It Has Come to My Attention...

Hey kids.  It was gently brought to my attention a few nights ago by someone who has followed both my blog, writing, and radio efforts as of late that I have been extremely neglectful in getting blog posts up in a timely manner.  Admittedly I've been spending a lot of time tied up with work and the like and I have been dedicating a good chunk of time to reading and planning for the Y Factor each week, but that's no excuse for letting everything else slip a bit.

So, here's my mea culpa.  My bad folks.  The monkey will try to do better in the future.

For those of you that aren't aware / could care less / don't have enough to do with you life and need further reason to mock me, I am a panel member on the Y Factor, a weekly talk show on WTKF 107.1 here in Morehead City.  Yes, I'm on talk radio.  Yes, I tend to represent the more "conservative" side of the spectrum during our conversations.  And yes, I get to use words like celebritard and libneck on a weekly basis.  I even get to lambast the occasional knuckle nut guest who chooses to espouse some form of nonsense or another in public.  While the panel fluctuates on occasion, it is primarily composed of Riley, our moderater/host/resident liberal, myself, and Brandon, our sports guy / well spoken cooler head in the room.

The show is supposedly about how current events effect the Millenial generation.  It's slowly morphing into throw a piece of controversy on the floor and let Brian and Riley maul each other over it while Brandon tries to keep us at bay with sticks. I'm not sure what you call it in its current form but I got to call myself a loud-mouthed chucklehead on air tonight so it's obviously become something special.  

If you would like to hear the show or get in on the conversation you can always call the station or tune in either over the air or online at wtkf107.com every Thursday night at 6pm.

So, all promos aside, thanks for being patient with me while I've been running around the last month like a crazy person.

And we're back...

Happy Memorial Day and the Like

I know, I know, I know I've been neglecting the blog a bit as of late.  Sometimes these things just can't be helped as I'm sure all of you know.  When you have a 24 hour day and book yourself for 26 hours, well things just have a tendency to drop off the map a bit.

The good news is that I'm narrowing in on the end of the road for Hurricane Carolina, finally, and also have a great idea for the next book as well.  Things are up and running again in the scribbling department and it's time for some productivity, dammit!

First and foremost, I want to take a second and wish everyone a day late Happy Memorial Day and to thank all of our veterans and active duty military for their service and sacrifices.  More and more people seem to forget what that holiday is truly about, even when you live as close to two major military bases as we do here in Morehead City.

Next, I want to also thank those of you who have continued to read the blog over the past couple of years.  We're closing in on the 250,000 pageviews mark.  Granted that's not a huge pile in the course of the interwebs (and not be completely inclusive since the counter started over a while back - probably missing a good six months worth) but considering it's my little scribblins out there in the wild I'm still pretty stoked by it).

Finally, I want to get the ol' email chains going again for your questions and comments.  Remember that you can reach me via thecynicalsarcastic@gmail.com or on Facebook (dbrianpittman) and Twitter (@dbrianpittman).

Looking forward to what the future is going to hold for us kiddies!

L.I.L.

Hey kids.  Listen, I can't stress this enough: today is the primary election and you need to get out and vote.  Even if I vehemently couldnt agree less with your viewpoint, I still emplore you to do your civic duty today. Our country's future is too critically important to voice your opinion in absencia.

That being said, I feel I need to address a few of you head-on.  I'm speaking to those of you I loving refer to as "low information liberals," or more accurately libtards.  This applies to those of you on the other side of the political fence from me who still view our president and his cronies in Congress with rose colored Messianic glasses and refuse to do anything contrary to the "message".  Folks, continually nodding your rights and freedoms away by simple agreement is what got us where we are now.  Do some reading, spend some time talking to your friends and family, but for the love of all that is holy get at least some information in your noggin before you vote.

Remember, I don't care if we have a difference of opinion. I'm just shocked by the number of people still willing to simply drink the kool-aid with no thought process or critical thinking behind their decision.

Happy voting yall!

The Clippers Situation (semi-NSFW)

You know kids, if anyone had come to me two years ago when I started this blog and through some miracle of prognostication informed me that I'd be commenting on ANYTHING that had to do with the Clippers basketball program I would have laughed them out of my personal airspace.

But shit it does happen.

Look, with the media circus surrounding this whole nonsense I'm just going to assume you have not only heard about the issue but have an opinion.  Great.  I'm not going to try to educate anyone.  I'm just going to weigh in a bit.

First and foremost this man is a racist.  Pure and simple.  It's not even a secret in the league or for anyone around the league.  It's about as classified a piece of information in the NBA as the fact that Dean Smith is/was a smoker (I'm assuming he's quit by now) was in the ACC.  Now here's where I'm going to piss some people off:  BIG FUCKING DEAL.

Is he right for being a racist?  Of course not.  He's an ignorant ass with a lot of money who feels like the people of color who work for him AND CONSEQUENTLY MAKE HIM A GOOD DEAL OF THAT MONEY BY THE WAY owe him something like Massa up in the big house.  As Snoop Dogg so eloquently put it in his video response yesterday: click here for video

But there's something a lot more simplistic going on here that most people just don't seem to get. This guy's an idiot, sure.  His business will suffer for his idiocy. Granted. Will he lose his team because of his stupidity?  Two words:  Marge Schott.  Sanctions and fines incoming?  You bet your sweet little sugar crusted tail parts.  

But what's the real error here?

An old white dude with a pharmaceutically encouraged manhood got a piece of hot ass and let his judgment get impared by it.  Because of his inability to keep his pie hole closed around the woman he used to wave his decrepit little sausage at he has now had his (arguably) private feelings put on the national stage. He fell for the oldest play in the book:  old dude and young, hot pootie.  Pure and simple.

Dumbass on him.

There is not one of us out there who would not be horrified if our inner thoughts and feelings were suddenly published.  Not nere a one of us.  If what is in each of our heads was suddenly out there for all to see there'd be a rash of social ostracizing that would make a leper colony look like a cuddly place to live.  

Do I feel bad for the man.  Not one bit.  Could it happen to any of us?  

Bet your aforementioned sugar crusted parts on it.

Wack-A-Doo

Now kids, I usually try to reserve my name-calling for those who actually deserve it.

Oh hell, who am I kidding?  I've thrown around enough misanthropic missives and questioned enough parentage, including genus, phyllum, and species, that I'm surprised the Church of Satan hasn't contacted me for their next rewrite of their holy scripture.  You know, the gospel according to L. Ron Hubbard?  But I digress...

A couple of weeks ago we as a nation were somewhat captivated, okay had our collective interests tweaked between reality shows, by the standoff between the Bureau of Land Management and the supposedly good folks out at the Bundy Ranch in Nevada.  During that conflict I had an opportunity to speak with a gentleman who was a friend of the Bundy family that lives in my local area as I was waiting to get on air for my Thursday night radio duties.  I was initially impressed by this man's fervor and concern for his family friends and "friend-ed" him on Facebook to keep up with the goings-on, as it were.

I'm not going to call this man out by name.  I will however suffice it to say that he has the complete, utter, and total honor of being the ONLY person I have summarily deleted from my Facebook page in well over two years.  Why you  may ask?

Simple.  This moron turned out to be a wack-a-doo.

For those of you not familiar with the term, let's just say that within a very few days I had a news feed full of more anti-government rhetoric spewing horseshit from people with less than a working handle on the written form of the English language than I ever expected.  Hell, it probably landed me on the last couple of watch lists for the NSA that I wasn't already on for my tendency to say silly little stuff like "FUCK OBAMA" on a fairly regular basis.

Pardon me just a moment.  Suddenly there's a black SUV in my driveway that I don't recognize.

.....

Never mind, it was just the Omaha Steaks guy looking for new business.

Moving on.

What never ceases to amaze me is how easily these fruitbars seem to infiltrate our lives when we're not looking.  And they're really not all that obvious anymore either.  A buddy of mine recently joined a "community preparedness" group.  My first thoughts: wackadoos but at least he's out of the house more.  Come to find out they're actually just a good group of guys that are concerned by our local government's lack of disaster and emergency preparation and planning.  Hell they're all even employed and vote.  To be completely honest I wouldn't mind hanging out with these guys a bit more often.  They're not wrong.

That being said however, try doing something innocuous like say ordering a thousand feet of paracord because you're bored and want to learn new things.  All of a sudden my inbox looks like a wackadoo orgy in progress with messages telling me how much my government hates me and how civilization is going to end because of Obama.  Okay that one might be true but still.  

Maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe the zombies really are coming and the Democrats really do want to take everything I own and turn our country into a monstrous homogenized mosh pit where being white and male is a crime and our only civil right is the right to shut the fuck up.  I don't know.  I also don't think there's anything wrong with a little prep in case of a natural disaster, like say if you live in a hurricane prone area like I do.  If you're of a certain mindset maybe even a little bug-out bag might be a good idea.  But full on-next-on-Doomsday-Preppers-hysteria just seems a little over the side and right out into the deep water to me folks.

So how do you spot a wack-a-doo in your normal daily life?  Just listen to what comes out of their mouth.  They may make perfect sense at first, believe me.  You may even find yourself agreeing with them at the outset.  They they drop that Amway - L Ron loves you - the government hates us all - my kids go to school on the planet Klatu and I need gas money to get there horseshit and you finally see through it all.

And then of course you spend the next week feeling like a complete dumbshit for not catching on sooner.  Yeah, that's a lot of fun.  But we live, learn, delete from Facebook, and mock endless in semi-public forums to make ourselves feel better and then move on.  Quickly.

Have a great one kids.  More to come.

A Few Random Thoughts

I've come to the conclusion that I really don't do all that well when left to my own devices for any substantial period of time.  At the moment my wife is away for the second of four weeks in Wilson attending Grooming School with her job at PetsMart.  Over the last twelve days or so I've cleaned my house to within an inch of its life, harassed my animals to within an inch of their collective four legged sanity and just generally made a nuisance of myself to my laptop in attempts to string words together into sentences.

Sadly what I'm down to at this point is cooking, cleaning, moderate consumption of alcohol and thinking far too much.  So, as a means of annoying everyone equally, here's a few things that have popped into ye olde brain basket over the last few days:

1)  It occurs to me that the "me" in my head is pretty much the same critter at 40 that I was at 20.  Yes I've grown and (debatably) matured, but for the most part I'm still the same dude. It further occurs to me that I don't really see that changing.  If I'm mentally and potentially psychologically the same monkey at 60 and 80 then it kind of takes the "heroics" out of growing older, doesn't it?  Essentially you just become the same cat in an ever more decrepit sack of aches and pains.

2)  Why did it take a Supreme Court decision to start up the discussion of repealing Affirmative Action?  Should using race as the basis of any decision, good or bad, automatically qualify as racism in our modern mindset?

3)  Someone in the fast food industry is actually paying attention for a change.  Between Taco Bell's breakfast and Chick Fil A's new grilled nuggets I can eat fast food and not feel like Toby the fluffy gut sloth anymore.  Rock on sirs.

4)  Why do we mow grass but eat weeds?

5)  I've come up with a one question test for someone considering adultery: can you bear the thought of your spouse finding out you cheated?  If no, then don't.  If yes, get divorced or just hide the body and be done with it.  See, simple.

6)  I realized that I've spent around $1,000 over the last ten years on toys for my largest dog.  Tennis balls are 3 for $1 and he loves them like old people love church.  I'm a moron.

7)  Have you ever noticed that most of the truly ignorant, bigoted, and just generally backward people are also among the most significantly economically disadvantaged?  Now I understand how Obama got elected.  He appealed to the poor, stupid, and those who just didn't know any better.

8)  It's a tough moment when you come to the realization that your gym bag is in such bad need of cleaning that the cats refuse to sleep in it anymore.

9)  I now understand that as I've gotten older my tastes in video games has changed.  I now only play games that are either well produced, high production value, deeply immersive experiences or brain candy.  My tolerances for middle of the road are just gone.  And then there's number 10...

10)  My wife has been playing South Park: The Stick of Truth lately.  I admit to having a bent, twisted, nearly broken sense of humor easily.  This game goes so far beyond "holy crap" and takes a deep left at "just damn" that I can't even easily describe it.  It's either a work of art or a door pass straight into hell, I'm not sure which.  Well done sirs, well done indeed.

And that's all I've got for tonight.

Apologies to Jack Handy.  

And anyone else who actually read all of this.

I'll do better tomorrow I swear...

My Fifty Cents on the Bundy Issue...

Good morning kids.

Believe it or not, no matter how many fliers I may take off into deep right center over some issue or another that has pissed me off beyond human recognition, I actually try pretty hard to not come off as some ultra-right wing conspiracy theorist Bill of Rights spewing wackadoo.  I’m usually the guy telling someone else to adjust their tin foil fedora for a little better reception from the mothership.

And then something like the bullshit that’s going on in Nevada right now over the whole Bundy Ranch issue starts up and I have to seriously consider taking stock in some good ol’ aluminium (British spelling sir, calm down) myself. 

I’m not going to take the time here to educate you on what’s going on if you’re not aware.  If you have no clue what I’m talking about I suggest you stop being a dipshit and learn a thing.  This is serious business folks and it sets a very, very dangerous precedent.

I’m also not going to preach and rant and rave on this subject.  I’ll save that for the radio show Thursday night. What I am going to do is to speak my mind on a few points and leave it at that.  We’ll debate whatever points you all wish or discuss ad nauseum at a later date.  I just need to get this out there.

So here are my points for thought on this issue:

1-      Mr. Bundy is in the wrong.  He’s illegally grazing his cattle on that land.  It’s a fact.

2-      This is a civil issue, not a criminal one, in all but the most narrow of interpretations.

3-      We have civil courts and a Sheriff’s Department in every county of this country to resolve these types of issues.  At its core this is an issue of imminent domain, jurisdiction, adverse possession, and overreach.

4-      Sending officers armed with automatic weapons and placing sniper teams on overwatch to effect the removal of illegally grazing cattle is akin to using a SWAT team to kick some dumbass out of government housing for not paying his $15 a month.

5-      The “militia” showing on said property was not effected by some group of nutballs.  These are concerned citizens who saw the potential for a complete erosion of their rights.  I’m not saying however there aren’t a couple o’ nutballs present, however.

6-      Question:  since when did the federal government become involved in a state land issue LEGALLY without either the purchase of said land from the state or the exercise of imminent domain?

7-      If you think for one minute that this situation has de-escalated because of the temporary withdraw of force by our government, you are sadly mistaken.

Folks, I have a bad feeling about this one.  I’m concerned that some moron, be they government employee behind a desk, law enforcement officer just trying to do their job, a law abiding citizen trying to protect their rights, or some asshole looking for a reason get his or her gun off is going to start an incident that will get someone, if not a lot of someone’s killed.  Cooler heads have to prevail here people.  Armed clashes are not what we need as a country UNLESS we’re ready, as a populace, to go all in and I just don’t see that as the case.  Not yet anyway.

However, that being said, I’d like to point out one thing.  Yes I understand the Supreme Court has upheld the right of the LOCAL AUTHORITIES to cordon off 1^st Amendment zones when protests can turn violent over known issues.  However, the same decision states that 1^st Amendment zones are illegal unless a clear and demonstrable danger exists BEFORE they are instituted.  Otherwise, and please pay attention Mr. Obama and company, OUR 1^ST AMENDMENT ZONE EXTENDS FROM THE FUCKING CANADIAN BORDER TO THE MEXICAN ONE AND GETS RATHER WET ON ITS EASTERN AND WESTERN MOST SIDES AND UNTIL I SEE OUR CONSITUTION BURNT TO A CINDER ON THE ALTER OF ULTRA-LIBERAL HOMOGENY THEN YOU CAN TAKE YOUR ATTEMPTS TO CONTINUALLY DEGRADE MY CONSTITUTIONALLY PROTECTED RIGHTS AND SHOVE THEM UP YOUR HIGH AND MIGHTY SOCIALIST ASS.

I’ll be waiting out front for the black SUV’s. 

I’ll be the one in the tin foil hat if you’re not sure how to find me.  

They seem to be becoming fashionable.

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!

Neither Gone Nor Forgotten...

Hey kids.

Just a quick little note to let you all know that The Cynical Sarcastic is currently undergoing some rather drastic redesign / rehashing / rebirthing / insert your own term here.  

It's been almost two months since the last post and I didn't want anyone to feel I'd forgotten about them!  

Talk to you all on March 1st!

The C.S.

Priorities

Hello all and welcome to 2014 on the Cynical Sarcastic! 

And no, contrary to a couple of emailed opinions, I have not completely quit the blogging and writing game to go play powerlifter.  

Really, I swear!

Seriously however, in the spirit of the "new year" I think it's important to talk about something that's been on my mind a lot lately: namely examining my true priorities in life and getting this ship back on track, so to speak.

It's not that I've wandered away from writing in general, mind you, or that I got sick of the whole blogging game or even just grew tired of answering emails.  The fact is that I did get overly bogged down in trying to keep too many projects alive at one time.  The sad and simple fact of it all, I've come to understand, is that I actually am human after all!  Seriously, I went to a doctor... I have proof!  

After a fairly lengthy period of evaluating and re-evaluating and scrutinizing and over-thinking the whole damn thing, I've come to a couple of conclusions that I thought I'd share with those of you still dedicated and/or bored enough to still be reading what I have to say after all this time.

First and foremost: being exceptional requires sacrifice.  Anyone can phone in their existence.  There is an entire herd of humanity out there that is doing nothing more than hitting their 9 to 5 at precisely 9:01 and leaving at 4:55 and living in a slowly decaying swill of TV and fast food.  It's easy and it's pretty much expected out of all of us.  Being exceptional, however requires sacrifice. You have to be willing to give up some of that mundanity (pretty sure that's a word - if not I call it) to become great.  My problem lately is I've had so little free time to myself to actually pursue the things I want to do that I've let them get completely out of focus.

Secondly: work must stay in perspective.  You work to fund your life.  That's it and that's all.  Anything else is out of focus.

Third, and one that I have particular trouble with it would appear: your passions must get equal time on the average.  I moved away from writing to focus more energy on training in the gym and the result was a lot of gains from the iron and a stagnant book that's fighting me tooth and nail as I try to finish it.

Fourth, and last I promise: the true definition of who you are will either be decided by you or by what you let everyone else decide for you.  I want to be a husband, writer, and powerlifter and be more than moderately successful at all three.  God help me when we get to add father to that list too, huh?  I notice more and more how people seem to be discussing what's keeping them from doing something instead of what they've accomplished.  I want very much to be the latter instead of the former.

So with all that being said, here's a couple of changes I'm going to be making.  Effective today I'm shuttering my secondary blog "The Big Fellas Guide" and moving it over as part of the CS. Yes, that means that you'll have all my powerlifting brew-ha-ha scattered in and amongst the rest of the ranting and raving.  Sorry but I've only got enough time to keep one house in order at the moment.  As time goes on and things in that arena progress I may move it back to its own site but for now everything will be under one roof.  You're also going to see a wider range of topics on the CS, more focusing on writing but also more on general day to day life.  What you'll probably notice a bit of a reduction on are the flaming rants that were a fairly regular part of the blog.  Call it maturity or just lack of sleep but lately things just don't piss me off as easily as they used to.  Guess turning 40 has a few upsides after all.

Well, thanks again all for sticking with me and here's to a great 2014!

So 40 Happened...

Well here's one for the record books kiddies: last Sunday I turned a bright and sunshiny 40 years old!  Yeah I know, in the overall scope of the steaming sack of grandeur we all lovingly refer to as the universe my little wannabe-Bigfoot ass managing to survive for four decades isn't really that big of a whoop, but hey, it's my blog and I'll wax introspective if I want to.

But I don't want to, trust me.  Sorry if I scared anyone there.

They say that turning 40 is supposed to be some kind of milestone, as if you've officially reached the age where you're old enough to know better or some such shit.  Folks, I'm as sorry as I can be to have to tell you this but you're favorite emotional twelve-year old here didn't magically awake to some form of transcendental maturity.  Actually, if memory serves, all I did actually awake to that morning was a gentle reminder that it's not yet time for Viagra and a need to take the dogs outside so they'd let me get a few more minutes of sleep.  Yes I know, too much information by a long shot, but dammit I'm given to understand that at 40 these things are to be celebrated.  Kind of like buying the inevitable Ferrari or just barely of age girlfriend.  Classy I know, but hey, since when have we devolved into bullshitting each other here?

Okay, other than that time...

Fact is, I remember throwing my father an "Over the Hill" party when he turned 40.  I don't feel over the hill, and come to think about it I'm beginning to seriously doubt he did at the time either.  I'm still accomplishing things in my life: I made the commitment to and then competed in my first powerlifting meet this year, I managed to figure out where I apparently belong in this world, and as-God-as-my-witness my third book will be out one of these freakin' days!  

I will say this, however.  Turning 40 did give me a moment of pause to reflect.  Not over my life mind you; years one thru twenty-nine don't really hold much of merit at this point in the game.  Nope, I actually had to take a moment and take account of my thirties. I realized that I started my last decade at the end of a shit-ridden marriage and a job that was killing me probably faster than I want to even think about.  I'm still not sure exactly how I pulled it off but over the course of the last decade I managed to find the career I'm actually good at, the exact perfect woman to marry (Lord if I didn't hold some auditions though), and the place in this world that I not only call home but where I actually am home.  

I'm reminded a little bit of the Tim McGraw song "My Next Forty Years" while I sit here and type this.  The song is basically a list of the things he hopes to do better in the second half of his life. For those of you that know me well personally this will probably make more sense than it may to those who know me through the blog or through my books but for the "next forty" I'd like to steal a page out of the movie "Legends of the Fall" and finally come into the quiet part of my life. I've had the first 40 to make, try to fix, and hopefully learn from my many mistakes.  Now is the time I can hopefully move forward and finally build the life I've always wanted.

Although I have to admit that I am looking forward to pulling the mirror stunt from "This is 40" on my wife.  Just for g.p.  After all, sometimes it's still fun just to hear her yell "ewwwww!"

(And by the way, just so it's out there, NO THE BEARD IS NOT A MIDLIFE CRISIS.  I'm just furry by nature and finally gave up fighting it.  That and to be honest is was the cheapest way to offset the age related ugly!)

Have a great one folks and talk to you soon!

Children Are Not Currency

Pardon me for just a self-indulgent moment boys and girls.  I need to say something publicly to get it off my chest because I can't say it to the person or persons that need to hear it the most in person.  I just don't trust myself to not start throwing punches.  I also honestly have to say that if I started I really don't know if I could trust myself to stop so it's just best to say what I have to say here where hopefully that person or persons can read it, hang their head in shame, and hopefully find some way to creatively end their sorry ass excuse for a human self.

I'm going to say this very carefully and succinctly.  I'm even going to use small words.  It won't be hard to understand.

CHILDREN ARE NEITHER CURRENCY NOR A COMMODITY.

Period.

If you are a parent your job is to raise that child and give them the best life possible.  Being a parent does not mean that you now have a tool to use against others to get what you want / cause them emotional harm at your whim.  It also does not mean that your child is your guarantee of income from the federal government.  That meal ticket is the kid's, not yours.

If you use a child to inflict emotional harm on others...

If you use a child as a tool for financial gain...

If your child means little more to you than a monthly check...

If you think you can do as you will with a child, good or evil, and the world can just deal with it...

I urge you to remember one thing:

Not only is the rest of the world watching and remembering BUT SO IS THAT CHILD!

The worst sentence I've ever heard uttered from a child is "Mommy's mad at me because my Daddy's check isn't on time."  It ranks right up there with "Daddy won't let me see Grandmommy and Granddaddy because they won't pay our cable bill anymore."

There are some people in this world that I can't decide whether the best cure for them is an axe or a sledgehammer.

With that said I'm going to go throw something heavy across the room now.