Slightly Political, More Practical

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New ImageA post slightly political but more toward the practical, I believe. I see the same argument that’s being put forth for Trump at a more local level. Someone running for Congress in our district runs ads basically saying, “I’m a good businessman, so you should elect me.”

No. In fact, Hell to the No.

The problem with the idea “Government should be run like a business” is simply Government is not a business, never was a business and never should be run like a business. The purpose of a business is to make money, either for its owners if it’s privately held or its stockholders, which in either case is a very small percentage of people relative to the total population. Anything else is PR. The purpose of a government, and specifically a democratically elected government, is precisely the opposite–to create the greatest good for the greatest number of its citizens. This is completely at odds with what are considered good business principles. In the preamble to the Constitution, this was spelled out about as explicitly as it could be. It says a lot about providing for the common defense and promoting the general welfare of its citizens. It doesn’t say much about the virtues of corporate welfare and shifting the tax burden to the poor and middle class. And don’t tell me that business people “know how to create jobs,” because they don’t, and this is one of the most pernicious myths surrounding the business class. Businesses hire people to meet demand for their goods or services. If there’s no demand, there’s no hiring, and giving them bigger tax breaks doesn’t change that. A viable middle class with money to spend fuels demand and creates jobs, and if big business in this country has done anything, it’s squeezed wages and guided tax law in the name of its own profit until the middle class is practically extinct, then wonders why business isn’t better

If you want my vote, don’t tell me how good a business person you are. Tell me how you plan to make a difference and how hard you’ll work for all the people you represent. Then and only then do you have my attention.

Fresh From the Box

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Fresh From the Box

Fresh From the Box

I guess you could call it a perk of being the author that you get to see the books straight from the printer instead of, you know, actually waiting for the publication date. Only the irony of seeing them first is that I’ve already read the darn thing. Multiple times. I do consider it a good thing that they exist, and will soon be going into sales channels and possibly a B&N near you.

My thanks to the publisher, Sean Wallace, and the editor, Paula Guran of Prime Books for making it happen.

Review– Eric Clapton, the Autobiography

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Review: Clapton, the Autobiography
Hardcover, 343 pages
Published October 9th 2007, Broadway
It always feels a little odd to write a review of an autobiography. It’s rather like writing a review of someone’s life, and if that’s not a scary thought, you’re probably not paying attention. Sure, it’s simply the expression of one life from the viewpoint of the one who lived it, not the actual life. For something more objective, I’d look to any biography done by someone who wasn’t an absolute acolyte of the subject. When the one who tells the story is the one who was there, “objective” isn’t what you look for. When the subject is someone like Eric Clapton, it’s more a chance to ask the implied question–“What were you thinking?”

That’s what you get here, and more besides. I didn’t know, for instance, that Clapton was born out of wedlock and effectively abandoned by his mother, who went on to form another family that didn’t include him. Considering some of what happened in his future relationships with women, amateur psychologists would have a party with that snippit, and likely already have. I just know that the man has had an extremely interesting life. The term “guitar god” was practically invented for Clapton, even though there were plenty of earlier players who could lay claim to the title, and he lived the life of one, and damn near died the death of one. The story of how he pulled himself out of the downward spiral of drugs and alcohol when so many of his peers never made it is worth the price of admission alone.

Your average biography will give you Clapton the Rock Star, Clapton the Guitar God, Clapton the hard-partying celebrity. While this book doesn’t ignore those things–and how could it?–this is the book that gives you Eric Clapton the man. Which, to me, is a lot more interesting. Oh, and if you ever wanted to hear the story behind the love triangle that led to the classic song “Layla,” as told by one of the–admittedly biased–people who were there, this too is the place. That’s what an autobiography is for. It’s what happened, from the writer’s own point of view. Sometimes inadvertently saying more than it perhaps intended, but whether the case or not, all part of the same story.

Muse and Writer Dialogues #12

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New Desk

New Desk

FADE IN

A room that passes for an office. There are bookshelves on two walls, a motley assortment of carvings, signed storyboards, and five guitars, but a lot of it isn’t on the walls yet. Except for the five guitars of various makes and models. The desk faces a blank wall. To the left is a window, and beyond that is a brown radiator cover with a printer perched on top. The floor holds paint, tools, and painting supplies, and an unopened window unit A/C awaiting installation. Rather like the artwork. WRITER is sitting at the desk staring at an almost blank screen. MUSE enters. From somewhere. She’s in Greek Goddess mode.

 

Muse: So these are the new digs. It’s a mess.

Writer: Don’t pretend to be surprised. This isn’t your first visit.

Muse: You mean while you were writing that last book? I had nothing to do with that.

Writer: So who was that, then? Your evil twin?

Muse: Nonsense. I AM my evil twin. I said I had nothing to do with the last book. I didn’t say I wasn’t here.

Writer: Is that an editorial comment? I thought the book turned out rather well.

Muse: You would, but that’s not what I meant. I meant you didn’t need me. Unusually for you, you had it pretty much worked out before you even started and you weren’t waiting for inspiration. You were going blue blazes most of the time. It was almost…impressive.

Writer: It’s not as if I had much choice. The deadline was fast approaching and I got a late start because of the move. So much got blown up last year. I was damned if I was going to let what passes for my writing career do the same.

Muse: And?

Writer: And the series had been heading for this ever since it began, so it wasn’t as if I could get lost now. I did know where I was going, but that’s only because your job was done before I even started. That really was impressive. Not to mention efficient.

Muse: I’ll take that as a compliment. So what now?

Writer (blinking): What…? I should be asking you that. Isn’t that your job?

Muse: I’m only a convenient personification of the idea of inspiration, remember? I’m just in your head…along with whatever debris and found objects you turn into stories. So let me hand you a little bit of insight–you don’t get inspired.

Writer: I don’t…?

Muse (shaking her head): Never did. What you do is recognize stories when you see them, and then you follow them until they’ve given up their secrets. So why am I even here?

Writer: Well…I talk to myself.

Muse: I’ve noticed that.

Writer: Then you should understand I feel a little more anchored when I’m talking to someone else instead. That’s you.

Muse: Can’t imagine why. I’m just another voice in your head.

Writer: Say rather a convenient personification of the idea of inspiration, remember? Not quite the same thing. Besides, I don’t buy your argument. Recognizing a story IS inspiration, so far as I’m concerned. You’re just pissed because there wasn’t as much left for you to do on the last project and you got bored. Fine. It’s time for a new project.

Muse: Have it your way. I’ll try to help you out with the winkling out its secrets part. No promises on the inspiration part. We’ll see if you’re right.

Writer: All I ask.

MUSE: You do know I’m going to keep bugging you about the state of this office, right?

Writer: Wouldn’t expect anything less.

FADE OUT.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Why I Hate the Bubble Witch

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IMG_0486It’s probably an indication of how much I do not want to talk politics here that my main topic for today is how much I’m coming to hate the Bubble Witch. It was either that or my recent struggle to find an appropriate parlor guitar, and how my hopes were dashed when the Takamine G Mini I had my eye on was already sold and the dealer hadn’t updated his listing. Disappointing at least, annoying at most. In a nutshell—not that big a deal. There will be another guitar, and I’ll find it.

As for the Bubble Witch, some of you may know her. She exists in a game called Bubble Witch Saga, or something like it. I play it in idle moments on my android tablet. She conjures the bubbles, I use them to make combinations to clear obstacles and defeat this little skeleton-looking alleged baddie named Morgana. I say “alleged” because Morgana has never done anything to me personally, other than miming a maniacal laugh when I can’t land the right colored bubble on her sanctuary to banish her from the playing field. And that’s all that happens, really. She’s banished. Until the next time. Rather like real evil in the world, as opposed to Morgana. It’ll always be there, and all you can do is play whack-a-mole to keep it in check. You don’t play whack-a-mole and the Donalds…sorry, I meant moles, take over. And bad things happen, either to you or especially to people you respect, know, and love because then it will be open season on them. So playing whack-a-mole is important. Even crucial. Just don’t forget that it’s the game, and there will always be another mole. Or Pence.

Hmm? Oh, right. The Bubble Witch. So why does she annoy me more than the evil Morgana? Because she pretends to be on your side. She pretends to want the same things you want. She conjures the different colored bubbles. Blue, red, green, yellow, whatever, to make a three plus match and clear the path.She’s friendly and perky and stabs you in the back by giving you six happy green bubbles in a row, when all you needed to clear the level was one $%$@ yellow. Then she acts all sad that you lost the round.  Or the election, because you voted for a happy illusion instead of what your common sense told you.

So this time I’m voting for Morgana. Because moles.