#Hashtag Does Exist: #ShesLikeACourtReporter - A Poem of Hashtags, Because... The Moon

So...  I wrote this based on a Friday evening of bar conversation hashtags created while watching my friends Travis Duncan & Jeremiah Walter (The Rogue Spirits) perform.

While writing, I questioned whether it was the best use of my time, but then decided, "Oh, it's all a crazy process anyway! What the heck!" So... Enjoy! (or something)

#ShesLikeACourtReporter

#YoJoe,
#YouCanOnlyYOLOOnce,
the #BlueMoonIsALie and #ThatsWhereWereAt,
#ThereIsNoSadface #SiriSaidSo, so,
#BackToTheCats

#HowDidIHashtagAirport?
#CanSuperheroesDanceInCapes?
#OutCrazyDonaldTrump?
#OutCrazyCharlieSheen?

This is all #Nonsense,
it doesn't belong on Facebook,
it should be on Twitter.

It is on Twitter. #ShowMeTheThankYouFace

#YoJoe,
#NowIHaveGarlicBreath, so #NoVamps,
Hey, #YouNeverBringTheSaw
#ThisIsntTheSongIThoughtItWas

Please, #KeepSayingWeirdShit

#GoogleUnicorn #Outstriment #Unstriment #Outty #Inny #Unny?
#PianoWhisk #WhiskItGood #TheresSoMuchCake #FingerFoodRestaurauntReviews

#Hashtag does exist

#TheShrugWasTrue

#YoJoe, #TwittersYourWingman,
#CauseItsABird but,
#TheMoonLies and
#ThisIsntTheSongIThoughtItWas,
#SadCymbal

#DefineMyEmotion #OnTheHouse #:) #:( #ThereIsNoSadface,
#SiriSaidSo

Oh, #SloppyJoe, #HaveYouHadEnoughYet? #YouOnlyYOLOOnce

Please, just #KeepSayingWeirdShit

#SoItWasntJustJeremiahDancing!
#JazzHands! #AndWeFoundedAGleeClub,
#WhatSongIsThisOne?
#WhatOne?
#ThisOne

YoJoe,
#TheBlueMoonIsALie and #ImNotFeelingCleverImFeelingMad,
#JameyAaaaaa,
#IAmFirstInThePhonebook,
#TheLadyWithTheChair,
#WorthIt

#AndTheCakeHasBeenStolen

Please, #KeepSayingWeirdShit

#WhatSongIsThisOne?
It #NeedsAWhistleChorus and
#ConcertinaEnFuego,
but #UkuleleMusicMakesABadDayGood,
it's a #FleaJumper

#TheMoonLies #ThereIsNoSadface,
#SiriSaysSo,
#SadFaceIsConfusedFace so,
#IDontThinkICanComeToOneOfTheseAgain,
#WhatOne?
#ThisOne
#IsThatOneWord?

#YoJoe,
#TravisIsGoingToSwitchUnstrimments and #WereGonnaFillTheInternetWithAllTheNonsense, so please, #KeepSayingWeirdShit #ItsGarlicyGood

#AsManyCatsAsICanWear
#FrownyPoop
#ItsAlwaysGoingToBeABigManInALittleJacket
#Unny? #Inny? #Outty?
and #ThatsWhereWereAt

#DefineMyEmotion #ThereIsNoSadface,
#JameyAaaaa,
#WhiskItGood,
#TheBlueMoonIsALie,

#AndPrint.
#AndPrince?

#AndPrince.

Please, #KeepSayingWeirdShit
#ButIAlreadyAndPrincedIt!

#FUMoon
#NeedsAWhistleChorus,
and #ThatsWhereWereAt

#AndPrince.

----------------

I finished another poem yesterday too -- a throat bubbly one. Its really beautiful, but it doesn't belong here. It belongs in someone's pocket. I'll share it one day maybe, or I may hand it over for the correct password. (Ha!)

The Rats! The Rats! How Mac & Meyer Took to the Hallway

This week I conducted an experiment with rats. It's fine. They're plastic.

I acquired them through a random act of curiosity connected to a running gag related to this video, part of a longer documentary, Frozen to Death on Pikes Peak, which I helped produce several moons ago. "The Rats! The Rats!"



Having only a vague notion of what would happen, I set one plastic rat in the hallway, and later two -- to spice up the day, you know.

They were ignored, laughed at, questioned, and stepped on like guitar pedals (nice one Sean). Did I mention they squeak? At the end of day one, my co-worker friend Danny named them Mac and Meyer. It was also noted they would look more like real rats if I sprayed them gray. I considered giving one pink spots at this point, but it almost seemed like plastic animal cruelty.

This is Mac. I forgot to take a picture of him in the hallway, so now he's posing on my table. Surprisingly, no cat has attacked him yet -- maybe if he was gray?

Meyer has wandered off. He sat in the hallway for a couple of days with Mac before going into hiding. I'm kind of happy that when Meyer disappeared people noticed. "Where's the other rat?" "Did someone wander off with the second rat?" "Oh that's sad. Someone took the rat." "Where'd he go?"

Don't worry, I know exactly where he crawled off to (unless he moves *shudder).

As the week scurried along, the rats caused a lot of laughs from passersby, many questions of "Why is there a rat in the hallway?" (always directed at me like I knew *shrug), one giant "WHOA!" one "I thought that was real for a second!" a small gasp that I missed, one "I love the rats!" one kick, and an ongoing step on the rat to make it squeak game.

I consider this a successful experiment. I accidentally made a lot of people smile this week through a couple goofy red-eyed rats, and that's kind of cool.

I think the best part, though, is there was no planning -- no forethought or hindsight. I just picked up the rat, and set it in the hall to see what would happen, and then I did it again the next day, and the next, and the next. Maybe it was a rebellion against my own mind's tendency to think everything through thoroughly. Should I do this? Should I not? Should I just sit on this idea for a bit until it tastes a bit more like stew? There was none of that. There were only rats. My shrugs were true. I have no idea why the rats were in the hallway.

I didn't really think I'd write an entire entry about rats when this week began. I wasn't even sure I could when I first said I would. There are many more pressing issues bubbling down in my throat, words that aren't forming into sentences very well. Items that don't fit nicely onto a checklist. Questions, whose answers I know, but keep asking, because they aren't like hallway rats, and you can't just throw them out there and see what happens. Well, I mean, you can... but...

On a side note: I made a Blue Moon playlist on Spotify (like you do) and songs with the word "moon" in the title are all generally good -- no rats among them yet. Maybe I'll share my favorites (new and old) in my next entry, or maybe I'll just write about plastic rats again. It's really hard to say.

#TenThingsNotToSayToAWriter

Today, I logged in for my bi-daily tweet. I've been trying really hard to embrace the Twitter Twattle, and well.. some days are better than others.

Today, as it happens, was a good day. I was excited to see a trend of ACTUAL interest. Apparently, writers of all sort were bonding over the topic #TenThingsNotToSayToAWriter

It was actually the number one trend before #CecilTheLion stepped in. Here's a non-explanatory explanatory article on the topic.

http://time.com/3975448/things-not-to-say-to-writers-hashtag/?xid=tcoshare

Despite the voices in my head screaming, "You're not a writer. You're a fraud!" I decided to make my own list of #TenThingsNotToSayToAWriter Yes, @amandapalmer the Fraud Police are after me too! I think they hide under my fingernails or something.

#HeresMyList

1. Are you working on anything?
2. Next, you should write a script with a female lead.
3. How do you find the time?
4. I have a great idea for you.
5. No offense, we thought you were a man.
6. I don't read.
7. Remember me when you get famous.
8. What were you on when you wrote that?
9. So, like are you going to try to sell that script? Or what will you do with it?
10. Good Job!

Voila! #TenThingsNotToSayToAWriter

What are yours?

Next Time: Hear about an impromptu plastic rat experiment created to "spice up the day."

A Series Reborn: Door Number Three, Dwight, and the Symbols

It's a funny thing -- writing fictional tales based on truths. It's a blurry line, shaky ground. It's door number three.

The true stories oftentimes are funny enough, but the truth in writing, on film, online, has to be just a little bit funnier. It has to have a punchline. In some cases, a two punchline. (Don't worry, that'll make sense later, but not later today. Unless, you already get it, then it's probably hilarious). The truth starts to bend as you make it funnier, and you kind of ask yourself why the heck you're doing this anyway. I mean, what's the point Dink? (see what I did there). Why am I doing this? Why play around with real stories, when I'd do just as well letting sleeping memories lie?

Lies. It's all lies anyway. I mean, I'm editing what will likely be episode three in the web series, I Didn't See That Coming, and there's a story about a river rock. The conversation happened. It was real. In the series, the conversation is with a made up character, though. She doesn't exist, She's just Tracy, friend (I guess) of Emily, the main character and a made up and probably cooler version of me. The whole time as I'm writing this, though, I'm thinking, "I know who I had this real conversation with, and that's kind of weird."

It's weird, right? I mean I know comedy writers do this all the time. That's what makes their shticks funny. It's funny when we know that this crazy character or that one could be our friend, our spouse, our ex, our imaginary hot coffee shop guy, or the loon next door. It's only funny, because we all have a Dwight Schrute in our own office, and he too may accept faxes from the future (I doubt there'll be faxing the future). I guess the answer to my great big why, is because life is funny, really funny. I mean, look around, it's frickin' hilarious. I make a note in my phone or my notepad about an idea for an episode in this series almost everyday. "That's going in the notes," I proclaim! (truth).

Anyway, back to the river rock. I only remember a sliver of the conversation. It was four years ago. I don't know anything, but the premise. There's a good chance I've partially imagined in my head who was there listening. I have no idea what the real response was, but I think he found it funny. He may not remember the interaction at all. That makes the memory mine and mine alone, and leaves me free to write about it. See, all that matters is that there was a conversation about a rock, and it was funny, and more importantly has the ability to be funnier.

The past is weird. Our brains are weird. Symbols are weird. Cymbals are weird. I need more coffee.



Attention!

Do you believe in time travel?

So about the aforementioned time travel...



and also...



furthermore...



but, seriously...



That is all.

A Series Reborn: The Ukulele, Maya Angelou, and That Poor Dummy

Hello and welcome back to this blog's original purpose. I've used and abused it for many missions in the last few years -- a poetry dropbox, a shameless self-promotional hub, a keeper of random monthly goals (met and unmet). However, I originally developed it as a partner piece for a web series. You know, that webisode link on the blog that doesn't go anywhere? Someday soon you might find out what that's about.

Someday soon is now.

Today, I began the great task of setting about adding, deleting, rearranging, and all-around re-examining the first several episodes of the series, which I drafted out earlier this year. Who are the major players? Who is made up, and who is real? Who gets to stay and who gets the boot? Are there two people who are really only one? Who gets to keep their real name (Office-style) and who gets a stage persona?

Then, there's that nagging question... How do I deal with the pilot having such a different tone then the rest of the series? I decided to go back to the origin of it. Where did the phrase, "I didn't see that coming," come from? Why did I say it that very first time? What was the joke? Why was it the punchline? Quickly, I realized it's something I said long before it seemed like a good title for a blog or a series. Maybe it doesn't matter at what point it became a tagline.... a title... a life mission... But, everything matters, right?

So, I entered my time-travel machine (aka the loo), and tried to recall those first few running gags that launched the gears into motion...



Yep.

Now (until otherwise corrected) I'm pretty sure it actually began in what is currently labeled "Episode 4: The Theme Song." This episode is inspired by a strange day when my friend Travis Duncan started playing "Don't Stop Believin'" on a ukulele he whipped out from under (or to the side of) his desk. I don't know if it was before or after the song that I exclaimed, "I didn't see that coming!" (though, I know I said it after). All I know is that has to be the moment when the light bulb blinked wildly and I shouted -- too loudly for an office setting -- "That's it! That's the title! That's it by Jove!" Well... Maybe I never said, "By Jove!" I'm putting the rest in print, though.

So, that said, Episode 4 is now going to be episode 1, because starting on the downer scene has, from the start, felt like the wrong thing, and who wants to do the wrong thing.

Now about Maya Angelou...

As soon as I knew episode one would be episode two, I also knew its monologue would need another re-write. I instantly got that quote in my head that goes something like: "You've got to know where you come from in order to know where you're going." I looked up it's source, and got quite a few dead ends. I love the phrase, "Cannot be attributed to any one person." Okay... So, I tried another search with only part of the quote, and turned up this one:

"I have great respect for the past. If you don't know where you've come from, you don't know where you're going. I have respect for the past, but I'm a person of the moment. I'm here, and I do my best to be completely centered at the place I'm at, then I go forward to the next place." - Maya Angelou

Then, I went about verifying that it was really Maya Angelou who said this, and not Abraham Lincoln, Yogi Berra, or the Irish Proverbs. Along the way I found this lovely list of her quotes, some of which may not be verified, but that doesn't make them any less lovely. This is one of my favorites. Also, I read the story that contains it, so I know it's real.

Next, I found this interview with Maya from the Arizona Republic, in which, the aforementioned quote is included. Good news!

But wait... 

Here's the "I didn't see that coming" part of the story. The part that really gives you insight into my life and process... 

Shortly after I posted the list of Maya Angelou quotes to my Facebook page, my pal Michael T. Scott (look at his animations on YouTube) shared a Maya Angelou video with me.

http://www.nbc.com/saturday-night-live/video/maya-angelou-for-froot-loops/n10940

Okay, so it's not exactly Maya, is it? If I had been eating Fruit Loops, while watching it, though, they may have shot out of my nose, into my coffee, and Michael would have gotten a virtual two punch. Close call. Incidentally, there are also too others just like this only for Pennzoil and Butterfinger. Which is your favorite?

Oh, and about that Dummy...

Go ahead and ask Michael about this. I told him I was going to steal it from his page to add to my blog, and he shot back with, "You can't steal something no one wants." 

Happy Sunday everyone! Be sure to follow the blog, because I plan to frequent it quite a bit more often! :)

Cheers,

Jamey

"When I hoped I feared" by Emily Dickinson

I started making this poetry film for a class I'm teaching on making poetry films, but it became a bit too complex. I really enjoyed making it, and love this poem, so I've decided to post it about the interwebs. 

-- Jamey

Poetry Assignment 2 - Tone: "Autumn Leaf Dance"

This is a poem I'm writing for an exercise in tone. Let me know what tone you think it gives off. Anything is helpful. It's part of the assignment.

-----------------------------------

Autumn leaf dance,
colored whirlwinds at street corners
shift with traffic,
goldenrod, burnt orange, and vermilion,
prettier than dust devils,
magical, free,
meanwhile, the last few cling steadfast,
laughing, from a nearby tree,

Then color-loss brings
tans, copper, rust, raw umber,
and leaf piles,
crunch, crackle,
feet kick them, and jump them,
and still, the last few sing,
“Can’t catch me!”

Early Autumn snow dance,
     Hey,
        let them be.

Poetry Assignment 2: Irony - "Senseless"

After much delay, I'm writing my first poetry class poem. Its supposed to use two instances of irony. I think I did, but... Let me know your thoughts.
----------------------------------------------

Senseless
(an example of irony)

Listen, don’t you hear the silence?
It’s biting at saltines, nipping at your senses
like a train screaming “Stop!” three times
in succession, just in case
you don’t hear it

Credible witnesses lie about the truth,
it’s malleable,
sugar-coated, candy corn, conversation hearts,
liquefied to goo,
sacrificed and beautifully reformed.
Who cares about the truth?

New stone shoes sink without effort,
babbling soothsayer quieted,
flushed out,
shush, don’t you hear it?
The rancid sniff of defeat, mixed with nutmeg,
and burnt instant coffee, makes you gag

Scream,
spit out the slime, shun the mask,
breathe,
listen, don’t you hear it?
Thomp, thomp, thomp,
bubbles pull the stone soldier upward,
rocket-bound for greener waters,
listen 

What Fresh Hell is This? Why Dorothy Parker?

I've decided to take an online  poetry course on Universal Class, and this is my first assignment. I've decided that posting the assignments on my blog holds me double accountable for the content. It's been a while since I've written about literature, so I felt a bit rusty, but it slowly became fun. Cheers!

------------------------------------------------

Many years ago, I purchased The Portable Dorothy Parker. Immediately, I noted how completely un-portable it really is -- the thing is huge! It requires an oversized purse or backpack if you want to take it along to read on the train or on your coffee break, and you certainly wouldn’t want to lug it around for too long. I think that’s Dorothy’s little joke, though. Her sense of humor is both delightful and deprecating, and it rings through even in the title of her anthology.

I’ve read a few of her short stories, but mostly I just adore those poems. There’s something refreshing about her style, and her pacing draws me in. She has a certain rhythm and rhyming pattern that much of my early poetry relates to, and a sort of humor my older self understands. While, a younger version of me relished in her love (or lack thereof) poems, it is her more philosophical pieces that strike me now. Take “Philosophy” (aptly named) for instance.

If I should labor through daylight and dark,
Consecrate, valorous, serious, true,
Then on the world I may blazon my mark;
And what if I don’t, and what if I do?

There’s something about this poem that rings true to me as an artist, and something about her “I don’t give a damn” attitude that rings true to me as a person. She almost always throws in that final zing at the end, which I also adore. For instance in “Indian Summer,” another favorite which appears just above “Philosophy” in my anthology. She ends with, “And if you do not like me so, To hell, my love, with you!”

I don’t know that I’ve yet mastered her gift of the zing, but I surely like to end my poetry, my films, and my writing with a bit of a twist. Here’s one I wrote during the National Poetry Month challenge two years ago after a disastrous cupcake baking experience.

Cake,
imploded upon itself
and
burning remnants,
remind me
I'm no Martha

Campy smells
and a snowy outdoors
coming in
to lessen the smoke
tell me
laugh,
don't cry,
sometimes smoke gets in
your eyes

And you forget,
it's a better memory

I’m glad Dorothy Parker left us with so many of her memories, lessons, quips, and stories. She took her miseries, and made her readers a little happier. I guess that’s what I always aim to do with my poetry – take my own lessons,  ideas,  joys, and pains, and make those who read my words a little happier by seeing they’re not alone.