The words, they are coming right now. It’s fair to say that I’m writing most of the time anyway, but there’s a difference, sometimes. Eighty percent of the time I’m working on the ninety-five percent perspiration thing. Then there’s the sixteen percent of waking moments that I’m not writing. That leaves only four percent of my life for inspiration.
These numbers skew dramatically from week to week, and there are certainly moments of inspiration when I’m working on the software as well. In fact, recently I’ve really had some good ideas about improvements to JersNW. The thing is, I’m writing right now. The words are there for me, scary in their nakedness.
I wrote a bit a while back, my hypothetical advice to hypothetical students, an essay about writing essays. The message was to write without fear. I was (and still am) pleased with that work. There are times when I put something down that is just a little too close to the bone, sometimes here in the blog, sometimes elsewhere. There is a moment of commitment, and I hesitate. Secrets. Demons. Shame. Rambunctious offensiveness. I tell myself at those times, “Write without fear.”
But that’s not right. What I really mean is “write with courage.” The fear is there. In fact, when I feel the fear, that means I’m getting close to something. No, I never write without fear. I write despite fear. I write because of fear. I look back at my favorite episodes here at muddled ramblings, and they fall into two categories. There are the most entertaining ones, and the ones that frightened me the most to publish.
There are also the gray episodes, the ones I’ve written but pulled back from hitting the go button. Eventually I delete those, and the words are lost until I find a braver moment. In the end I am not as courageous as I’d like to be.
Jerry, and all other LAHS Class of 1982 graduates (or GED recipients; you can play too, Bob): I know none of you were athletes (myself (’81) included), but can you name anyone from the basketball or football team your senior year?
Hi Keith,
My letter in soccer may disqualify me from your survey, but the only name that immediately jumps to mind is Richie Meyers (sp?) who was the best basketball player in town from 5th grade Gray Y ball through high school.
I know Mike Duran was an incredible tennis player. Does anyone remember if he also played basketball?
As for names of football players … I got nothin’.
Jeff Wadstrom played basketball, I’m pretty sure. If Steven Daniels was still in town by the time we got to high school, I expect he played foothall. I went to elementary school (possibly even preschool) with those guys.
Joe Szoe (sumpin’ like that) played football, until he tore his knee up. Wasn’t Voyle (Voil?) Latin on the football team?
John H. went a couple of rounds with a football player, but I don’t remember his name. Sorry for the unpleasant memories.
On football I got nothin. I can picture basketball players, but not their names. I can name one cross country runner and one swimmer, but it’s not really fair because I directly knew them.
Bob, shoot me an email – my last addy for you doesn’t work.
Oh yes, V Latin was a swimmer.
Jerry Seeger, Short Cut Across 6 Degrees of Separation
Brad is playing freshman basketball. Playing in tournaments in the hinterlands of San Diego County (varsity gets the conveniently located tourneys), there is often a lot of down time between games, time spent with bored boys on one half of the fast food dining area and bored parents on the other. You get to talking.
The 40 something parents were talking about their fast food experiences growing up. (As I said, we were really bored.) One dad allowed as he only had a Taco Bell and Tastee Freeze in his small hometown. What a coincidence, thought I to myself, and immediately went down the wrong analysis path in my head, concluding that with two data points, his hometown and mine, this must have been a common strategy among second tier fast food joints in the 70’s to avoid the McDonalds behemoth.
The conversation continued to meander for 20 more minutes until we got to how we all ended up in San Diego. I let slip I moved to San Diego to go to UCSD from New Mexico. “What town in New Mexico?” snapped Taco Bell/TasteeFreeze dad. “Los Alamos,” quoth I. “NO WAY!” quoth he.
Brad is playing freshman basketball with Kyle Wadstrom, Jeff Wadstrom’s son. They have been playing together for 2 years, and we have only just now discovered this connection. Turns out Jeff Wadstrom’s dad, an ObGyn, delivered Ken Sherwood, so Kyle Wadstrom’s grandfather delivered Brad’s uncle. (We did not determine this at the fast food restuarant. This required confirmation from Brad’s grandmother.)
So here’s the Jerry Seeger Connection (oh yeah, there was a reason this was pertinent to this blog): we immediately started naming off everyone we knew in high school, trying to get someone in common. No hits. Nada. He was a Jock, I was a conehead, and this brought surprising clarity to just how isolated the various social groups in high school can be. Desperately grasping, I started naming people on this blog (who, with the exception of Bob ‘Bend it like Beckham’ Forman, I did not actually know while in high school). The one name we both knew? Jerry Seeger.
Well you can all blame Jerry whenever he gets here if he lets me meet the San Diego connections (ponders that one). We will probably then find we have a few folks in common since my brothers both are in sales. Younger brother (Jerry’s age) went to UCSD and is involved in real estate sales and older brother geek squad stuff with electronics. Both are surfers still and active in the Surfrider club.
Ann Wadstrom was the anesthesiologist when Tadpole was born.
And this evening, he gave Pat some new gray hairs when he replicated his namesake uncle’s first car accident.
Keith, Annette Lewis is a possible mutual acquaintance as well.
I’m a little miffed at Annette for not sticking around longer than one comment after we found her and showed her the blog. I’ll drop that name to Jeff too. Geez, I sure hope she wasn’t his girlfriend….
Wasn’t there also a Mark Wadstrom (younger brother)? I remember him from Ski Patrol.
Hi Keith,
Did both of you really “quoth”?
Nevermore.