. There is always a drop of creativity in one’s soul, no matter the exterior circumstances.

Sod that for a game of soldiers.

I was tired, really really tired. Not since my days of data modeling flight simulators for GE was I this tired. And I had no idea what I could write about. I thought about something very much like this piece, detailing my exhaustion and all that, but in the end I just decided to let it go. Things were just too crazy. I went as far Wednesday as booting my computer at 12:30am and sat there squinting at the screen, knowing I had a million unanswered emails and a zillion Facebook rants awaiting my attention (as well as the usual ad-comments on my site that had to be weeded). No, I decided, I was going to bed. I’d count it as, I dunno, a holiday from the site.

On the good side, we made our impossible deadline. I went home Friday and slept the sleep of bricks.



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