John Shore

Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

From a John Tesh Nod to Me Being Gnawed

In Uncategorized on December 2, 2008 at 1:03 pm

So this morning I’m lying in bed with my laptop (which looks disarmingly good in a wig—but never mind), and I think, “Gosh, I don’t feel like thinking. I know! I’ll go see what other people are thinking.” But that threatened to blossom into something no longer about me, which I of course find unacceptable. So I reached the natural compromise, and decided to think about what other people think about me. This is really one of my favorite things to think about.

What I sometimes do when in the mood to think about what others think about me is to visit blogs that I can see (via my blog’s stat page) have linked back to my blog. That means someone’s blogging about me! What an enrichingly good time for them! And what fun for me, to e-eavesdrop on someone discussing me! It’s the ultimate win-win.

It usually is, anyway. And today it started out that way. First, I discovered that Famous Person John Tesh had a blog in which he had linked to mine. The November 13 post on The John Tesh Blog was titled “The Top Qualities of a Good Woman.” The first such quality John listed was: “A good woman freaks you out with her intelligence. Women have the uncanny ability to cut through the fogginess of an issue and come up with a brilliant perspective. The upside for guys is that the more you hang around smart women, like my wife, the more brainy you become.”

As you see, Mr. Tesh saw fit to turn the words “brilliant perspective” into a link to the post on my blog entitled, “Top 10 Qualities to Look for In a Wife.” (The first on my list being, coincidentally enough, “So smart she constantly freaks you out with her humongous Absorb-O-Brain”—which, by way of explication, I followed with: “Upside: Hanging around with a smart person makes you smarter. Up to a point, of course. But still,” followed by, “”Downside: Smart people remember everything. Pretty mixed blessing.” So you see how amazingly alike John Tesh and I think!)

The next link I followed from my stats page was to a blog called Pharyngula, the slogan of which is, “Evolution, development, and random biological ejaculations from a godless liberal.” Sweet! Would of course myself change that slogan by a disgusting word or two, but none of my business.

I was disappointed if not actually crestfallen to discover that Mr. PZ Meyers, the articulate and good-natured University of Minnesota biologist who writes “Pharyngula” (which, I was happy to learn, “is a term coined by William Ballard to describe a particular stage in the development of the vertebrate embryo”) didn’t himself write about me. Instead, I saw somewhere amidst one of his 10-mile long comment streams the following, written by one “rickrOll”: 

“I know I said good about him before, but this John Shore is becoming a real problem, exhibiting all the classic signs of religous nuttiness. He … is incredibly rude and vindictive off his blog, and what’s more, I’m tired of waiting for him to be a mature adult. I vote we whack him: http://johnshoreland.com/. Normally I wouldn’t consider him a problem, but he needs to be taught a lesson in manners and some intellectual honesty.” A few comments down, Mr. Roll added: “This thread has no particular discussion in mind, though I was trying to rally support for my effort to slap a little sense into John Shore at Suddenly Christian (link above). If any would be so kind, please do.”

Thus far the brainy scientific types who seem to favor Mr. Meyers’ blog have failed to rally to Mr. Roll’s call to “whack” me. But I kind of hope they get on it! It’s been my experience that accomplished scientists are almost always fantastic writers, because they’re rarely bogged down trying to make their writing artsy. Instead, they worry about clarity—and thereby often achieve, I think, the best kind of writing art. So even though it might be at my expense, I’d welcome almost all of Mr. Meyers’ associates to comment on my blog.

Hey, man. Art’s all about sacrifice.

Anyway, there you have it. Looking to read about myself I visited two sites, finding in the first John Tesh sort of offhandedly if not reflexively mentioning me, and in the other someone trying to rally articulate scientists to “whack” me.

And now I’m going back to sleep.

 

(If you like my work, you can be of true help to me by simply joining my Facebook fan page. Thanks a lot.) 


add to del.icio.us : Add to Blinkslist : add to furl : Digg it : add to ma.gnolia : Stumble It! : add to simpy : seed the vine : : : TailRank : post to facebook

A Would-Be Writer Asks: “MUST I Go to College?”

In Uncategorized on November 24, 2008 at 4:02 pm

This morning I received an e-mail from an aspiring author. “I am currently paying the bills with a job in telecommunications,” he wrote, “but ultimately would love to make the transition to being a full-time writer. From your experience, how much would a formal education/bachelor’s degree help me to make this transition? Having been to college for two years already (even though that was over 10 years ago), I can certainly understand the benefit of formal instruction. But I’m wondering if the benefits of that formal education would justify its cost. Any professional writer thoughts or wisdom you’d care to share?”

My answer:

Bend your life as far as you can in order to enable yourself to go to the best college you can afford. You’re unlikely to make it as a writer without a college education. You can, of course—anything’s possible!—but (and especially these days) trying to make it as a writer without a college education is like trying to play the violin without lessons. It’s possible that you’ll create great music, but it’s way more probable that you’ll spend some time making noises no one cares to hear, and then quit.

The main reason college is so critical for a writer is because it’s hard to have anything interesting to say about the world if you don’t know anything about the world—about history, culture, literature, science, etc. Generally speaking, the broader the context, the richer the thought. College is also good for writing insofar as you have to do so much writing in college, all of which gets read and evaluated by professors who have spent their lives engaging with great writing. College also has humongous value in a purely utilitarian sense, because those same professors know people out in the publishing world who can help jump-start your career. The publishing business is just like any other: Whom you know seriously helps. College professors know people.

All that said, though, it’s also true that creative writing is just that: creative. It’s an art form. And while you can certainly nurture and train an artist, you cannot make an artist out of someone who’s not. Journalism, you can teach (though I doubt whether you can teach the qualities of personality good journalism demands). But you can no sooner teach or instill the kind of artistic vision it takes to be a successful creative writer than you can teach a cow how to play canasta.

 

Related posts o’ mine: How To Make a Living Writing, John Notes for Lit 101, John Notes for Philosophy 101.


♣ Join my Facebook fan page here.

Blogging—at WARP SPEED!

In Uncategorized on November 23, 2008 at 10:57 am

Hello, friends!

Me: Speed blogging.

When: Now.

Why: Wife off work entire forthcoming week. Whoo-hoo! Visiting local wineries today to buy Thanksgiving wine. She now in shower. Me now on/in bed, BLOGGING AT WARP SPEED!

Do I enjoy going to winery tastings? No. Nein. Nyet.

Why not: Weird business model: Stand; sip; get stared at; feel pressure to buy. Plus, prodigious pretentious potential powerful put-off.

Wife, though, LOVES whole atmosphere of wineries. May be burgeoning wino. Must monitor.

Thanksgiving! Always a fave holiday of ours! So much to be thankful for. First: Perfect religion. Second: Love of good woman. Third: I’m not yet dead. List goes on. Except actually that’s about it. Sweet!

Ah, autumn. It was 87 degrees here yesterday. Our local leaves turn orange and red in the fall cuz they’re frying in the sun. No: It’s autumn/winter here, for sure. Can tell by eerie darkish light So Cal gets this time of year. Dig it.

Wife out of shower! Must rouse self!

But before I do: A sincere thanks to those who’ve joined by Facebook Fan Page. I have no platform—no TV/radio show, no mega-church I head, no national ministry to help me sell books. The web is my platform. Tough to impress publishers with that. But every person who joins my fan page is one more indication to a book publisher that I might be someone on whom they should take a chance. So THANK YOU VERY MUCH! I look forward to walking out onto the stage you’re so graciously helping me build.

All right! Rouse time! Out of my bed and off I go, to act like I know a merlot from my toe.

Act Now, Become My 100th Facebook Fan, and Win a Free Book!

In Uncategorized on November 18, 2008 at 6:56 pm

As of this precise moment, 99 people have joined my Facebook Fan Page—99 people who’ve been willing to step forward, and boldly proclaim to all who for some reason happen to see that page that yes—yes!—they have no particular reason not to claim that they’re not especially repelled by my writing.

Whoo-hoo!

♥ 99 fans of my blog on my page; 99 fans of my blog; you take one down, pass him around; he wakes up and pounds you right into a fog. ♥

So, the point is: If you act now, and become my 100th Facebook Fan, I will send you a free book, inscribed with “Thanks for being my 100th Facebook Fan!” and autographed by none other than my next door neighbor, Brian, who is an actual Hollywood stunt car driver! If come the time, however, Brian is off wearing sunglasses while expressionlessly parking cars at warp speed, I will sign the book myself.

You, Mr. or Ms. 100th Fan, will have your choice of books: Being Christian or (the paperback version of, since that’s all I have left) Comma Sense.

Now, you can’t join my Facebook page if never read my stuff, since that would be almost as sad as me actually bribing people to get fans. But if you’ve been meaning to sign up as a Facebook fan o’ moi (just as, honestly, I’ve been trying to think of something bloggily fun to do with one or two of my books), here’s your chance to do right by me and snag a free book autographed by the less famous of the two authors named on its cover!

Act now! Click here! Postage is on me! I excel at stampage!

A Vulture Tried to Eat My Face

In Uncategorized on November 14, 2008 at 11:19 am

As my regular readers know, I never, ever, in even the slightest possible way, exaggerate. So you can believe me when I tell you that yesterday a vulture tried to gobble my visage.

I was on my health walk. I was on a trail in the mountains near where I live, probably a mile and a half from any home, building, or anyone who might be carrying a vulture swatter. I was enjoying the nature around me, right up until the moment I realized the nature around me was thinking about returning the favor. I was huffing and puffing along, when the shadow of a large bird appeared on the side of the mountain beside me.

“Cool!” I thought. “A hawk overhead”—and then a vulture came sweeping in and began hovering so near my face that I could see every pink wrinkle of its disgustingly pink Mr. Burns head. 

“Yikes!” I thought, “how bad is the economy, anyway? Is this vulture so desperate for food he’s trying to eat food that’s still alive?”

I might have felt better about this Nature Moment if I hadn’t just then been so exhausted I had to wonder if I was hallucinating. I have some sort of psychological dysfunction that makes me work-out entirely too hard, and yesterday I was really pushing myself. I had just turned back from the highest point I’d ever reached on that trail when Mr. Carrion My Wayward Son made his ominous, carnivorous appearance.

“Holy cow!” I thought. “How tired do I look, anyway?”

Joe Wingspan seemed to be asking himself the same thing. Hovering perfectly motionless at eye level, he managed to silently float backwards in order to remain precisely one-half inch beyond my arm’s reach. The winged monster was shamelessly assessing me, slightly cocking its head and blinking its tiny, black, ball-bearing eyes at me in that distinctive Curious Bird manner.

Stupidly, my response to being so studiously and intimately scrutinized was to keep my eyes locked straight ahead: When I know someone’s staring at me, my instinctive response is to avoid looking back at them. But then not looking at the bird started to make me nervous, too. What kind of message was that sending? That I was afraid? Weak? Moments from cracking under the pressure? So dense I wasn’t aware of the six-pound bird with the six-foot wingspan that was hovering three feet from my face?

I suddenly remembered how the Dog Whisperer dominates his unruly curs through direct confrontation. Too bad he wasn’t the Vulture Whisperer, so I’d know if his methods would work here. Hoping they would, I mustered up my courage, swiveled my head, and stared right at Mr. Death on Wings.

And that’s when things took a turn for the worse.

 

To be continued next time, because I have got to quit making my blog posts so long.

 

Other posts I’ve written on the “When Animals Attack!” theme are: Attack of the Killer Squirrels, Part Duex (there really was no Part 1); a four-part series about some coyotes that ate my cat that starts with Weird Nature, and Woody Woodpecker Turns Manic Attack Bird.

 

♣ Join me on Facebook here.


add to del.icio.us : Add to Blinkslist : add to furl : Digg it : add to ma.gnolia : Stumble It! : add to simpy : seed the vine : : : TailRank : post to facebook

Zombie Stalkers, Glue-Sniffing Ice Makers, and Bunting Beer Robbers

In Uncategorized on November 10, 2008 at 7:06 am

Here are a few thoughts slowly bubbling up inside my lava lamp of a brain this early Monday morning:

Why am I up? It’s 4 a.m. The only people up at 4 a.m are zombies who got off at the wrong bus stop on their way back to their graveyard. Or stalkers. Or stalker zombies. Or people who stalk zombies.

Zombies probably don’t get a lot of stalkers. It’d too quickly get boring. “Oh, look,” you’d say if you were stalking a zombie. “There he is. Still. Couldn’t he pick up the pace a little?” But, alas, he couldn’t. Zombies don’t jog for the same reason they don’t skip rope: It makes body parts fall off.

Ew. Sorry.

When I was 17, I worked the graveyard shift at the second most often robbed 7-11 in California. We strove to be #1—I’d leave six-packs by the door, stacks of cash on the counter beside the gallon jar of pickled pigs feet—but we just couldn’t overtake some 7-11 in San Francisco that was by a bank. (I suppose people went, “Okay, we’re gonna rob that bank. Wait! Look right next to it! A 7-11! Let’s rob that place instead! Less armed guards! Plus beer!) My 7-11 was basically out in a raggedy field, right across some abandoned rail road tracks from this ancient plant where they made ice (!). The guys who worked at the ice plant used to come into the store during their break to buy tubes of model airplane glue.

“How nice,” I thought. “During their lunch hour those guys build model airplanes. And they always ask for a little paper bag to carry the glue in. What a surprisingly meticulous group!” But then I couldn’t help but notice they all had shaking hands, no teeth, and breath that vaporized my eyebrows off.

“Oh, yeah, they’re glue sniffers,” said my boss, Forrest Wang, who owned the store. “That reminds me. Only three tubes left! Order some more tonight, will ya?”

When he first hired me, Forrest took me behind the front counter of his store, and said, “You’re gonna get robbed here.” He dropped his voice and looked around conspiratorially. “Now down here,” he said, bending to reach back into some shelves beneath the cash register, “I keep something I don’t want you to ever use except in an emergency.” I sucked in and held my breath. I’dI never used a gun before. I’d hardly ever seen a gun.

“Ah,” he said. “Here it is.” He looked at me intensely. “Remember, tell no one this is here.” I considered bolting; I didn’t want anything to do with brandishing firearms at robbers. But instead of a gun, he pulled from the cubby hole the top third of a baseball bat. Its bottom half was wrapped in electrical tape, presumably to prevent its user from getting splinters.

I spoke before I could stop myself. “What am I supposed to do with this? Bunt criminals out the store?”

As it turned out, though, I actually did use that mini-bat to fight crime. One night a guy ran into the store, shot past where I was standing behind the counter, flung open the cooler door, grabbed a six-pack of Budweiser, and began his kicking, flailing rush back out the door.

“All right,” I thought, “that’s it. I hate this guy. He never says ‘hi,’ or anything—he just runs in, grabs his stupid six-pack—and why Bud??—and runs out again. Well, you’re goin’ home sudless tonight, Spazboy.” I reached under the counter and wrapped my hand around Hunk o’ Bat. I let it fly just as Mr. Beer Run was reaching for the door. I didn’t spin it through the air hard enough to kill him or anything, but it clonked him on the back of the head pretty good. The impact of it further propelled him out the door, but not in a good way. He left the cans of beer scattered on the pavement just outside the door as he stumble-rushed his way into the darkness beyond the parking lot lights, his hand clamped firmly to the back of his head.

At one in the morning I stood in the yellow light of the store looking down at the beer cans on the pavement, at my trusty bat top, at the cigarette butts, the stains, the crumbling tar of the parking lot. I looked out across the tracks at the dilapidated ice plant. I wondered how I had gotten there, and what in God’s world would ever become of my life.

 

♣ Join me on Facebook here.

 

add to del.icio.us : Add to Blinkslist : add to furl : Digg it : add to ma.gnolia : Stumble It! : add to simpy : seed the vine : : : TailRank : post to facebook

Share Your Skin-Color Story

In Uncategorized on November 6, 2008 at 10:33 am

I have been deeply affected by anecdotes that readers left in response to my last piece, Black Like Us (which, if anyone cares, I’ve rewritten numerous times since its initial post), wherein they shared moving experiences they’d had in which skin color played the salient role. Here are a few of the stories people left:

“It was summer 1975, and I was visiting a distant relative in Charlotte, NC. She was an elderly lady. One day I heard her speaking to someone at her front door. By the tone of her voice I assumed she was speaking to a small child; she was using very slow and deliberate speech, and carefully enunciating each word. I was in the living room. When their conversation ended, I looked out the front window to see an elderly black man shuffling down the path back to the sidewalk. (I’d never seen someone shuffle before.) When he got to the sidewalk, the man turned to see if anyone was looking—and then, when he thought no one was, he picked up his pace, and began walking down the sidewalk in a very normal manner.”

“I grew up in the 60’s in the suburbs of Portland, Oregon, and my only acquaintance with black people were those I saw on TV getting blasted by water from fire hoses. As a kid those images, which are still so clear in my mind, baffled me. And then, when I was about seven, I had the chance to ride a bicycle built for two at my Grandparents’ farm. My two older friends rode on the bike seats, and I rode on the fender. As we turned a sharp corner my foot got caught in the wheel; the bike tipped over and left me lying on the pavement with two spokes sticking out of my ankle. I was lying on my back, screaming in pain, blinded by tears, when a man shadowed by the sun picked me up into his arms. He was the first black man I ever remember seeing in the flesh. As he carried me across his chest in his arms, he kept saying in a deep soothing voice, “You’re gonna be alright, honey. You’re gonna be fine.” He took me to my grandma’s house, laid me on her couch, and then left without a word. On that day I honestly thought all God’s angels had dark skin.”

“My earliest memory is of being called “nigger” by a 5 year old white boy named Chester when I was 4 years old.”

Ouch on that last one, ‘eh? Um. And also on the one with the bicycle spokes. I guess we’re just all lucky the guy on the sidewalk didn’t trip and munch up his face.

Anyway, these moving anecdotes made me want to offer a place for others to tell such stories of their own. If you’d like to share with us any experience of yours that has perhaps been particularly on your mind during this time in our history, please do so via the “comments” section of this post. If you would, also let us know your age. Thanks ahead of time, from everyone who reads this blog.

One race.

Add to FacebookAdd to DiggAdd to Del.icio.usAdd to StumbleuponAdd to RedditAdd to BlinklistAdd to Ma.gnoliaAdd to TechnoratiAdd to FurlAdd to Newsvine

Join My Facebook Fan Club, or the Hairy Shut-In Gets Hurt

In Uncategorized on November 3, 2008 at 8:58 am

Good morning, all!

Speaking of which, what time is it? I used to know—but then the government made us go on (or is it off?) Daylights Savings Time.

Hmmm. Government. Savings.

Oh, noooooo. It’ll probably be dark in fifteen minutes.

Anyway, hello! I’m back from my blogcation! (Patton: Cool word! Thanks!)

I shudder to think of the suffering caused you by my absence. Well, maybe not shudder. But I am vibrating like a giant, flesh-covered cell phone.

Ew. Sorry. Gross image. Unless you’re an actual human cell. Then you’re probably pretty pro-flesh.

Okay, right. I need coffee.

Back again! How are you? Well, that’s enough about you. Let’s talk now about something critical, which is you joining my Facebook fan page. If you haven’t yet given yourself a Facebook page, do so now (here)—and then, once you’re a Facebooker, join my fan page! Then I’ll ask to be friends with you! Then you’ll accept my invitation! Then we’ll be e-buds! Then I’ll start totally annoying you with my funny little jokes on your Facebook page! Then you’ll block me! Then … well … then things’ll get ugly. So let’s not go there. Yet.

(Seriously: If you haven’t yet joined Facebook, take it from me, the most resolutely anti-social person since Hermit the Crab: Facebook rocks. It’s free; it’s utterly unobtrusive; it’s a wonderful way to stay in touch with and make new friends, and it totally lets you annoy people by leaving funny jokes and comments on their page. I joined only days ago, and you can’t believe the number of people who already wish I hadn’t. It’s pretty much the greatest thing since carrier pigeons.)

The reasons for which you must right now join my Facebook fan page (as opposed to my regular Facebook page) are two: #1. I’ve asked you and everyone else in the world to do so, right here in this most public of forums. If a lot of people don’t now do that, I will have been officially and irrevocably publicly embarrassed. That happens to me enough in real space and time without it also happening to me in cyberspace and time, thankyaverymuch. #2: I am at this very moment wanting some Publishing Muck-a-Mucks to think I’m Quite Popular. A Facebook fan page replete with, say, 100 Actual Fans will help make that case. A Facebook “fan club” with four members in it will help make the case that they should move past me on to some other author, whom I will then be forced to hunt down so that I can thoroughly egg his or her car.

And in today’s hungry world, do you think it’s right to make me waste eggs? Of course it isn’t.

If you’re a fan of my writing, won’t you please consider joining my Facebook fan club?

Do it for yourself.

Do it for the children.

(Oh! The cool thing about the fan page is it allows me to write my “fans” all at once. Then if there’s an event I’d like people to know about, or any kind of Career News, or anything I’d like to write to my peeps without having to post a whole blog thing about it, I can. Awesomeness.)

I Break With Thee; I Break With Thee; I Break With Thee

In Uncategorized on October 26, 2008 at 10:26 am

A week or so ago I made noises about taking a break from blogging—but then, alas, failed to. (Those of you who used my non-breaking as fodder for a rash of totally unfunny jokes about my apparent Blog Addiction and/or lack of resolve will, I am sure, be pleased to learn that I have hired private detectives to track you down and report back to me all I will need to extract my revenge.) For over a year now I’ve posted five or six pieces a week: I really am taking that break now. You just wait and see!

In the meantime, here are some previous posts o’ mine:

Faith

What Non-Christians Want Christians to Hear

Atheists: With God We At Least Have a Chance

Atheists of the World Agree: Christianity Makes Eminent Rational Sense!

Are The Great Commandment and The Great Commission Incompatible?

More on The Great Commandment and The Great Commission

Amazing Grace: How Sweet the Grounds

When You Love Someone Who Doesn’t Love Christ

When Your Husband Derides Your Faith

Unhappy? Reject Your Parents

Where Is God? THERE Is God!

Evil: Surprise! It’s a Good Thing!

Hallelujah! We Know So Little!

The Comfort of the Cross

When God Makes 2+2=5

Certainty in Christ: A Blessing–And a Curse

How I Broke My Lesbian Friend’s Heart

Other/Humor

Santa. Satan. Anagrammatic Coincidence? No.

How To Be Unemployed

Top 10 Tips for Becoming a Better Husband

How To Win Every Argument With Your Wife

What’s In a Word: The Truth Behind Men’s Personal Ads

Six Tests to Determine if He’s Mr. Right

Top 10 Qualities to Look for In a Wife

The 5 People Who’ll Probably Beat Me Up in Heaven

Adam and Eve: The Day After

How I Met My Wife (Young People: Don’t Read!)

Labor Day, and Me Not Getting Killed by a Dealer/Pimp

Earthquake Almost Converts Lady in My Apartment!

And Finally: What McCain Supporters Look Like to Obama

I Was Asked To Carry the Olympic Torch!

If We WERE Descended From Apes, At Least I Wouldn’t Have To Work

My Giant Head

Smokin

How Two Toddlers with Kaopectate Made Me Quit Smoking

Connecting Flights

Did Last Night’s Debate Decide It For You?

In Uncategorized on October 16, 2008 at 1:42 pm

Okay, a quick question. (Yes, I’m still taking a break. This doesn’t count. Seriously. It doesn’t. Stop it.) Did last night’s presidential debate change your mind, or decide it for you? Reading in various forums and so on a ton of responses to the debate, I got the impression that everybody who watched it already knew going in for whom they intended to vote (and, naturally, their man slaughtered the other guy).

It got me wondering: Did the debate—or do any “debates” like it—ever change, or finally decide, anyone’s mind?

Did last night’s debate change yours? Had you suspected Obama of being too slick and vague—but instead found him judicious, sincere, and trenchantly intelligent? Did you used to think McCain so rabidly ambitious it was clear he’s say anything to anyone he was trying to impress—but now think him a humble and dignified Man of the People?

Did the debate change or decide your mind at all? If so, share!