In Between the Pillars

These men just finished placing solid steel pillars in concrete to stop vehicles from parking on the pavement outside a sports bar downtown. They are cleaning up at the end of the day.

How long do you think it will be before they realize where their vehicle is parked?

Number of journalists killed up 244 percent over 5 years, media watchdog says

The number of reporters killed on the job has risen 244 percent over the past five years, due in large part to the Iraq war, Reporters Without Borders said Wednesday.

More than half of the 86 journalists killed worldwide last year died in Iraq, the Paris-based media watchdog said. In 2002, by comparison, 25 journalists were killed worldwide, and the number has risen steadily since, it said.

http://www.iht.com/articles/ap/2008/01/02/news/Journalists-Killed.php

I removed my coat.

Yesterday I stepped outside of my apartment building and found the air in New York City refreshingly crisp. As I stepped out the wind stirred around me, as if greeting my entrance to the day.

The brisk air tickled my skin and made it tingle.

I walked to the subway, encouraged by the freshness of the air. As I glided along in delight, one of my neighbors jutted out and asked me, "Oh my, where is your coat?!" Surprised by his alert, I began to notice that all the people walking the streets were covered in their coats and blazers, missing out on this rare natural delight in NYC.

As I continued my trip, I began noticing stares of confusion directed at my bare arms posing that same question to me in their minds, "Where is your coat? Where is your coat? Can't you see we are all wearing coats?"

So, I put on my coat. Against my own skin's delight, I covered myself to avoid the stares. I fit their profile; I put on my coat.

Then, I thought, "How many times have I done this before? Changed something about myself to suite another's fancy?" To my own embarassment, I remembered too many times.

So, rather than rob my skin of such a rare, nice breeze, I removed my coat.

Quick Commentary on the Evolution of Language

Language is alive. It is a direct reflection of culture and time; it morphs to suit each generation, each social class, each gender, each corporate vertical market, each president.
There are multiple causes for the evolution of language and, therefore, many, many effects.

Over the last fifteen years childhood audience language has evolved from Michelle Tanner’s, “You got it dude,” to Raven’s “Oh snap,” or London Tipton’s “Yay me.”

Over the last 5-10 years common communication language has changed from “I’ll call you later, to “I’ll text you later,” “I’ll email you later,” or “I’ll myspace you later.”

It’s inevitable. Language is alive.

Somewhere a corporate suite is thinking, “I need my employees to believe this, or my consumers to think that, or my partners to agree with this.” And, they hire people to make this happen, and audiences’ ideas are evolved.

Somewhere a comedian is plotting, “If I could coin this phrase, or this mannerism, or form some great material around this common thing I could evoke this reaction, and I would be a hit.” And he/she does, and years down the road that specific phrase or mannerism or material excerpt evokes that reaction, which makes us remember them, which makes them successful, and the language sticks. (Hence, “I’m Rick James, bitch,” or “I’m riatch, biatch!).

And, when we think about this living being - language - and how it changes and bends, we realize that communication is not so simple. We realize that there are gaps we must overcome and other perspectives we must consider. Just because we think a “simple” phrase means what we think it means, doesn’t mean it actually does.

Acknowledging this constant evolution makes one step back and consider, “How will my audience see this?” “How will my boss read this email?” “How can I make them understand what I mean?” And, you know, it’s rather humbling.

You Say; I Say

You say, “potato;” I say “solanum tuberosum.”

You say “mistake;” I say “lesson.”
You say “why;” I say “why not?”

You say “silly;” I say “necessary.”
You say “necessary;” I say “silly.”

You say “respect;” I say “fear.”
You say “discipline;” I say “abuse.”

You say “stupid;” I say “your opinion.”
You say “remember when;” I say “move on.”

Letters of a Changing Life: Letter One

Letter One:

Dear Mr. Harrison,

I have found your antics to be extremely inspiring, and your energy for writing is quite admirable. You encourage me, just by your actions, to do what I love and love what I do and not to settle for the things that keep me comfortable.

You challenge me, by your publications, to write--to stop making excuses, and write. You challenge me to write without the slightest concern for how others’ eyes might cast judgment upon my words, but to let those little expressions that float inside my head each day make their way into the mind of someone else. You say, “writing is a catharsis; an audience is a group of surgeons; your reading eyes, sharpened scalpels that though, cut into me, connects the severed tissues into some sense of coherent form,” and I believe it, and I thank you for reminding me.

I have found myself jealous at times of your carefree spirit. I find myself thinking, “I would very much like to teach Buddhist monks how to play air guitar too. I would; I really would!” And, I wonder, like a child, at the adventures you lead.

Now, I find myself at a place, a crossroads if you will, where I ask myself, “Why aren’t I teaching Buddhist monks to play air guitar?! What am I doing with all this life?”

And so, I want to thank you, Mr. Harrison, for living the way you do and writing the way you do, and inspiring others to do the same.

Your friend,

Kelly

A Declaration

Sometimes I have fears about writing. I don’t know if I’m afraid of what I will say or afraid of people reading.

Nonetheless, I’m now writing.

I will continue to write.

And, I will not stop writing until my ashes are scattered on the earth.

I will pull my witty works from their withered workbook pages, and I’ll publish them for everyone to see.