Let's Talk About the Dog

This is Max.  Max is my brand new, now 13 week old and nearly 60 pound American Bulldog brother in law.

For the sake of everyone out there, we need to have a talk about Max and all those like him.

I'm talking about intact male puppies.

Simply put, Max's breeder recommended allowing Max to reach about six months old before he was taken in for his snip and clip.

I'm also blessed to have a large animal vet in the family, Dr. Emily Gilmette of New Bern, N.C.  And yes, before you start cracking jokes, she is both the person who provides most of my medication for me (kidding) while subsequently reminding me that most of her patients are easily four times my size (not so much with the kidding).  Her opinion is that ol' Max and his beans of manliness (or dogliness as the case may be) needed to have parted company at eight weeks old.  

Usually I agree with her train of thought regarding my own animals, however, maybe this breeder knew something I didn't.  Not to doubt Dr. Emily's deity-esque level of knowledge in the veterinary sciences (yes I am very, very scared of what she can do with a shoulder length rubber glove and some of the toys in her truck), but I decided to do a little digging myself on the interwebs and see what there was to see on the subject of American Bulldogs and their boy nuggets.

The consensus is that Dr. Emily is right and they need to get the neuter done asap.  The other interesting thing I found in my reading is that intact Mastiff breed puppies in general tend to go through what one writer referred to as a "grumpy" phase around six months old that can be disastrous when combined with other older intact males.  

So why bring the case of ol' Max up to everyone's attention.  We all like to think we're great pet owners, just like we all like to think we're good parents.  The truth of the matter is that we all could probably use a bit more education and do a bit more reading when it comes down to it.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to find an excuse to stop by my in-laws' house and get me some puppy snuggles!

For Discussion

Smith and Wesson Bodyguard .380
One of the front runners for my next EDC weapon.
I've always been a Glock guy but sometimes you just have to branch out!

Good morning kiddies!  As most of you know that have read the blog for a while, I'm a big proponent of the average person exercising their second amendment rights and not only owning firearms but LAWFULLY carrying a concealed weapon whenever possible. Believe me, it's not because I want us all devolving into some Wild West Part II society. Sadly I'm a realist and an unfortunate pragmatist.  We don't live in a safe world and as any instructor in personal defense of any form, be they anywhere from martial artists to tactical CQB specialists, will tell you the first step in safety is preparation.  

I bring this obvious hot point for contention up because the following business posting was blowing up Facebook this morning:

Depending on your screen resolution you can see that this particular business owner has stated that should an individual feel they need to carry a gun then they would decline their patronage.  Well okay, he doesn't exactly put it that politely.  Now while I may obviously disagree with this person's opinion, I also posit that they have every right to not only feel that way about the issue but to say exactly what they do in their sign. While the douchebag comment might be a bit much and not very professional, I think they're completely within their rights. 

The Facebook comments on this picture were very, very negative.  Some keyboard warriors were even calling for the local law enforcement to require the owner of the business to be "informed" of state law in that regard. Unless South Carolina law (where this particular PUB is located) is very different from most of the country, not only should you not be carrying a weapon while consuming alcohol BUT a business owner can deny carry rights when reasonably posted.

I'm interested in what you think on this issue, gentle reader.  Drop me either an email at thecynicalsarcastic@gmail.com or simply reply to this post with your thoughts.  Let's see if we can't get a little back and forth running.  I'm particularly interested in hearing from those of you who actively carry on a daily basis and those who find the whole concept repellent and can articulate express why without having a Feinstein-level fit of uninformed lunacy.

I'm looking forward to reading your responses.  Now play nice kids! Remember that the only true morons are those that justify their own beliefs with the words "just because."

The Gym Monkey Mindset

Now kids, before anyone gets all up in arms about me using the term "gym monkey" and thinks I'm applying it in a negative connotation, take a deep breath.

It's cool, I'm taking the phrase back ala Randall in Clerks II.  (Sorry if you don't get the joke.  You have some movies to catch up on sir or madam.)

Instead of breaking into old tried and truism laden labels for people who frequent the gym, let's skip a few steps and just distill everything down to two groups: those who want to stay "in shape" and those that are there to "get shit done."  As in move weight.  As in the big sidewalk crackin' motherfuckers, all credit to the will probably be immortal CT Fletcher.

The folks in that later category are the ones that the rest of the crowd refer to as the gym monkeys; everything from the chimpanzees over in one corner hootin' and hollerin' over each other's accomplishments on the bench to the gorillas in the other corner that cause foundation damage when they finish that next set of three Balrog sized deadlifts.  Yes I fall into the later category although perspective-wise I think I'm somewhere between orangutan and actual gorilla.  

The actual purpose of this piece, yes I swear there is one, is to discuss a little bit of the answer to that wonderful question that keeps popping up: "why do you do that to yourself?"  It's also worth noting that usually that miraculous piece of interrogative laced derision occurs the day after leg day when getting up from the toilet requires both divine intervention and an advanced degree in engineering.  

So why do I and the rest of the crowd who have been doing this so much longer than I have tear our bodies down to the point of oblivion so frequently?  It's all about the gym monkey mindset.  You see, those of this ilk have found something in the gym other than the ability to run that extra half a mile on the treadmill before yoga class.  We've found a way to excel in competition against not one but two groups: the masses around us and the person staring back at us in the mirror.

When you're a beginning lifter you're all about the numbers and the numbers are usually the next plate you put on the bar, or as the overweight powerlifters among us like to call it "the next piece of pie."  You're focusing on getting stronger and stronger until you realize you're stronger than most of the "average" folks running around. (Which by the way isn't all that tough since the average man can't bench press 165lbs.) Then one day something changes and that "mentality" sets in.  You realize that this isn't just a sport about competing against the next guy, it's about finding that thing within yourself that pushes you forward when a big part of your brain is pushing you to become one with the gym floor, grab your binky and call it a day.

Why do this to myself? Why at thirty eight years old did I decide to start back down this road and why, at now forty, do I continue to push myself to endure day after day and week after week?  Well, here's a look at this gym monkey's mentality:

1 - Henry Rollins said that he finds the Iron to be the great reference point, the all knowing perspective giver.  It is his greatest friend.  It never freaks out on him; it never runs.  Friends may come and go but two hundred pounds is always two hundred pounds.  In short, no matter how jacked up life is, there is a consistency in the gym that exists nowhere else.

2 - The ultimate competition when lifting weights, be it as a beginner, powerlifter, or even world champion bodybuilder, is always against the person staring back at you from the mirror.  Yeah you may be competing against someone else on the outside, but the real fight is inside yourself.

3 - The gym is the only place on this rock where the true animal inside me is allowed out to play.  The longer I lift the more I find places to employ the anger I carry inside my psyche.  I'm able to get something good from the urge to destroy that all of us deal with.  The iron gives me a battlefield that the barbarian part of my soul can run rampant across.  I can picture myself lifting a vanquished enemy as I pull its carcass to pieces while everyone sees me finally breaking 500lbs on a deadlift.  You get the point.

4 - There's something to be said for being the guy who has a hard time getting through the door from the shoulders and not the gut.

and 5th, and probably most importantly - I know now that at 40 I'm stronger than I was 22 and will continue on so that at 50 I can say I'm stronger yet than I was at 40.  Don't get me wrong, I'm not dumb enough to try to chase eternal youth.  It's just nice to know that middle age me could whip my 22 year old self's ass!

Alright kids, enough babbling for today.  Hope you enjoy the 'why' and we'll continue on to other things tomorrow!

My Itis Is Acting Up, Where's My Check?

I had the sublime pleasure of standing in line for breakfast yesterday morning behind this creature, we'll call it a woman just so we can move this on along, who was loudly airing her personal business into her cell phone.  The comment that came from her mouth-hole as I stood there behind her with post-early-morning-radio-haze was "my tendinitis in my elbow is so bad that I decided to go on disability, so no girl, I don't work no more."

At that particular point the little alien creature in my head that's driving this here Brian suit (yes the MIB reference is intended) wanted to hit the escape hatch button, walk across the floor on his own two-inch legs, and bite this moron in the ankle out of pure hate before he died of oxygen exposure.

What the bleeding fuck lady?!?!

If tendinitis in the elbow is enough to qualify for disability then my daily aches and pains ought to qualify me to be the god damned president! You do have to be completely ineffective and non-functioning right?

I don't want to run off on some psychotic rant at the moment but folks, I've got to tell you, I am so sick of the disability / public assistance racket in the country that I can't see straight.  Granted I deal with it every day on my job but my dear sweet God am I sick of these perfectly able to work pieces of shit making $60,000+ a year on mine and your nickel because their na-na hurts and they popped out a pile of mouths to feed.

Pant-pant.  Deep breath.  Woosah...

Screw it I'm going to the gym...

Mail Call: Just Tell Me A Damn Story

Hey kids.  Hope everyone is having a great Monday.

I guess this will make the first official Mail Call I've done in a very long time, sad to say.  For those who have just started playing along at home, Mail Call is the title for any post where I attempt to answer emails sent in with questions, comments, concerns and the like.  I can't always promise that the response is always the most kind and gentle, but I do try to cut through the usual "pet-the-public" type of drivel you get from some out there who toy with the written word and just get to the truth of things.  Well, at the least the truth as I see it anyway.

Well today's email was interesting.  The overall theme of the email was asking technical questions about story structure down to the extremely minute details.  There were questions regarding character arc mapping over a standard three act structure, the necessity of multiple conflicts, should tension building begin in Act 1 or 2, the necessity of a protracted denouement, etc.  It essentially read like the Q and A portion of a defense for a thesis on creative writing.  

I replied to the email in two parts.  First I answered the questions as intelligently as I could (after all it has been about twenty years since my last college lit class) and I pointed them to a pile of online resources. Then I referred them back to my blog for the second half of my reply.

And now for the rest of that response:

One of the biggest missteps I think our education system makes at ANY level, be it elementary, secondary, or post secondary, is to try to teach a maddening level of structure and rules on "how to write" before they even turn a student loose to just write.  Fiction writing at its core should be one thing and one thing only: telling a story. So many people get so caught up in the process of a "novel" that they forget that they are simply telling a story from start to finish.  They are relaying a narrative to a reader, not creating some mythical piece of technical mastery.

I think there is only one best place to start with writing a novel:  an idea. 

Pure and simple, nothing more. If the idea sucks, well, you know what they say about houses with bad foundations.

Once you have an idea, develop a basic story around the idea.  Whether or not you begin at the start, middle, or last page is up to your style as a writer.  I personally start with an idea, develop a couple of characters, then literally start telling myself stories along the lines of the idea until they start to take shape.  Then it's off to the legal pad or keyboard we go.  Some authors create massive story maps for each novel.  I'm not a linear thinker but hey, whatever helps them get the job done.

My point in summary is this: story first, structure second, formal structure only if you're really up to the technical challenge.  Don't misunderstand me: a novel needs structure for it to be readable.  If you don't believe me check out the free ebooks section on your Kindle or Nook.  There's a chunk of people out there in self publishing land that have no clue what structure even smells like.  Just don't lose sight of what you're doing for the sake of "oh-God-what-do-I-do-next-for-Act II - subclimax 3 - and-how-will-that-relate-to-my-planned-reveal-in-my-denouement?"  

Dear God that was tiring just writing it...

That's all for now, catch you all tomorrow.

Integration

You know, there's a funny thing about being a busy-ish person.  

Sometimes you just run out of time in the day.  As to what exactly you end up running out of time for, well, that pretty much varies on a daily basis as well.

I just read an highly informative article entitled "Life Integration" that proclaimed the virtues of literally micromanaging every moment of every day via whatever form of electronic calendar / personal assistant.  The chucklehead who penned this opus (if that doesn't tip my hand and give away my opinion too far in advance), and no I'm not even going to bother linking anyone to this fiasco of bad advice, seems to believe that the only way to live an effective life is to have everything so scheduled that not one minute of the day in unaccounted for in any way.  This is also most likely the kind of efficiency expert wannabe douche nozzle that secretly jerks himself off with a circa 2000 DayTimer to an autographed picture of Steven Covey.

I'll save you the Google time.  Steven Covey founded Franklin Covey which publishes day planners and the like.  Now you get the joke. My bad, let's move on.

The problem with being that organized is that there is no room for spontaneity in life.  No time to smell the roses, play with the dog, or even stare off into space.  Hell, I'd be willing to go out on a limb and say that under this dude's idea of life that even taking a big ol' satisfying dump requires a time limit.

Sorry but my big ass just can't live like that.

+po/akf/aop'jpigq

+-+9*-+6

333333333333

Apologies.  Those last few lines are courtesy of my new cat who feels it is her mission in life to draw my attention totally away from my keyboard even if it involves lying across it.  Charming little thing, ain't she.

With all that being said, I'm going back to taping together what's left of my week and trying to get some honest to Jesus work accomplished.

Be good kids...

Neglecting the Critter

 I'd like to take a moment today to speak to my fellow creative people out there.

Why, you might ask?  Simply put, they're the only ones who will get what I'm about to bitch and moan about!

Well actually, to be honest, pretty much everyone with any level of talent in any area will more than likely get my meaning but my compatriots in the creative endeavors will understand the acute nature of the suffering I'm choosing to whine over.

I've been neglecting my critter.

(No that was not a veiled attempt at double entendre or any other form of dirty joke, although I do have to chalk it up to a missed opportunity.)

By critter of course I'm referring to my need to write.  You know, express myself on the page. The blissful regurgitation of verbage / garbage, etcetera and so forth.

I know it came from frustration with my current book.  I've had Hurricane Carolina "completed" for over six months now as long as you judge completed by having a start, middle, and end.  I can't really complain about the first two acts of the book but the third act, well, how can I put this delicately. . . let's just suffice it to say I've seen leavings on the applicator swab for anal fissure medication that looked more compelling than this drivel.  Suddenly I've managed to turn my writing into something that a bucket of molasses, a vat of tree sap, and Nicholas Sparks would sit around a campfire and mock relentlessly.  

After constant retools and rewrites it still hasn't gotten any better.

And so I just stepped away from the keyboard a bit.

And began getting grumpy.

Needless to say every single creative person can empathize with that feeling that comes from neglecting your gift/passion/curse/etc.  Everything just sort of sucks and you can't quite figure out why.

So, with that being said, I recognize that I've got to step away from this book for a while.  I always have three or four ideas for projects percolating and I think it's high time I decided to explore one of those for a bit.  Maybe after a little time away BUT STILL OPERATING A KEYBOARD IN A CREATIVE CAPACITY I can actually get that little bastard of a narrative put to bed.

And with that I'm digitally drop kicking HC into the old Google drive and temporarily moving on with life.  Stay tuned and we'll see what I manage to get into next.  Believe me, it will probably surprise all of us. 

Getting Back To Business

As promised (yes please hold the applause), today is March 1, 2014 and The Cynical Sarcastic is back up, slightly made over, and ready to rock 'n roll once again.

To quote the immortal Billy Bob, "I'm back, pukin' rowdy!"

Well okay not pukin' rowdy but slam a few beers down me and I'm still liable to ask Ms. Davis to go to prom with me...

Just sayin'...

Okay, silly gif jokes aside it's definitely good to be back doing what at least a few of you twisted and demented souls out there seem to think I do best which is ranting and raving away from the comfort of my own keyboard.  Hey, I missed all four of you psychotic little bastards, I really did. The great thing about having taken nearly a few months totally away and, for that matter, nearly away from anything resembling on a regular basis, posting is that I've been able to take a good look at my game such that it is and decide on a few new directions for the blog and the writing career in general.

The other great thing is that for a brief moment I think my fingers nearly forgot how to type the word fuck in quick succession, but that's probably more a win for whatever religious leader is willing to tolerate me for the moment. 

It's also come to my attention that we're (yes I'm including the five or six of you still listening) going to be joined now by some new victims I mean readers.  I can't promise you that you won't inadvertently read something here that you'll find splattered on the walls of your mind palace at some inopportune time in the near future (yes that was a Sherlock joke, deal with it and move on), but I promise after enough time here you'll even stop noticing the spasms.

Formatting is going to be pretty similar except there is a lot more content heading everyone's way on a regular basis.  The goal is for regular posts to come out by noon Monday thru Friday and whatever other brain droppings that choose to burst forth from my mental man-womb will just show up whenever God and technology smile and allow it.

So on that note, it's on with show once again...

Oh, yeah and Ms. Davis... prom is for amateurs... and porn is for Duke students.    

Happy scribblin' y'all!