Thanking The "Muses"

 

Shootin' trains w/Godfrey Ozzenbarq III (not his real name), who wasn't there that day. Photo by Joe

I'm often asked by no one about who inspires me to write - 300 blog posts and 12 novels and counting. "Have you ever had a muse?" They would ask, if they existed and asked me questions. The short answer is, "YES!" An even shorter answer is, "YA!" I have had, and continue to have, a few muses - and I need to thank them for nudging me along my muddy little creative path to nowhere. 

Before I start - I know that there's a certain implication in the word "muse," that a relationship between artist (writer, in this case) and muse is inherently romantic and/or sexy. I must point out that mine are not your sexy, romantic muse stereotypes - except for [Maris], of course. (Speaking of [M] - she is being obnoxiously literal, right now. It is mildly amusing, sure - but it is NOT helping...)

Let's start with Godfrey Ozzenbarq III (not his real name). Oh! Wait! I forgot about High School Crush #2! Technically, High School Crush #2 was my first muse - and she actually did fit the romantic muse stereotype - or, the would-be romantic muse stereotype. She didn't inspire me to write a lot. I was rather lazy, at the time. But we shared an affinity for ancient progressive rock music, and we would often listen separately to 98Rock's "Headphones-Only" show until 2AM on Wednesdays - and then compare notes on A) how far we made it into the show before falling asleep, and B) cool sounds and lyrics we'd heard. I was dropped into the friend zone in short order, but it was during this time that I first began to be aware of my fledgling creative spark. So, thank you for that, High School Crush #2. Now, if you could just tell me what "The Carpet Crawlers" is about...

Okay, so - Godfrey Ozzen-- Wait! Let's get Stan and Janine (not their real names) out of the way. I worked with Stan and Janine (not their real names) almost twenty years ago (WHAT??), and the three of us had an odd dynamic. Stan (not his real name) and I were both in our separate committed relationships, and had worked together for a year or so, and along came this pretty, crazy-smart single woman, who seemed to actively embrace a muse-like role in our lives. We worked well together, and she had a flirtatious, intimidating confidence. Both she and Stan (fake name) were smarter than I am, but what ensued - through an ongoing 3-way workplace instant-messaging chat - was a strange, competitive game of one-upmanship of witticisms between the three of us. I hadn't written much of anything in several years, at that point, and this little triple mind-meld was instrumental in keeping that poor little flame flickering. Thanks, guys. I thoroughly enjoyed our weird time together.

Alright, on to Godfrey... You know what, let's talk for a minute about the newest muse-like figure in my world. Current coworker-friend Amelia (not her real name) is the smartest human I've met since [Maris], and yet super-crazy nice to EVERYONE, and the most genuinely positive person I've ever met. It probably helps that she's still young enough that the world hasn't had a chance to adequately trample her, yet. Anyway - common ground, similar offbeat humor, instant friends and all that. This dynamic is different. Yes, she kind of kick-started my writing, starting with this summer's Camp NaNoWriMo project, but unlike my time with the muse-y people described above, I'm not writing for or with her. I writing again because she told me to. Said she believed I had a gift and should be using it. She said these things on faith - hadn't read so much as a paragraph of my writing, at that point. Probably still hasn't seen more than a blog post or two. But when someone so positive and bright encourages you to do something, you gotta do it, right? Oddly, it's kind of freeing to know that she'll probably never have time to read much of my stuff. Takes the pressure right off! Thank you SO much, Amelia (not your real name). You're an absolute gift.

So. Godfrey Ozzenbarq III (not his real name). A lifetime ago, Godfrey was my best boss ever. He's been my confidant, best man, co-grifter, go-cart enthusiast, porn critic, mentor, turtle painter, ranting partner, career counselor, and would-be Jim Jordan beater-upper. We've remained friends, lo these many years, and he continues to inspire me to be a better, more creative writer. Before the days of texting and instant-messaging (yes, we're not young - shut up), we exchanged weeks-long threads of emails so bizarre and clever and rant-y that we still have them saved in our respective archives. His humor is steeped in a stew of cartoons, Saturday Night Live, Rocky & Bullwinkle, politics, and the weirdest, funniest stuff the internet has to offer - a bit like mine, but on steroids. When my writing starts to bland out on me, a quick exchange with Godfrey (real name - not) steers me right back onto the looney track - probably because his writing is like the coke-addled offspring of Hunter S. Thompson and Mark Leyner. Heartfelt thanks to you, Godfrey Ozzenbarq III (not your real name). For the yucks and the insanity and the friendship. I'm still not giving up on a collaborative writing project - hopefully before we die.

Last, and most...

[Maris] - Photo by Joe

Yeah. [Maris]! Our origin story is rooted in witty banter, both written and verbal. When I met her, I was desperate to impress her, and thinking that words were all I had going for me, clever emails and whatnot ensued. It worked! Yes, it helped that we had chemistry and were soul mates, but we know for a fact that well-constructed assemblages of words were instrumental in assuring our forever togetherness. She is still the only muse I am writing FOR. Just about every sentence is written with her entertainment (and approval) in mind. I live to hear her laugh at something I've written - unless it's something that's not supposed to be funny, but that rarely happens. It means extra because she reads SO much, and has ridiculously high standards - and because she is a RUTHLESS natural-born editor. She's the only beta reader I'll ever need. So [Maris] - obviously I can never thank you enough for like EVERYTHING (I just deleted FIVE commas from this sentence for you). But thanks for letting me keep trying!

There. Muses thanked. Also thanks, readers - for coming back for more drivel!

My Self-Assessment Of My 2022 "Resolutions!" It's SO Late! Hang On...

 

Hap-py New Year! Photo by Joe

By now, both of you dear, dear readers probably know that I'm not a huge fan of New Year's Resolutions, but I actually made a few of them back in 2022, and I totally forgot to revisit them and see how successful I was in achieving them. This shouldn't take long, and I can't help but think that it will go a long way toward preventing me from publicizing (or even making, for that matter) resolutions, ever again. Then again, there's a reason I don't have a reputation as a lesson-learner.

So. Let's see how I did...

First one's easy, because it's measurable! Employers love it when you come up with goals that are measurable, and we should, too. I resolved that I would produce 52 blog posts in 2022. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I did FOUR!! A record low. I knew I wouldn't get 52, but daaaaaaaaamn...

I said I would finally take some action on my poor neglected 2013 novel - or at least find a beta reader or two. *sigh* Maybe next year...

I vowed to beat my all-time high score on "Yar's Revenge." FAIL. Funnily enough, I actually have a working copy of that old game - on one of those multi-game throwback Atari consoles - but it's almost as neglected as that novel.

I resolved to finish writing back stories for all 700 of John Hodgman's HOBOES, but that's just crazy. Even counting the ones with 2-line stories in my three "88 Lines About 44 Hoboes" posts, and those who only made cameo appearances in other hoboes' tales, or in Rumpshaker Phil's Orchestra, I'm just over halfway done. Unless I counted wrong, just now. My eyes were glazing over as I scrolled through my highlighted list. Maybe someday, though...

"I will reach my target weight." Oh, that's just sad. Another one for 2024, perhaps. Or for never. Maybe if I plump up enough, I'll become jolly and people will like me.

I vowed to toast marshmallows over the fire that is our nation and world at large. Obviously, that was metaphorical, but I'm working on it. I can't do much about the end of our empire, or our species, but I can choose to live on in spite of it all. To walk on, like my hoboes. 

I did not take holophonor lessons, but in my defense, there is no such thing as a holophonor.

I resolved to find out in 2022 whether or not my friend Godfrey Ozzenbarq III (not his real name) was alive. SUCCESS! I found out, and he was, and still is!

I did not, however, use my 20% off Bed Bath & Beyond coupon, and now that store is no more. Gone into the Beyond, I assume. Oh well. It was going to be one of those purchases one makes only because one has a coupon, and I'm NOT falling into that trap again. Although I *DO* have a coupon thingy for Tommy Bahama...

I also resolved to go figure, and I'm proud to report that I totally did! Score another for Joe!

I resolved (resolutely, in fact) to NOT find out what "Wordle" is. Fail. It was bound to happen. I've still never touched it, though!

Finally, I foolishly resolved for the who-knows-how-manyth time to find my Ebn-Ozn t-shirt. I'm starting to think I never will. It's gone the way of my original Max Headroom cup.

Not the original, but it gets the job done - Photo by Joe

Will I make resolutions for 2024? Don't bet on it, but yeah, I probably will.

Night!

Ante Vaccine Living, 1A - 1B - 027 - HO Arriba!

So. I owe my friend Godfrey O. Ozzenbarq III (not his real name) an email (yes, we still use email. sue us), and I haven't produced a blog post in almost two months. I'm nothing if not efficient (that's a lie; I'm not efficient - at all), so I thought I'd combine these two tasks and save myself like five minutes...

 

From: Your friend Joe, via Mostly Harmless Drivel

To: Godfrey O. Ozzenbarq III (not your real name)

Date: Saturday, February 20, 2021, 8:49 PM EST

Old-timey Dude,

Your list of categories of people who are ahead of you in the long and winding COVID vaccine queue was almost as amusing as it was depressing. I mean, you're behind blue-eyed Arabs, and it's not even close! Jinkies! That's bad. Carnival barkers and retro duckpin bowlers and Waffle House assistant managers in training - and ALL of the Roberts and Svens?? That list was daunting. I feared that your estimated vaccine appointment date would land several years beyond your expected life span. 

 

A small sample of the people ahead of you

 

But dig THIS!

I was checking out the 71 vaccine information websites for Maryland (2 of them were NOT 100% fraudulent!), and it turns out that you are in better shape than we thought. Yes, you're still behind appendicitis victims (2000-2012), Calvinists, Blockbuster Video clerks, self-parkers, all motor car operators since 1899 and everyone who has a "proper name," but there has been some kind of reassessment of prioritization. I'm happy to report that, because somebody sued the state of Maryland (probably that dimwit asshat Robin Ficker), you have officially moved ahead of:

• Teachers
• Nurses
• Police officers above the rank of recruit
• All other first responders
• The elderly
• Model train store operators, but only "O" and "027" and larger scales
• Movie theater lobby carpet sanitizers
• Ultra-high-speed poultry slaughter line monitors and their victims
• Hoboes
• People who still haven't tried the Popeyes chicken sandwich because they know damn well it's far superior to KFC's, and makes Chic-fi-la's (learn to spell, you assholes - and learn to make food) seem like a slurry of human thumbs, breaded in deer hair and deep-fried in cellulite. That's not really fair, that bit about Chic-fi-la, because that is precisely how they make their "chicken" sandwiches (although because I am a gentleman, I left out the step with the unhealthy person urine).
• Barbara Bach. Is she alive? If she's alive, you're ahead of her. If not, then sorry but you gotta get behind her.
• All "regular" bar patrons at Applebee's
• Me
• Okay, you were already ahead of me, on account of your advanced age, but I thought a reminder might make you feel better.
• Teetotalers
• Gen Z (it was determined that they are as unnecessary as they are invincible)
• Accountants (they are the WORST)
• Veterans of Up With People
• While we're at it - the Starland Vocal Band
• Other duties as assigned

So, yeah. Not so bad, right? Now, with our respective vaccination dates so fast approaching, let's get back to our normal routine of bitching about literally everything and inventing complex, vulgar, horrifically-insulting nicknames and descriptors for politicians and Kardashians. 

Yours in doom,

JMSeriouslydudewearejustasdoomedaswewereamonthagomaybemoreso

P.S. How's it going?

Day 277 of Double-barrel Unemployment: Whaddaya Know - The Light At The End Of The Tunnel Really IS A Train!

SEPTEMBER 3rd, 2009
(A Thursday)

Okay, so I promised myself I wouldn't do this again. Ever, ever, ever - as I recall. In March of 1994, when for the last time I stepped out of the Suncoast Motion Picture Company store where I had paced the floor as a miserable slumming assistant manager, when I for the last time hiked up my pant legs and patted myself down to prove to my boss that I wasn't stealing (we had to do this at the end of every shift - I kid you not), when I handed my keys to said boss and smiled "See you in hell, asshole!"* -- I promised myself - aloud - that I would never work another day of retail for the rest of my life, so help me FSM. I promised.

Well, desperate times and whatnot. I hadn't had an interview in over five months. Also, I rationalized that this hardly counted as breaking that promise. My friend Godfrey Ozzenbarq III (not his real name), himself a frequently laid-off and fed-up-with-the-grind kind of guy, had been managing a small model railroad hobby shop for almost a year, and he needed an extra body in the store for a few shifts. Godfrey (not his real name) and I are railfans, so spending a couple of days surrounded by model trains and the retired men who buy them, working with my old friend again for the first time since about 1991 seemed to not really count as breaking my promise. The pay was negligible and it was only for a few shifts, plus it got me out of the house, so there I was. In retail. Again.

I have to admit, working with a product that I really like went a long way toward transforming a retail job from unbearable to downright pleasant. That wasn't the only factor, though (as I recall, I loved movies when I worked at Suncoast). Not being in a sunless cave in a snooty upscale mall, not being forced to work with bad people, not having to frisk myself (unless I really wanted to!) before being allowed to leave the premises, and selling fun stuff to an odd mix of fun customers made this hardly seem like work at all. I offered to let them pay me in trains, but a lot of those things are extremely expensive, and I only had enough hours to have earned a battery-operated "Thomas" train (batteries not included) and some plastic N-scale cows and trees, so I took a check instead.

Sadly, this "gig" lasted only a few days, but it was refreshing to see that not all retail is as I remembered it from my past life. It's still a low-paying field with long hours and nights and holidays and weekends and so on, but given the right type of product, it can be fun.

I was right back to work with the job boards and recruiters the next day. Someday, when he wins that big-but-not-big-enough-to-just-retire-to-the-Caribbean lottery, Godfrey (not his real name) is probably going to buy that store from his friend. I will totally work there.

Next up... Something Else!
* - I didn't really say that, but to this day, I'm not sure how I managed to resist.