Dom Testa's Blog, page 6

Crazy Transformed Asians

The sentence didn’t look right. I read it twice, and thought, “An editor at ESPN missed this.”

The line read: “Morrison played just 28 percent of the defense of snaps for the Packers last season . . .”

The defense of snaps?

Then, in the next paragraph, it happened again, only with a different team: “Morrison played 75 percent of the defense of snaps for the Colts . . .”

It took a few seconds before the big a-ha moment: Somebody dictated this article and the artificial intelligence mistook “defensive” for “defense of.”

I know this because I dictate a ton of rough drafts, everything from car reviews to book outlines to blog posts. The sometimes-hilarious goofs in the process easily slip by if you’re not careful, especially since they’re real words that autocorrect won’t catch.

My personal favorite from the past year was an outline for a speaking presentation I was scheduled to give in a few months. As I walked in the park, dictating into my phone, I wondered: “What small transformation can I help people make?”

Fair enough. But my phone’s brainy recorder decided that what I’d said was: “What small transform Asian can I help people with?”

Listen, this is not a knock on the technology. Far from it. To think how far and how fast we’ve come with dictation software should be mind-blowing. We’re just spoiled, so we can’t imagine it not being perfect every time.

Part of me hopes we never get it perfect. There’s something charming about these little mistakes, these reminders that artificial intelligence isn’t supposed to do everything for us. We’re still ultimately (and thankfully) in charge of the final product, and shame on us if we don’t do our own little part to oversee the machines’ work.

Or maybe the machines are damned-near perfect, and they’re just having a bit of fun at our expense. Perhaps they secretly chat with each other and see how often they can make us look silly. This could be an AI joke where we’re the butts. If so, good for them.

Here’s to the future of funny dictation, and the embarrassment it will hopefully produce in the name of humility.

Now if you’ll pardon me, I have some Asian friends in desperate need of transforming.

I Forgive Melissa McCarthy

Can You Ever Forgive Me?

Starring Melissa McCarthy, Richard E. Grant, Jane Curtin
Rated R

One of the best pieces of advice a writer can receive has to do with building a lead character:

Make them likable or unlikable, but for God’s sake make us feel something about them.

I recognize stature as a comedic star. I mostly enjoyed her turn in Bridesmaids, but after a while her schtick grew a little tired to me. And, based on recent box office results, it’s not clicking too well with the rest of the movie-going public, either.

So when I first saw a trailer for Can You Ever Forgive Me, I was intrigued. McCarthy was leaving the bathroom humor behind and doing a serious flick, based on a true story. And, because I’ve published quite a few books, I was interested in the subject matter.

Lee Israel (played by McCarthy) is a writer who’s hit rock bottom. Sales of her biographies have dried up, her agent rejects her proposed new project, and she’s unable to pay her rent or the veterinarian bills for her cat. A cat who, by the way, is essentially her only friend in the world.

Almost by accident, Israel discovers a somewhat-lucrative market in literary letters. She sells a signed letter from Katherine Hepburn to a collector, which sets into motion a new “career.” She first steals authentic letters from the New York Public Library for Performing Arts to sell, and then she becomes a first-rate forger.

Over a period of 18 months she purchases old-time typewriters to match the look of original notes from people like Noel Coward and Dorothy Parker, and even snatches vintage paper from library books to create an authentic feel.

Of course, something goes wrong. It has to.

But let’s not talk any further about the plot. Instead, let’s talk about Melissa McCarthy creating a character with an actual 3-D personality. Her performance is excellent, taking a terrific script by and and playing it perfectly. Lee Israel comes across as acerbic and downright cruel; there’s no way you should like her.

Is she lonely? I kept asking myself that question during the movie, but I’m pretty sure the answer is no. She’s a loner and that’s okay by her. More than anything, however, she’s interesting. We want to watch what she does next.

I’ve been thirsting for films that actually have a story and fascinating characters. Not long ago I even wrote a piece about my disdain for the overdose of CGI we continue to get. Please, I begged, just give me character, plot, and solid performances.

Enter Can You Ever Forgive Me?

I mentioned to Gretchen my surprise at seeing McCarthy in such a role, and she reminded me that there were a few dramatic roles from the actress prior to her streak of dumb comedies. (Dumbedies?)


I suppose. I just hadn’t seen them. But although I’m sure the box office tally for this new film will be minuscule, let’s hope Melissa McCarthy is energized to do more like this. It allows us a chance to, yes, forgive her, for the bombs.

I’ll put this in my top five for 2018. Watch the trailer below.

Can You Ever Forgive Me? Domestic Trailer from InSync PLUS on Vimeo.

Give Canada a Break!

Image courtesy of Ryan on Unsplash

I’m writing this on Election Day 2018, and we all know how ridiculous it can get. But there’s one thing in particular I can’t understand.

Why, oh why, do so many celebrities - on both the left and the right - keep warning us that they’ll “move to Canada” if their candidate loses?

First of all, why do you think we care where you live? Just because I like your movies or your music doesn’t mean I lie awake at night concerned about your address.

And secondly, why so many threats against Canada? What the hell did Canada ever do? Can we leave that poor country out of this? What makes you think they want you any more than we do?

I say pick a new country for your oh-so-important threat and let’s give Canada a break.

We had some laughs about this on the show, and you can hear the clip below. It’s only about 45 seconds.

OD'ing on CGI

Opening weekends for movies are generally not my thing. But I made an exception this weekend because Gretchen and I were both anxious to see the new movie about Freddie Mercury and Queen called Bohemian Rhapsody.

This is not a review of that movie - all I can say is that it was fantastic. Go see it.

There was an interesting contrast that stood out to me, however. Before the movie started we were subjected to the usual 20 minutes of trailers, those clips of upcoming releases that pretty much show you the entire movie. I swear one of them revealed what seemed like a gigantic spoiler.

But almost every trailer presented an upcoming film that appears to be almost entirely based on computer-generated imagery, commonly known as CGI. Yes, there were a few human actors strolling around amidst the artificial wonderlands, offering quick witticisms and threats of violence. Otherwise it was one mind-blasting visual effect after another, bam bam bam.

Then we sat and watched a movie about real people speaking real dialogue and displaying real emotions. They actually acted, and did so splendidly.

Yeah, I’m sure the producers of Bohemian Rhapsody threw in a little CGI of crowd scenes for the concerts, but that can’t be considered the same thing as a giant CGI robot crashing through six blocks of a CGI city.

Two weeks ago Gretchen and I watched First Man, another film that probably used some CGI to create the Apollo launch scenes and the moon landing. But those were real scenes from history being recreated. And that movie also tugged at your emotions with its real dialogue.

Listen, I’m not trying to change anything, and I don’t wanna come across as some crusty old fart who longs for the good ol’ days. I don’t. Yes, I’ve heard the countless excuses of “I need an escape and these CGI movies provide it.” Okay, fine. You certainly have plenty to choose from. Go get your fix of crashes and explosions.

But put me in the camp of people who have little use for the overkill of CGI to create mind candy like Overlord, Fantastic Beasts, and Mortal Engines, all coming out soon. Give me more real performances and solid stories I can engage with.

This post is simply a thank you to the handful of Hollywood producers and writers who continue to provide some of us with depth and human feeling.

Real stories and real dialogue aren’t dead yet.

We're Moving Thanksgiving and Halloween

(There’s currently a movement underway to adjust where Halloween falls on the calendar. I think it’s a good idea - but they got the details wrong, I believe. So I’m resurrecting this post from two years ago to set the story straight. This is how we should change things.)

I like Christmas, but I love Thanksgiving. It’s got everything you want in a holiday: time off from work, a chance to hang with family and friends, a little bit of football, and the best food of all time. On top of that, while it might inject a little bit of stress, it doesn’t come close to the crushing pressures we associate with Christmas.

The only problem is that Thanksgiving comes at the wrong time. Let’s move it from late November to the fourth Thursday of October. Here’s why:

Right now it’s bunched up against Christmas; we barely have time to digest the stuffing and pumpkin pie before we’re making plans to have the family back over again. Arguably the two most-popular, most-involved holidays of the year, and they’re thirty days apart? At the very least let’s add a buffer month.

(Side note: I try to host what I call “Maysgiving” every late May. The Thanksgiving meal is probably the greatest meal you’ll have all year - and yet we only do it once a year? Silly. So I schedule another one halfway around the calendar. The guests I’ve had over have yet to complain.)

Much as you might want to discount it, weather is a huge factor. Thanksgiving creates travel plans, with more than 40 million Americans either on the road or in the air. Nothing snarls family plans more around the holidays than Mother Nature. We can tolerate it at Christmas because . . . well, there’s that whole White Christmas thing that gets us all emotional. Yet no one ever - ever - got sentimental over a blizzard at Thanksgiving. No, we get pissed.

Yes, it’s possible for it to snow at the end of October, and sometimes it does. But rarely are there October snows like there are late-November snows. Have YOU ever been stranded in an airport for 14 hours during a snowstorm? I have. And it was at Thanksgiving, not the end of October.

We want to gather with friends and family for turkey and such, but we also love the idea of going outside and tossing the football around. Late October is glorious; late November is bordering on SAD season.

(If you wanna get specific, the average Denver temp for the end of November is 48 degrees. Late October? It’s almost 60. Chew on that for a moment when you think about catching a pass.)

Plus, with the time change not happening these days until early November, it’s still lighter a little later in October to accommodate those who have to drive over to in-laws, etc. People in blended families will appreciate this.

So, breathing room between two major holidays, warmer weather, far less likely to have a “snow event,” easier travel, and it stays lighter later. Who can argue with any of that?

Of course, since we’re moving Thanksgiving to October, Halloween will have to adjust. It can now take place annually on the last Friday of September, which is much better for the little tykes gathering candy.

Consider this: While, as stated, it doesn’t snow often at Halloween, it can happen. And while it’s rarely a blizzard, it can get nippy when the sun goes down. That means little Ella, who’s dressed as a princess to go trick-or-treating, is putting a coat over the costume that Mom or Dad worked so hard to get perfect.

Yes, not as many kids go door-to-door these days - but is it possible that the weather has something to do with that? If it’s a gorgeous fall evening, wouldn’t we be more likely to get out and enjoy the walk?

Obviously, if you live in Florida or Southern California this means zilch to you. But for those of us who actually experience four seasons, this is relevant.

I live in Denver, so I’ll include that data, but I’ll also use New York and Chicago, too. That’s three time zones.

Here are the average temperature differences between late September and late October for all three metropolitan areas:

Denver: Afternoon of September 30 - 71 degrees

Afternoon of October 31 - 59 degrees

New York: Afternoon of September 30 - 69 degrees

Afternoon of October 31 - 59 degrees

Chicago: Afternoon of September 30 - 69 degrees

Afternoons of October 31 - 57 degrees

(Source: AccuWeather stats)

That’s a 10-12 degree difference. Not huge, you say? No, but in the evenings, how many times has a ten-degree difference felt like twenty, especially when it’s dark?

Then there’s the chance of snow. October is not a big month for snow - here in Denver we have measurable snow on Halloween about once every seven years. Late September, on the other hand, rarely sees any snow at all. You’re more likely to see an 80-degree day than a 30-degree day.

And, for the record, the last time it snowed in Denver in September was in 2000, and that was less than a quarter of an inch. Suffice to say, the princesses will rarely, if ever, be bundled up. Here are some more stats (I do my homework):

Denver: Inches of snow in October: 4

Inches of snow in September: 1.3

New York: Inches of snow in October: 0.3

Inches of snow in September: 0.0

Chicago: Inches of snow in October: 0.3

Inches of snow in September: 0.0

Here comes that darkness element again. You don’t want your little ghosts and goblins out in bright sunshine; that’s just not in the spirit (pun intended). But it’s nice to hang on to a touch of light for at least the beginning of their rounds. Does one month make much of a difference? Yeah, in some cases close to an hour, but at the least 45 minutes.

Sunset in Denver on October 31st is 5:58 - when some people are just getting home from work. Halloween on the last Friday of September would mean daylight lasting until as late as 6:53 in some years.

You can get home, get everybody fed, into costume, and out the door at the peak of twilight. Nobody’s rushed, and kids are safer. How can you argue with that?

It only makes sense to move Halloween to the last Friday in September: no school the next day, parents can stay out late, schools can plan appropriately, but it doesn’t need to be a day off. So having a holiday at the beginning of the month (Labor Day) isn’t a problem; nobody will miss school or work for Halloween.

Besides, as we know the holiday these days, Halloween on a Wednesday (like this year) is the worst. I’d go so far as to say it’s dumb.

You can tell I’ve given this a lot of thought. That means I’ve also anticipated the arguments I’m sure to get, such as:

“You can’t move Halloween because of the connection with All Saints Day and All Hallows Eve the night before.”

Yes, we can. There are some people who equate Halloween with the Celtic festival of Samhain - and yet most people have never heard of that. They know Halloween as dressing up as slutty nurses and giving out candy to kids. Let’s not kid ourselves that the vast majority of Americans take a quiet moment to honor Samhain. No, they don’t. And if Pope Gregory III could randomly select November 1st as the day to honor saints and martyrs, we can just as randomly select the last Friday of September. Ol’ Greg never had to bundle up kids and take them door to door, or to a school carnival. Besides, the saints and martyrs will be just as honored whenever we choose, right?

“You can’t get good pumpkins in late September.”

Yes, we can. I was at the grocery store in mid-September and the front of the store was a virtual minefields of pumpkins.

“But we’ve always done it the way it is.”

No, we haven’t. Historians tell us that the earliest Thanksgiving likely fell sometime between late-September and early-November. That puts the third or fourth Thursday in October right in the bullseye.

Remember, Christmas originated as a way to honor the birth of Jesus, and yet the majority of experts say there’s no way - according to all the correlating information - he could’ve been born in late-December. We move dates all the time. Hell, the Super Bowl used to be in mid-January, and it’s now almost a month later. If we can move the freakin’ Super Bowl, we can move Halloween.

And, honestly, if you’re someone who argues by saying “We’ve always done it this way,” then you have bigger problems. Have you ever stopped to consider that you might LOVE having Thanksgiving in October when it’s ten degrees warmer and you aren’t shoveling snow so Uncle Doug can park in your driveway?

“You’re only going to move Christmas shopping up another month, and it’s already too long.”

Dude. Have you seen the stores in September? There are Christmas decorations out and “holiday sales” already beginning. Moving Thanksgiving to late-October won’t rush anything. Stores have been capitalizing on four months of Christmas shopping for decades. Some ridiculous radio stations around the country start playing Christmas music in early November. EARLY NOVEMBER!

If anything, this adds a much-needed breather between holidays and could actually cause some people to wait a bit longer before going crazy. They won’t feel that late-November pressure.

“We like the tradition of football on Thanksgiving.”

You can have football on Thanksgiving in October. Maybe you didn’t notice, but there are now football games on EVERY Thursday. Uh-huh.

There you go. We’re moving up Thanksgiving and Halloween for practical, common-sense reasons. Pass the word.

Then pass the pie.

Turkey pic courtesy of Mikkel Bergmann on Unsplash
Airplane photo courtesy Gabriele Ibba on Unsplash
Trick or treat image courtesy of rawpixel on Unsplash
Blizzard pic courtesy of Jeffrey Blum on Unsplash
Girl ghoul image courtesy of Edgar Perez on Unsplash
Pumpkins photo courtesy of Jonathan Talbert on Unsplash
Football image courtesy of Ben Hershey on Unsplash

Bored

There was a recent study about boredom, and I couldn’t help but notice that once again the basic attitude seemed to be that this is a bad thing. People have no patience whatsoever for boredom.

Which is sad, I think. In fact, I have such an appreciation for boredom that I made it the subject of an entire chapter of my latest book, The Color of Your Dreams.

This book was written to help people who want to get published but perhaps lack the confidence it takes to get their words out there. It’s not a “how to write” book, but rather a “get off your butt” book.

But chapter 12 is all about boredom, and how we should embrace it, especially if we want to tap into our creativity. Here’s a free excerpt from The Color of Your Dreams featuring that chapter. If you’d like to dive into the entire book - or hopefully share it with friends, maybe as a holiday gift - you can find it at Amazon, or right here on my site.

WARNING: There is language that may offend. This book is not for kids.

Bored

 
People are often surprised to learn that I’m an introvert. “But you’re a morning radio show host,” they say. “How can you possibly be an introvert?”

I like to say I’m an introvert who pretends to be an extrovert. That approach serves me well in a professional sense. I can fake it. Besides, radio is my escape. We all need one, and those four hours in the studio provide mine.

A poll of my fellow seventh-grade students would likely have declared me the least likely to do anything in show business, which is what good morning radio is. We associate entertainers with an outgoing personality, people who crave the spotlight. But I was a shy kid, often almost painfully so. My sister made friends in a heartbeat, while I hung back, observing. So I spent a lot of time alone with my own thoughts.

This isn’t a plea for sympathy. Quite the contrary. I wouldn’t go back and change a thing, because this solitary stretch seeded my creative field.

Okay, so it sounds like confected crap, but I’m convinced my background contributed to my writing, and in a big way. Because as a kid I learned how to be bored. And that, in turn, fired up my creativity.

This chapter is an ode to the beauty of boredom. As a writer, especially a writer who may often feel stymied by the challenges of producing a finished product and getting it to market, boredom not only is your friend, but possibly your savior.

 

For whatever reason, people are enamored with the genesis of story ideas. Every author who’s ever published a story has fielded the question, “Where did you get the idea?” This assumes that stories are born in some abstract, faintly-mystical zone, one that’s accessible only by a select few.

The truth is much less romantic. Stories are born from boredom.

When did boredom become such a wicked thing? Why do we work so hard to eliminate even the chance of being bored? And what do we have to do to convince people to stop fighting it and actually embrace boredom?

The antidote, we tend to believe, is some form of distraction. And holy shit, the distraction industry is worth billions and billions of dollars. (See earlier chapter.) There are entire industries built around the task of occupying your poor, starving mind, the one that must have something to occupy it.

You pay people to distract you, often so you won’t be—gasp!—bored. But if you have dreams of becoming a published author, it would be wise to shift that thinking. Boredom, you see, is the breeding ground for bestsellers.

Today, we don’t allow ourselves to be bored. Between streaming TV, social media, YouTube, and the ever-present phone, there’s an endless stream of noise and pictures assaulting us. Ever watch people when they get into an elevator? Heaven forbid we stand still for twenty-three seconds without pulling out our digital babysitter.

Continually shoving prefabricated bullshit content into your head doesn’t leave any room to develop your own creativity. And the people who sell that content wouldn’t have it any other way.

I grew up in a fortunate time for stimulating creativity. Without access to anything digital, I spent countless hours outside, playing and exploring, allowing my introverted mind to fill in a lot of gaps. By nature we fill in these gaps with fantasies, creating scenarios and adventures, big and small, that entertain us and sharpen our senses.

What about you? You’re reading this because you likely have a desire to create words and then distribute those words to the world. How much room are you leaving for daydreaming, for speculating, for mindlessly wandering?

Are you filling your spare time—whatever that is for you—with someone else’s content? Are you allowing your senses to absorb every nuance around you?

There’s not a day in the year where I don’t invest at least one hour outside, walking through the park nearby. Sometimes I’ll listen to a podcast or an audiobook. But most of the time it’s quiet, only the breeze and the wildlife touching my senses. No artificial sounds whatsoever.

And my mind goes hog wild. You have no idea how many story ideas, blog post ideas, and general publishing ideas have sprung from those walks. My phone’s note section is crammed with these thoughts. Sometimes I’ll quickly type them into a folder, or I’ll record a voice-note while walking. Then the phone is stored again and the slate is once again blank. Most people would describe that hour as boring. It’s not. It’s magical.

 

When it came time to edit this chapter, I stumbled onto an idea. What if I considered not only my bibliography of completed books, but also scanned the files of story ideas I’ve kept for years. How many of them, I wondered, can pinpoint their genesis to an event that happened in the midst of people and activity, versus those that leapt from my bored mind?

Of the nine novels I’ve published, two of them can trace an origin to a discussion or interaction with someone. The other seven were all born alone.

My first collection of short fiction has six entries. Five of the six were boredom-induced. One came from a happy hour outing.

A three-book young adult mystery series has two finished manuscripts and one partial. All three came about because of hikes. Even if I was hiking with another person, I didn’t discuss the books. They evolved during quiet time in nature.

Suggestions for a follow-up series to my Galahad books came from emails and book-signing encounters with readers. So those go in the non-bored column.

But nine other novel and short story ideas—the ones that have lengthy notes in my computer—grew from solitude.

That’s twenty-eight stories (novels and short fiction). Four of them owe their inspiration to people and sound. That’s fourteen percent. The other eighty-six percent—in other words, the vast majority—would never have happened if it wasn’t for boredom.

 

Stop fearing the boredom beast. A mind that doesn’t have shit pumped into it must find something to focus upon, and that’s where creativity blooms. When you find yourself with downtime—even if it’s just your commute to and from work—embrace it, don’t shun it. Ignore your digital devices. When you have an opportunity to get outside, especially away from traffic, grab it. Treasure it.

If you want to create interesting stories, and if you’re serious about seeing them through to publication, I urge you to shut out all of the artificial stimuli and immerse yourself in quiet. Be bored. And be bored for long stretches, not just four minutes.

It’s difficult to fill a container that’s already full.

That’s an excerpt from The Color of Your Dreams, which is available on Amazon and also right here at DomTesta.com .

JOMO Has Replaced FOMO

By now I’m sure you’re familiar with the term FOMO, or Fear of Missing Out. The explosion of social media has created an entire sub-category of people who mourn the fact they’re not out having as much fun as all those hipster-doodles they see on Facebook or Instagram.

Apparently I’m a big weirdo, because when I see photos from some crowded, crazy event the first thought that goes through my mind is: “I’m so glad I’m not there.”

And what do you know? A new study has just come out that introduces something to replace FOMO. It’s called JOMO.

The Joy of Missing Out.

Yes! Maybe it’s a stage-of-life thing, but I swear the best days of the month are the dot-free weekends. When I pull up my phone calendar and see nary a dot, I get as excited as a 4-year-old at Christmas.

I don’t think it makes me a recluse or a party-pooper. It means I embrace my introversion, and I celebrate the fact I don’t need to share the same experiences with everyone else. The photos and videos splashed all over social media often seem (to me) a desperate cry of “Look! I know how to have fun!”

Okay. I used to be that person, so I get it. But I’ve evolved into a different life form, and to me “missing out” is not something to mourn. It’s something to cherish.

Gimme a quiet dinner with someone interesting, or a good book and a limoncello or tea and I’m beyond happy.

I choose Missing Out. What about you?

My Lousy Handwriting

It’s one thing to get older and gradually notice aches and pains, especially first thing in the morning. (Putting on my socks never used to be such an effort, but at 4am my back isn’t on board with my get-ready-for-work routine.)

But it’s another thing to notice something else deteriorating, something I’ve done pretty well for half a century.

My handwriting has gone straight to hell. There was a time when I was proud of my penmanship, thanks to some wonderful elementary school teachers and to my mom, whose cursive was practically calligraphy. But now, if this post hadn’t been composed on a laptop you’d need a Rosetta stone to decipher it.

I thought it was just me until we discussed it on the radio show and my inbox filled up with kindred spirits. And, like me, the tone of the writers was one of despair. I think we’re all saddened to lose the skill.

This is not some pathetic whine about good ol’ days, which weren’t any better than today and certainly not as easy. Disagree? Go spend a couple of days with no cell phone and enjoy your payphone experiences - if you can find one.

No, this is more of a spiritual lament. Spiritual because there’s much more of a connection with handwritten language, as if the words pour directly from our mind onto the page. But my laptop seems like a middleman, a filter of sorts. Just having a backspace key takes away the intimacy of our original words.

Think of the intimate power of a handwritten thank-you card compared to a slapdash “thanks” via text.

During a recent move I found an old diary I’d kept for a fifth grade assignment. The life and adventures of 10-year-old Dominic really came through in the scribbled words: My joy at another school snow day, the excitement of staying up late to watch a creature feature, and the absolute heartbreak of being ignored by Emily Hummer.

I honestly don’t believe those words could’ve evoked the same emotions if I read them as type-written text all these years later. Then it would’ve seemed like someone else’s life, not mine. My handwriting made it unique, made it my life. Today, my Times New Roman and your Times New Roman are identical.

The use-it-or-lose-it principle seems to apply here. I spend the bulk of my day at a keyboard, so when I actually take pen to paper the result is a sloppy mess. The pen often feels alien in my hand, like I’m five all over again, trying to grasp how to simply hold the damned thing.

So this is where we are, and I’m a little surprised at my sentimental sadness for what’s really a natural progression of communication. I wasn’t upset when rotary-dial phones faded away. I didn’t mourn the passing of cassettes and CDs, and I shed no tears because VHS and DVD were made obsolete in a streaming world.

But handwriting? I can’t help it; I feel like the keyboard is not entirely a step forward. It is in terms of convenience and speed, obviously. But this is about soul. The infernal blinking cursor has zilch, and the always-perfect fonts rob us of a smidge of our personality. The content of the words can salvage a bit of that soul, but handwriting could be likened to the shoes of an outfit. Maybe not vital overall, but important to us.

I’m left with the question I can’t answer: Did my handwriting deteriorate because I’m aging, or was it a victim of disuse? Maybe it’s a combination of both. And perhaps our generations will be the last to ever wonder about this.

In the meantime, I’ll continue to scribble and sigh.

Take It Personally

In case we need any more proof of the personal connection we make with art, here it is.

You can criticize almost anything about a person, like their car, their lawn, even their hairstyle, and they’ll probably just shrug. We generally don’t care what people think of our choices.

But tell them the music they love is crap and they’ll storm off. Say something derogatory about their favorite movie and they’ll practically unfriend you. Disagree when they rave about a book and you’re not only wrong, you’re a shithead and likely to get punched in the face.

We may not like it when someone disses our shoes but that’s nothing compared to questioning our favorite art. (Although, yes, for many people shoes count as art.) This puzzled me for the longest time until I realized it’s not just a matter of different styles.

Music, books, and to some extent motion pictures speak to our soul. I’m a dude and I’ve cried over all three at some point in my life. I’ve never shed a single tear over a pair of pants but Field of Dreams made me weep. I watched the Paul McCartney episode of Carpool Karaoke and balled like a baby. It was embarrassing.

I could meet you at a party and get along great. But if you casually mention that you think To Kill a Mockingbird is an overrated piece of trash I’d judge you to be a complete moron and disengage from the conversation immediately.

Art touches us in such a personal way that criticism of our favorite pieces is like a criticism of us. It’s funny; I never met Jimmy Stewart or Frank Capra, but if you think It’s a Wonderful Life is stupid then I’ll challenge you to a knife fight.

And this is a good thing. We need to connect with art in this way for it to truly be art. We bond with the authors, musicians, and directors who almost read our minds and understand what we need to hear/read/see. Maybe it aligned perfectly with something else going on in our life at that time, or maybe it just spoke to a need we hadn’t realized was there until then.

It’s why the majority of songs and movies and books can be nothing but disposable pablum. But a select few do something to us we can't really describe. I don’t know much about classic paintings but there are some pieces that awe me. A couple of summers ago I stood mesmerized at the Art Institute of Chicago, gaping at a painting that everyone else strolled past without a second glance.

Be thankful for this passion. Be thankful that a songwriter or an author or an artist is on your wavelength and can use their talent to convey what’s inside your head and your heart. Not everyone will get it, and they don’t need to. Just recognize that you won’t understand what touches their heart, either.

But if they don’t like the Abbey Road album you don’t want to be friends with them anyway.

My New Buzz

You know how you get little signs here and there that you’re getting older? Maybe you bend over to pick up something and feel a twinge. Or maybe you stop going to concerts because they’re too loud.

Well, today Gretchen presented me with a hypothetical choice: If I had to pick between two pints at the pub or two scoops of ice cream, what would it be?

I startled myself by realizing I’m suddenly team ice cream.

I’m losing my affinity for alcohol. Back in the day I’d have a glass or two of wine about three nights a week, and enjoyed other adult beverages when I went out with friends.

Now? I’ve probably had wine on 4 or 5 occasions this year, and one of those was during a visit to my friend’s winery. What are you gonna order there? A milkshake?

My appreciation for a good whiskey/coke is gone, too. I think I’ve had it once in the last month. The desire has simply evaporated.

Photo courtesy of Charisse Kenion on Unsplash

I was never a heavy drinker, but Older Dom is not the same as Younger Dom. I’m more likely to jones for Cookies ’N Cream than Jack and Coke. And I have no problem admitting it. Sure, I get plenty of grief from friends when I opt for iced tea, but I just shrug. I was never the coolest guy in the crowd so why compete now?

So I’m older, less interested in cocktails, and generally unmoved to go out much at all, unless it’s a nice, quiet dinner somewhere. Hey, I may come across as Mr. Boring to some, but personally I’m having a great time.

And, with another weekend upon us, I’m looking forward to getting buzzed on a bowl of butter pecan. Cheers.