tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47217413182367016462024-03-13T15:30:53.018-06:00Your Uncle Jerry's BlogIrreverent Thoughts on the Life YAUncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-8224379193418218052013-07-14T17:23:00.000-06:002013-08-17T01:30:53.183-06:00Surprising Carmen<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-family: Corbel; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;"><i>The opera Carmen should not interest the decent spectators<br />who come to the Opera-Comique with their wives and daughters.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: Corbel; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">-- Early Critic of Bizet's <i>Carmen</i></span></div>
<br />
Peace and joy, Camper, and welcome once again to Your Uncle
Jerry’s Opera Corner. <i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
These days, more and more young people, when faced with the
painful disappointments and desires of romance, are turning to the opera. There
they find clearer and more believable answers than anything they’ve heard from
their parents or their video games. Understandable. Your Uncle Jerry loves the
opera, too, but one must keep a critical distance on these matters. A tenor in
love is not necessarily your best role model. Especially in <i>Carmen</i>, the world’s most popular opera.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s have a look at Don José. In case you missed this, Camper,
José’s backstory includes killing a man who stole his woman. True, true, there
is an upside to crimes of passion. Women love a man with passion, a man with a
past. On the other hand, passion started José’s trouble before, and it will soon
get him in trouble with Carmen—and I don’t mean the good kind. What José is
missing is <i>poetry</i>. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know, I know. Poetry <i>alone</i>
is a check with insufficient funds; poetry without passion is a kiss without a
moustache. But listen, <i>passion</i> alone
is a roller-coaster of anguish at the Hotel California Amusement Park. Don’t
take that ride, Camper. Why? Brush up on your 1970s pop music. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Look, pal. Within the heart of the woman you love, there is
a Carmen; coquettish and demanding and jealous and, most of all, independent. There
are two things that will totally drive her away. One is an obsession to control
her. The other is letting her control you. Both of these are the natural
offspring of passion, and José has both in spades. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A woman likes to be surprised by her man. Surprise is poetry
to her, even when it comes from a doof like you. And no, by surprise, we are
not talking about showing up with flowers in your red leather thong. Surprise
means she can’t quite predict you; being unpredictable is a form of resistance.
And there, my friend, is the irony of love in life and opera. Lovers find
resistance fascinating. Why? Because love needs a little friction to keep it
warm.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What makes Carmen go cold is a man who can’t stop adoring
her for one minute, who gives up everything, jumps at her command. Loses
himself. This creeps her out. Oh, she may string him along for awhile, but as
he loses control, she loses respect for him. A more sensible Don José would
marry the girl his mother picked out, and would then quietly take a series of
wonderful lovers, perhaps including Carmen. (Oh please. It was the 19<sup>th</sup>
century.) This is keeping poetry and passion in proper balance. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear old Don José, like so many tenors, is passionate but
dim. When he shows up in the last act to win Carmen back, he pleads: “There is
still time; we can make this work.” And does this work? “Dude, your threats are
bad enough, but you’re so booooring. Kill me, please, so I hear no more of your
endless raving about love.” Being dim, unfortunately, doesn’t mean being
harmless. And—spoiler alert—he kills her.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The tenor may be a wonderful singer, but, No, the one you
need to watch is the baritone—the toreador. To him, love is a gamble; he knows that going in. Flirtatious yet aloof, bold yet
gallant. Full of passion but quick with a poem. Yes, the baritone loses the girl as often as not, but the point is
that he never loses himself.<br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Corbel; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-language: JA; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;">Joy and
peace. </span><!--EndFragment-->Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-82146411895359608362012-11-23T15:42:00.000-07:002012-11-23T15:42:29.251-07:00Thanksgiving in Plymouth and Jutland<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: inherit;">Pilgrim: <i>How.</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: inherit;">Squanto: <i> How? Isn't it obvious? As the fish decays, it releases nitrogen. <span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">In the soil, </span></i></span><i style="color: #073763; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">nitrogen-fixing bacteria convert this </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">nitrogen into </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">nitrates, a form that corn plants </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">can </span></i><i style="color: #073763; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">metabolize. </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">T</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">hese nitrates are largely responsible for healthy </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">leaf </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">and stem growth.</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"> </span></i></div>
<br />
<hr />
<br />
Holiday joy and peace, Camper.<br />
<br />
You wouldn’t know it from his cheery disposition, but Your Uncle Jerry comes from a long line of stern, sober, devout, and stoic people. His ancestors on one side were dark Lutherans, and on the other side were merciless unhappy Puritans. As a child, Young Uncle Jerry learned that truth and righteousness were unacquainted with the joys of this world, and that purity of spirit is at odds with bodily pleasure. This kind of theology, Camper, is why good people go wrong.<br />
<br />
Viewing the movie <i>Babette’s Feast</i>, which he does as a personal discipline every year during the winter holidays, Your Uncle Jerry feels as if he’s joining his ancestors for dinner. And like any black sheep returning home, he feels comfortable yet alienated. He even gets a little angry as he watches his ancestors not enjoying, not giving thanks for the exquisite meal that Babette has prepared just for them. He suffers through their long ungrateful silences, their refusal to acknowledge the bliss and blessing there on the table. Uncle Jerry can’t wait for his favorite movie to be over. He clamps his teeth over his own knuckles until the old general finally speaks.<br />
<br />
The general, a secular, world-weary man trapped like Uncle Jerry at a winter meal in Jutland with people frozen in their own theological misery, finds himself amazed at what Babette has created. He is tasting with his entire body, rolling his eyes, puffing out his cheeks, examining each forkful and each glass of wine as if he cannot believe that anything so obviously a gift from heaven could exist in the same world with such dour, sour human beings. The general has dined in the most opulent restaurants in Europe, but only once has he tasted such a palpable mercy as Babette has laid before them tonight. That was many years and many wars ago, in Paris, and little does he know that Babette was the chef at that meal, too. At last, almost woozy with joy, the old general rises to offer a toast.<br />
<br />
<i>Mercy and truth are met together. Righteousness and bliss shall kiss each other. We in our weakness and short-sightedness believe that we must make choices in this life. We tremble at the risks of choosing—what to take, what to leave behind?</i><br />
<br />
<i>But no. What we choose is of no importance. Once in a great while, there comes a moment to open our eyes, and we realize that mercy is infinite. Mercy imposes no conditions. We need only await it with confidence and receive it with gratitude. And lo, everything we have chosen has been granted to us. And everything we have not chosen—this has also been granted.</i><br />
<br />
<i>For mercy and truth are met together. Righteousness and bliss shall kiss each other. </i><br />
<br />
You don't hear this stuff in Sunday School, Camper. Try to remember it. Peace and joy.Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-80125973143637974782012-06-07T10:18:00.000-06:002012-06-07T10:22:06.918-06:00United We Stand<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">Or will you try and tell me that you’ve been too long at
school? <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;"><i>That knowledge is not needed, that power does not rule?</i></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">—Gordon Lightfoot<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div style="text-align: right;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;">lame old protest song. <o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<hr />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Joy and peace.<br />
<br />
Your Uncle Jerry is thinking about getting
into politics. What this country needs is a few more citizens with the guts to
speak truth to power, thinkers who will not shrink from making the unpopular
argument. We need public intellectuals who will bravely stand in the face of
public opinion and repeat what they’ve been hearing all day on CNN. Uncle Jerry
has decided to become a pundit.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The recall election in the state of Wisconsin makes the need
clear. Some of Uncle Jerry’s more soft-headed friends who happen actually to
live in Wisconsin thought this election was about restoring accountability to
executive power and about the runaway influence of Big Money in state politics.
But the truth is there to see—in the media: this election was clearly a
referendum on the threat to the American Way of Life posed by powerful labor unions
that disappeared sometime in the 1970s. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Labor unions, as any news anchor with a smart board and a $5000
suit could tell you, are the bane of democracy. They are roving bands of firefighters,
teachers, secretaries, and autoworkers, controlled from the shadows by
cigar-chomping socialists. Union members aren’t real Americans; they’re unwashed
shirkers, whose collars aren’t white, who have no gratitude for our democracy or
for the millionaires who own it fair and square. They despise those who keep democracy
safe through gerrymandering and through dismantling campaign finance
regulations.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a new member of the punditocracy, Your Uncle Jerry will
make it a priority to remind American couch potatoes that this country wasn’t
built by union workers, and it isn’t kept safe every day by police,
firefighters, safety inspectors, teachers, and other blood-sucking unionists. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
America was built by the blood, sweat, and tears of the
fabulous. You think being born into wealth is easy? Well, it isn’t. It takes
real imagination to invent things like tax loopholes for capital gains; it
takes chutzpah, dedication, and vast networks of powerful friends to hoist bags
and bags of money and to hide them in off-shore bank accounts. You think
bootstrapping from the working class is hard? You should try it when the only
straps available are the tassels on your Gucci loafers. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The voters in Wisconsin have made it clear, as all the
pundits agree. Workers go too far when they band together demanding “economic
justice.” As we stand here in the dawn of the Age of Romney, we must not be
weighed down by demands from the tired, the poor, the huddled masses. We owe them nothing. We must look up—way up—to our wealthiest one percent. Look at
how they protect each other, how they congratulate each other, how they compete
good-naturedly to write the biggest check to their personal senators. Look at
them linked arm in arm. There we see, Camper, exactly what the Founders meant
by “a more perfect union.” <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Peace and joy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In <a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_19.htm">chapter 19</a>, Molly and Rhinehart unite around the need to
pull a scam. <o:p></o:p></div>Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-42053777644971818532011-11-19T20:18:00.007-07:002011-11-19T20:34:10.719-07:00Bad Language<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-style:italic;color:#000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">i</span>Solamente Inglés!<o:p></o:p><br />—Uncle Jerry’s pal Victor</span></p><hr /><p class="MsoNormal">Peace and joy, Camper. It’s time once again for Your Uncle Jerry’s Lessons in Language Learning. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Why do we need other languages, anyway? When your Uncle Jerry was just a wee camper growing up in the north woods of North America, he knew a few people who spoke Yupik or Athabascan or German or Chinese or Swahili. He knew where his dad, Grandpa Jerry, had stashed an old letter from a friend in Puerto Rico—a letter all in Spanish. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For a while, Uncle Jerry felt that perhaps he should learn another language, too. But why bother? It is clear from everything you hear in school and town that the world is learning English. In fact, other languages are actually dying out; no one is speaking them anymore. Look it up, Scooter. You’ll like this: there are about 7000 languages right now, but half of them are declining rapidly. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And good riddance. Who can keep up with 7000 languages? Besides, if people in so-called other countries want to buy M&Ms, or KFC, or GE products, well, they’re going to have to learn the English alphabet, anyway. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Plus, you wonder what they have to hide—speakers of other languages. Why not just come out and say what's on their minds, instead of disguising it with foreign sounds and hidden meanings? If it weren’t for Chinese and Russian, we wouldn’t have had the Cold War. And what about Arabic? Did you realize the Arabs write <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">backwards?</i> Your Uncle Jerry’s congressman thinks this should have been our first clue that they were up to no good. Frankly, we don’t want young campers getting into Arabic; they’ll just learn to see the world from right to left. We don’t need to help the terrorists, do we? <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Still. This is a little embarrassing, but lately, Your Uncle Jerry and the Missus have started learning another language. In spite of all the good and patriotic reasons to keep ourselves irretrievably ignorant, Your Uncle and Mrs. Jerry did find one good reason to study Spanish. It’s the kids—<i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">no entienden español</i>. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Joy and peace. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In <a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_18.htm">chapter eighteen</a> Molly and the Geezer are working hard not to speak each other’s language. <o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-9399416177078080752011-09-17T14:11:00.005-06:002011-09-17T14:39:49.064-06:00Subjects and Positioning<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><i>Sometimes when I write a sentence like that,<br />I pretend I’m not me. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">—My Friend Michele</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><o:p></o:p></span><p></p><br />Joy and peace, Camper, and welcome once again to Uncle Jerry’s Writer’s Corner. Open your little word-processing program to a blank page and copy down what My Friend Michele says above.<br /><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Pretending is a big part of writing; don’t kid yourself about that. It doesn’t matter what you’re writing: it could be fiction, a book report, a sales analysis, or a love letter. Point is, when you put yourself into words, you’re not just writing down what you think; you’re creating a character. You’re working from what them big-time, tenured professors call a “subject position.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Having a subject position is nothing to be ashamed of. It just means you lean one way or another. In the act of writing, you are creating yourself and leaning yourself into a subject position. It's not your fault; you can’t avoid it. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Uncle Jerry’s friend L.T. Green, from Muleshoe, Texas, used to say he leaned one way or another only when he had to pass a little gas. Was L.T. a professor? Well-spotted, Camper. "Professor" is a subject position, too, though some professors are <i>not</i> full of gas. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sometimes, amazingly, you find yourself writing along, and hey—you didn’t know you were going to write what you just wrote. Your position has changed. Things look different. It’s like finding yourself in someone else’s house, looking at furniture that doesn’t belong to you. You step over the cat and pick up the guitar; you look at the photos on the wall—you don’t know these people, but somehow they look familiar. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Once, as a small boy, Your Uncle Jerry found himself looking into a neighbor’s very well stocked liquor cabinet. What happened next, Uncle Jerry can’t remember, but the nice doctor is helping him recall some of the following weeks in the juvie detention center. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Never mind about that.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What Uncle Jerry’s friend Michele means by “I pretend I’m not me,” is simply this: when she writes herself into a new subject position, she tries it out for awhile. She leans into it. Why? Well, Camper, sometimes it’s just fun to see the world from a different angle. And sometimes everyone needs to pass a little gas. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Peace and joy. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_17.htm">Chapter Seventeen</a> of Molly's story finds the uncles in a very difficult position.</p> <!--EndFragment-->Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-57654923134683254122011-07-25T16:04:00.013-06:002011-07-25T16:55:54.636-06:00Revenge<p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><i>Revenge is a dish</i></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><i>best eaten cold.</i></span></div><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">—lame old proverb</span></div><hr /><p>Joy and peace, Camper. </p><p>Revenge. Vengeance. Getting Even. Payback. Settling a score. To strike back at someone who has done you wrong is a primal instinct, and it is one Your Uncle Jerry recommends indulging as often as possible. But how often is that? </p><p>Uncle Jerry’s older sibling, Aunt Blue, was a pincher. And not just a pincher—a fingernail pincher. Aunt Blue lived mostly in the back seat of the family car on school days, from where she would often inflict, without ANY provocation, a most painful torture with two fingernails on the skin of Your Uncle Jerry’s thigh. </p><p>Did Uncle Jerry take revenge for this outrage? Dang right. He crushed her peanut butter sandwich. </p><p>This is deep biology talking. Don’t fight it. It is survival itself that drives us toward revenge. Why? Because revenge draws a line between us and the other person. It says “this is my side of the backseat; you stay over there, unless you like tread marks on your wonder bread.” It’s a beautiful thing, when you think about it. Even-ness is fundamentally democratic, and something we should all support. </p><p>Unbelievably, there is a certain class of persons who do not understand the fine symmetry of getting even. “Even” is not a concept they are interested in. "Above" is more what’s on their mind. "Over"—as in you.</p><p>Be careful of such persons; they have no sense of balance, and this makes them dangerous and unfunny. When tempted to settle a score with them, Camper, ask yourself two questions. 1) “Will I ever have to deal with this person again?” and 2) “Will I ever have to deal with this person again?” Uncle Jerry knows that’s the same question twice, but he doesn’t trust you to answer truthfully the first time. If the answer is Yes to either of these questions, your best revenge will be watching someone else take that person down.</p><p>There is another class of persons on whom you should never attempt revenge. This group includes those who look up to you, baristas, and honestly stupid people, especially those in elected office. Yes, yes, of course, they’re annoying. Yes, they deserve it. Yes, whatever. But listen, Camper. The only thing worse than NOT getting even with someone who is invincibly ignorant is GETTING even with them. Revenge is a dish eaten eye-to-eye. Which part of “even” don’t you understand? And you need the proper wine to serve with it. Duh.</p><p>Which brings us to: Uncle Jerry’s Six Persons Never to Pay Back. </p><ol><li>people who are truly evil</li><li>people to whom you are important</li><li>pets and politicians</li><li>ex-spouses (see #1 and #3)</li><li>writers</li><li>people you might forget to watch carefully in the future</li></ol><p>In our story, <a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_16.htm">Molly sets out for revenge</a> on Rhinehart. Let’s see how that goes.</p>Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-51115970765507075052011-07-10T16:01:00.006-06:002011-07-10T18:18:55.304-06:00Retirement<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><i>Give us this day our daily mask.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">—Tom Stoppard </span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">lame old playwright</span></div><hr /><div style="text-align: left;">Joy and peace, Camper.</div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">If you flip a coin once, the odds are 50/50 that it will come up heads. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But if you flip that coin 99 times, and it comes up heads <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">every time,</i> and you flip it <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">one more time</i>, what are the odds then? And what if it comes up heads <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">100 times?</i> What are the odds that, in your excitement, you’ll turn a flip yourself, tail-over-teakettle, right there in the school hallway just to celebrate? <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What are the odds that you’ll land in the hospital with your knee bent around your backside? <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The adolescent brain, science tells us, is a very poor judge of risk. It always wants one more flip of the coin, one more handspring, one more text while driving. This explains why so many teenage campers never get to celebrate their 20<sup>th</sup> birthday. Once again, the mystery of evolution boils down to thinning the herd. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Your Uncle Jerry knows you hear a different message from Random Happy Adult Persons. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Enjoy your youth,</i> they say; <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">do stuff; explore; try your wings. Life is short.</i> Whatever. Look, they just want you to like them, so of course they’re going to lie to you. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Life is short?</i> So true. Listen to that stuff, dude, and you may find out just how short life can be.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Your Uncle Jerry is older than he looks. (Oh, stop. Really? 40-something?) <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Your Uncle Jerry left his adolescent brain behind him many years ago, and he hasn’t looked back . . . since breakfast. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yes. Well. As it turns out, those of us who do make it past 20 without crutches are haunted by the suspicion that we actually didn’t have much fun in our youth. We’ve been careful, we’ve been responsible, like our parents told us to be; we’ve been playing it safe. And all we ever got for our trouble was safety and responsibility and with luck a little money. Cold comforts.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Every day we shower, shave, shine our shoes, and shampoo. Struggle into a grown-up mask, and slump out the door. That’s why they call it being adult—it’s dull. People depend on us. People will suffer if we pull off our daily mask and let the top of our head get some air. People will suffer if we get excited about the wonders of life and youth and handsprings, and forget that we’re supposed to be somewhere, doing something. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And that’s what you have to look forward to, young person, if you manage to make it past your idiot years. Responsibility. Dependents. People who look a lot like you, asking for the car keys. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Be careful,</i> you will say. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Don’t get hurt.</i> And they will or they won’t, and either way, you’ll be the one paying for it.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I’ve got one word for you, Camper: Retirement. It’s even better in Spanish: Jubilación. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">In retirement, your kids are grown, your job is done, your bills are paid (more or less), and people are suddenly very tolerant. Retirees get an incredible license to freak out, flake out, chill out. I mean, just look at what they wear: would they be wearing that if they cared what you think? Look at where they go; France, Panama, Taiwan, anywhere they want. And when they get there, they get a discount. Look at what they get excited about: Everything! Food, gambling, travel, burlesque, pickle ball, the Internet, wine, rodeo.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">You think flipping a coin or waving a game controller is a thrill. You’re going to love retirement . . . if you live long enough. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Peace and Joy.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">In <a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_15.htm">chapter fifteen</a> of Molly’s story, the “aunts and uncles” are setting a plan in motion they think will save their own retirements.<o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-43054803410142652992011-05-30T19:17:00.008-06:002011-05-30T20:15:47.853-06:00The Emperor's New Schools<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">En cada libro que leo</span></span></div><span style="font-style:italic;"><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">siempre encuentro una palabra</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">que sobreviva al olvido</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">y me acompaña.</span></div></span><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">In each book I read</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">I always find a word</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">that outlives forgetting</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">and comes with me</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-style:italic;"><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">--Mario Benedetti</span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">lame old poet from Uruguay</span></span></div></span><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><hr /><br />Peace and joy, Camper.<br /><br />Step into Your Uncle Jerry’s library for a moment, my friend. What do you see? Empty shelves?? No, no, no. Por favor.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Clean</span> shelves—that’s what you see. Shelves liberated from the weight of words. Shelves that no longer bear the poetic burden. They hold the Emperor’s new books, you might say, heh heh. That’s a joke, son—a useless literary quip that you would understand if your teachers had been allowed to skip the testing for one year and just “teach” instead.<br /><br />Fortunately, that is not possible. So think of these as the shelves that you will fill, year on year, as you build the library of your mind.<br /><br />Your Uncle Jerry, years ago, had shelves like these. In those days, sadly, schools forced a young camper to build a collection of words, images, maps and math problems. To build a set of ideas to think with, let’s say. A starter set of life shelves. And the wider you made your shelves, the better, in those days.<br /><br />But schools found they could not control what young persons would do with the words they were given. Duh. Students were discovered deliberately shelving ideas upside down; some were learning words in other languages; some began not to support our troops. The system wasn’t working.<br /><br />Much better is the approach now, where a camper like you is given a very narrow set of shelves, and your task is to burden them with only the lightest of weights. Yes, exactly: I’m talking about certificates.<br /><br />A certificate, my friend, is far superior to a book. When you read a book, you get a handful of words—and some of them are completely new. How does that make you feel? Dumb. And the bigger the book, the dumber you feel. A certificate, on the other hand, proves that you have done something hard. You have passed a test. It automatically makes you feel smart; that’s why they call it a certificate.<br /><br />And when your school day is consumed in test preparation, the certificate says that you are not weighed down with the baggage of unused thought, extra words. If the school has done its job, you know only what you need to pass the test. You command every word on the test.<br /><br />Okay, true, a certificate is too thin to stand up on the bookshelf, but if you lay it flat, it takes up more room. Don’t complicate things.<br /><br />The shelves we need, the schools we need, are uncomplicated ones. We’ve had enough of feeling dumb in school, haven’t we, camper? We need schools that will tell campers exactly what will be on the test, and we need certificates to prove they learned exactly that. We need books that include only the words we already know. We need the Emperor’s new books in the Emperor’s new schools.<br /><br /><div>Joy and peace.</div><div><br />In our <a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_14.htm"><i>next chapter,</i></a> Molly brings home exactly the wrong boy from school—or at least Rhinehart thinks so.</div>Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-42886703394371278812011-03-13T14:28:00.013-06:002011-05-30T20:16:16.969-06:00Its Own Punishment<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">If you wish to inflict a heartless and</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">malignant punishment </span></span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">upon a young person, </span></span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">pledge him to keep a journal for a year.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> </span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> </span><!--StartFragment--><span style="mso-bidi- font-family:Optima;mso-fareast-mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-US;mso-bidi-language:AR-SAfont-family:Calibri;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">—Mark Twain</span></span></span><!--EndFragment--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span style="mso-bidi- font-family:Optima;mso-fareast-mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-US;mso-bidi-language:AR-SAfont-family:Calibri;font-size:10.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">lame old humorist and writer</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span><hr /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Optima;"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi- font-family:Optima;mso-fareast-font-family:Calibri;mso-bidi-Times New Roman"; mso-ansi-language:EN-US;mso-fareast-language:EN-US;mso-bidi-language:AR-SAfont-family:";font-size:10.0pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000000;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(0, 0, 102); line-height: 18px; font-family:Optima;font-size:13px;"></span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Peace and joy. Certain young persons of Your Uncle Jerry’s acquaintance have alleged that a tone of gentle bitterness occasionally creeps into this blog. Bitter? Uncle Jerry? Nothing could be further from true. Your Uncle Jerry is not now, nor has he ever been, a lonely, rancid, and bitter, bitter old bachelor who wears the same longjohns all winter without changing. In fact, Uncle Jerry has </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">two </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">pair of longjohns, and changes them religiously just after Christmas.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Nor is Uncle Jerry an old man soured by a childhood of hardship and isolation. Not at all. Uncle Jerry’s childhood was a joyous one. Uncle Jerry’s foster family included him in all family activities, just as if he were one of the servants. Uncle Jerry is certainly not embittered by memories of the chores, the rags, the nights shivering in the barn, or the constant hazing by six older orphan boys.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">If there was one cruelty inflicted by Uncle Jerry’s foster family, it was that, one winter, they encouraged Uncle Jerry to write.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">After only two years of sixth grade, Uncle Jerry had begun to show some promise as a student. He was caught sometimes rhyming. On occasion he invented stories—stories of pirates or dragons or orphans who grew up to find themselves heirs to fortunes. This will never do, said Uncle Jerry’s foster family. Great believers in natural consequences, Uncle Jerry’s foster parents devised a scheme to teach him the danger of too much literacy. It was a scheme that Mark Twain himself would salute.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Each evening after chores, Bible study, and polishing the older boys’ shoes, Your Uncle Jerry was sent to sit alone at the hearth with charcoal and tablet. Write, said his parents. Write what you know. Write what happened today. Write your hopes and fears, your disappointments and your dreams. Fill the page, they said. Write. Only after you write, may you go to bed.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">A heartless and malignant punishment indeed. Every night, exhausted from the day's labor and the older boys' playful tortures, Uncle Jerry faced that tablet. Write a page, they said. The ghastly emptiness of that page lay like a white desert Uncle Jerry must cross to reach the land of sleep.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Soon the page began to rise up in his mind during the day, hauntingly, so that he could hardly enjoy his chores or the humiliations of school without imagining what he might write about before bed. Accidentally turning to a blank leaf in a schoolbook, Uncle Jerry would flinch and sweat, and compulsively begin to fill it with verse. Hospital walls, train cars, toilet paper---every blank surface cried out to be covered with words.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Alas, the white cow in the barn.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">But never mind about her. This cruel regimen, Camper, is the sole cause of what the nice doctor calls Uncle’s Jerry’s “difference.” So don't think it's bitterness, nor cynicism nor misanthropy (that means a hatred for ants, boy; look it up), nor any moral failing at all. What triggers Uncle Jerry’s unique twitches is actually quite simple.<o:p></o:p></span></p><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><i>Blancopapyriferaphobia:</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"> fear of the empty page.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';"><br /></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Joy and peace.</span></span></span></div></span><p></p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0)"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">In our story, however, you will find some bitter people. Bitter and conniving and highly amusing. </span><a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_13.htm"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">Chapter thirteen </span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'trebuchet ms';">is ready.</span></span></div></span></span></span></div><!--StartFragment-->Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-59437369874183434932011-03-06T13:47:00.010-07:002011-03-07T13:45:57.797-07:00Book Reviewing—A Thankless Job<!--StartFragment--> <div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><i>If you can’t say anything nice,<br />Say nothing at all.<br /><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> <!--StartFragment--><span style="'mso-bidi-;font-size:11.5pt;">—</span>lame old folk wisdom</span></i></span></div><hr /><p class="MsoNormal">Peace and joy. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">From time to time, Your Uncle Jerry will hear a young camper resolve never again to write a negative book review. This is a mistake. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">It’s a mistake, my friend, because a book review is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">supposed </i>to be negative. That’s why they call it a book review.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">A good, vicious, unfair, uninformed response from an ill-tempered reader is just what most books and most writers need. It’s like Uncle Jerry’s mom (Grandma Jerry) always used to say as she dragged him by the wrist to the woodshed: A proper thrashing actually makes a person stronger. Why? It stiffens the spine, thickens the skin. Even if you don’t deserve it? Listen, camper: you know you deserve it, if not for this time, then for times before when you didn’t get caught. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And, think about it: a bad review brings just as much attention to the writer as a good review. They’ll thank you later. Your Uncle Jerry always writes negative book reviews for just this reason. There are writers all over the country who are speechless with gratitude for Your Uncle Jerry. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Often, Uncle Jerry will review a book that he hasn’t even read. You may be surprised to hear it isn’t necessary to read a book in order to know what you think of it. That’s only because you don’t read <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">School Library Journal.</i> For a professional reviewer, knowing just the title or the author is usually enough. Take a glance at the cover online, if you need to feel all research-y. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And negative reviewing is good not only for the writer; it’s good for the reviewer, too. Sharpen the pencil, sharpen the mind. If you want to improve your own work, spend some time destroying the work of another.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">But remember, Camper, insulting someone in public is a thankless job. It takes practice, dedication. Fortunately, a book review is a perfect venue for practice, because your target cannot retaliate without being accused of sour grapes. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Now, some may call it chicken to trash another human being while hiding behind cheap cover like “it’s only my opinion.” But let’s face it, as a reviewer, you need any protection you can get. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_12.htm">Chapter Twelve</a> is ready for your review. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Joy and peace. <o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-20593915229846539622011-02-24T21:09:00.007-07:002011-03-06T14:07:47.138-07:00What People Want<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><i>This: Let me show you what people want from life.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><i>Not this: Let me show you what a cool writer I am.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><i>—My Pal Zan (aka, R.R. Knudson)</i></span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in"></p><hr /><o:p></o:p><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">Peace and Joy and welcome once again to Uncle Jerry’s Writer’s Corner. Open your notebook to a blank page, Camper, and take down what my pal Zan says at the top of this blog. My pal Zan was the crabbiest, funniest, most irritatingly candid writer Your Uncle Jerry has ever known. She’s deceased now, thank heavens. One can stand only so much good advice.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">Zan wrote more than 40 books of YA fiction and nonfiction. She studied constantly, wrote ferociously, and she spoke like she had no time to waste—certainly none to waste on you. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">“Okay, this rewrite isn’t terrible,” Zan once said to Uncle Jerry. “But boy does it have Second Book all over it.” She roughed up her own hair and shook her head. “I’ll be so glad when you’re done with it.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">It was actually Uncle Jerry’s fourth book—a fact that I almost wrote to her later, but the nice doctor that Uncle Jerry sees on alternate Thursdays thought it could be a mistake. Never mind about that. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">The problem with your writing, Camper, is that you don’t have enough Zan in it. Surely, you know this. Look at it. Why does it take forever to get where it’s going? Why does it lose focus? Most often, because it’s too busy showing off how clever you are. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">I know I know I know. That’s NOT what you’re doing. Those lines are not ornamental; they contribute something vital to characterization, plot, exposition. Whatever. Leave them, in that case.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">But here’s the deal. Every time you sit down to write, look again at what Zan says in your notebook. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">Now write what people want from life. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">In <a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_11.htm">chapter eleven</a>, Molly’s relatives are trying to figure this out, too—what they want from life. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">Joy and peace. <o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-26382772369610486562011-02-13T14:59:00.009-07:002011-03-06T14:07:47.139-07:00Such Stuff as Dreams<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;text-indent: 0in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><i>Take your passion, and make it happen!</i><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;text-indent: 0in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">—lame old pop song</span><o:p></o:p></p> <hr /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">Joy and peace. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">If there’s anything that grieves Your Uncle Jerry’s tender heart, it is the number of young persons who are led astray by believing in their dreams. Pay attention, Camper. Dreams are for bedtime. They are not roadmaps to happiness. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">When a pop song, a fortune cookie, a coach, or a movie star says “follow your dream,” the wise young person will do what Your Uncle Jerry does. Deep knee bends repeatedly until you pass out. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">Every young person should memorize the words of Fowler, wisest bird in the movie <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">Chicken Run:</i> “Madam, I am a chicken. The British Royal Air Force would never put a chicken behind the controls of an aeroplane!” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">See how he did that? Fowler agrees with Uncle Jerry. The only benefit of high-flying dreams is that, sooner or later, they will introduce you to the firm reality of earth. <o:p></o:p>Until you spread your wings, you'll never know how far you can walk.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in; "><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">Which is to say, my friend, you’re just not NBA material. You are not going to be on <i>American Idol</i>. And Hollywood, young person, is <i>not</i> going to give you a shot. Seriously, look at yourself.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">Oh, yes, Uncle Jerry knows. You’re awesome. Your friends are awesome. Everybody’s awesome. Now listen up, Camper, I shall say this only once: you are a chicken. You are fat, ignorant, and your wings have been clipped. (It’s a metaphor. Get over it.) A chicken may DREAM all day long, but if you toss one in the air, they will not so much fly as plummet.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">Does this mean you’re not awesome? Whatever. Awesomeness does not put a chicken behind the controls of a Learjet. You are probably an awesome chicken. Start there. Get passionate about your chickenhood. About how far you can walk. Later, let's talk about getting airborne. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">In <a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_10.htm">chapter ten, </a>Molly begins to show the meaning of clipped wings to her evil Aunt Sonia.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:0in">Peace and joy. <o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-71915500942143757292011-01-09T18:29:00.009-07:002011-03-06T14:07:47.140-07:00Mendacity<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); "><i>Mendacity--ain't that lies and lying? </i></span></div><!--StartFragment--><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); ">—</span>Tennessee Williams, </div><div style="text-align: right;">lame old playwright</div></span><br /><hr /><p class="MsoNormal">Peace and joy, Camper.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The world of arts and letters is full of lies and lying, backs stabbed, and hearts broken. Know why? (Arts and letters—that means books, kiddo; movies and books. Look it up.) Why? Because mendacity and other forms of trickery are some of the most fun you can have with your shoes on.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Surely you understand that tricks make the world go around. What if the serpent in the Garden of Eden hadn’t tricked Adam and Eve? Exactly: nothing would have happened! They would have stood around forever, naked and scratching. The world as you know it would not exist. You and I would not exist.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">How about Hansel and Gretel? If Gretel hadn’t pretended to be stupid (“But I don’t know HOW to light the oven, Ms. Witch.”), those kids would have been gone. Poof! Crispy critters. Witch dinner. Think about Br’er Rabbit, about Coyote, about Jack and the Beanstalk. About Annie and Johnson in that silly book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">Entrapment.</i> Without a trickster, the world doesn’t move, Camper. That’s what I’m talking about.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Think about writers. Stay with me now—you need to know this. A novelist is person who lies to tell a truth. It’s a riddle, isn’t it? A real mystery. Novels, of course, are totally made up. Your Uncle Jerry himself is a total fiction. But here I am writing to you. Still, doesn’t a novel sometimes lead you to think something new, something true? So there you go.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Point is, young person, the Good Lord loves a trickster. Those lousy friends of yours, that guy, that girl, who seemed absolutely fascinating—yes, they’re real stinkers. Oh, I hate them. But you and they make a perfect match. Without someone to BE tricked—that’s you, Camper—all tricking would stop, and the world would come to a screeching halt. You want that on your conscience? I don’t think so. So we need you to keep reading, to keep believing in books and friends and lovers and Your Uncle Jerry. At least, try . . . Come on, tricksters are cute; we like them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But don’t get me wrong. You’re completely right, too. Those friends of yours, they bear watching. Don’t ever take your eye off them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Your Uncle Jerry watches all his friends very very closely, the little weasels. The more they talk, the more Uncle Jerry just listens. The more they say yes, absolutely, they’ll do something, the more Uncle Jerry knows they absolutely won’t. The more they say “trust me . . .” well, you get the picture. The Good Lord loves a trickster—mostly because they teach us how to protect ourselves.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Because listen, Camper, the one thing tricksters and back-stabbers don’t ever expect is for you to be wise. They never see that coming. Once you start to EXPECT people to let you down, then you can just smile and nod, and make yourself a little backup plan. And when you do that . . . well, you’ve turned the tables, haven’t you? You’ve become the trickster. How cool is that.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">And one last thing. There comes a day when you have a friend (or okay, a parent, maybe a lover), and they say “I will never let you down; I got your back; I am true to you forever,” and hey: it turns out they ARE. That’s the best trick of all.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Molly's wondering if she can trust Rhinehart. <a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_09.htm">Chapter nine</a> is ready. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Joy and peace. <o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-39349881222060993412010-12-31T13:57:00.004-07:002011-03-06T14:07:47.140-07:00Building Character<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><i>Yep, Uncle Mike. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><i>He was a real character . . .<br /></i><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">—lame old line at any family reunion</span></div><p></p><hr /><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Peace and joy, Camper. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Sometimes older relatives are known as “characters.” These relatives carry a wealth of wisdom born of bitter bitter experience, and they often feel a grave responsibility to pass on their wisdom to the young. This is how young campers build their own store of bitter bitter experience. It’s a folkloric process. Left alone, we might listen only to our parents, and thereby miss many mistakes that these family “characters” have found so self-destructive in their own lives. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Your Uncle Jerry’s favorite relative, Great Uncle Jerry, modeled many cheerful bad ideas. It is through following his advice, in fact, that Uncle Jerry developed some of his most resilient “character” flaws. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“But your mom said not to <i>run around</i><span style="font-style:normal"> naked. She said nothing about riding your bike.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What do you mean you’ve never had rum in your milk?” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“I’ll tell you everything I know about women, boy: absolutely zilch.” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“That is no way to roll a joint. Did you learn nothing in eighth grade??” <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“If you major in humanities, you'll be fine.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Tell her it’s not her fault; it’s yours. Tell her you’re not good enough for her. Yeah, that one always works.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">What a character. It is thanks to him that Your Uncle Jerry hands out cigarettes at Halloween, knows how to make a quiche, and missed any chance at wealth and comfort in retirement. If Great Uncle Jerry were still alive today, Your Uncle Jerry would cheerfully kill him. But we digress. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">In <a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_08.htm">chapter eight</a> of our story, Molly begins to absorb some wisdom from the old character in her life. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Joy and peace. <o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-58285868554520213252010-12-25T14:56:00.008-07:002011-03-06T14:07:47.141-07:00Inheritance<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><i>Bank error in your favor: </i></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;"><i>Collect $200. </i></span><br /><br />—"C<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); ">hance card" in </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 102); "><i>Monopoly,</i></span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">lame old board game</span></div><p></p><hr /><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Joy and peace, Camper. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Your Uncle Jerry was an adopted child. His birth parents were wealthy, globe-trotting industrialists, who made their primary home in St. Cloud, Minnesota. They were an admirable and glamorous couple, if somewhat distracted. When his parents flew to Paris or Nairobi or Cuenca, as they often did for weeks at a time, they left Uncle Jerry in the care of an elderly matron. A dear old thing, she had the unlikely name of Nurse Jane Fuzzy Wuzzy—though everyone called her Buttercup. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Buttercup also tended children for poor families. It was an act of charity on her part, for she surely didn’t need the money, living as she did at the mansion of Uncle Jerry’s parents. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">You must be wondering what this has to do with banking, chance cards, and Molly’s inheritance. All in good time, my friend. Your Uncle Jerry is a master storyteller; every detail and hint that he offers is crucial. It’s well-considered and unforgettable. Where were we? </p> <p class="MsoNormal">If Buttercup, this saintly woman, had a single flaw, it would be . . . yes, forgetfulness. However could she do it? She mixed up the infant Uncle Jerry with a child belonging to another family—a family, through no fault of their own, substantially below Uncle Jerry’s tax bracket. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">The other child was a four-year-old Ojibwe with earrings, a hook, and a Spiderman tattoo. She was a lovely child, bless her heart, and a Spanish speaker.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">You exclaim: Spanish-speaking?? Surely Uncle Jerry’s parents should have noticed that right away! So true, and this is a point that Uncle Jerry makes often in his talks with the nice doctor. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">In the board game of life, sadly, sometimes you are handed a card from the deck of chance. How rueful was the day, recently, when Uncle Jerry noticed in the news that his real parents had sold yet another patent to Apple. Somewhere, a very wealthy child is sipping a tropical fruit drink with one hand. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Like Your Uncle Jerry, our heroine Molly finds herself unprepared for her inheritance. What's in Grandma Claire’s will is a big surprise to everyone. Here is <a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_07.htm">chapter seven</a>. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Peace and joy. </p> <!--EndFragment-->Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-86115007569217165712010-12-19T13:05:00.011-07:002011-03-06T14:07:47.142-07:00Giving Season<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Ego sum pauper.<br />Nihil habeo.<br />Cor meum dabo.</span></i></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">--Lame old Latin canon</span><br /><br /></p><hr /><p class="MsoNormal">Peace and joy, Camper, but beware the <i>SEASON </i><span style="font-style:normal">of peace and joy. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The season of giving is the season of anxiety, and it is not to be taken lightly. When the three wise men stumbled into town bearing gifts, they started a tradition that has become a 2000-year burden to campers all over the world. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">First of all, when you make it a “season,” you make it an obligation. Did anyone ask you, young person, or did anyone ask Your Uncle Jerry, if we <i>WANTED</i><span style="font-style:normal"> to have a gift-giving season? I don’t think so. It was simply declared a season by bleeding-heart do-gooders. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style:normal">“Look,” they said, “Look how the wise men and the shepherds bring gifts. Let us, like them, open the cigar box under the bed where we’ve been keeping our secret stash, and let us squander its contents on the hope that making someone else happy will also make us a better person.” I ask you. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So now we’re<span style="font-style:normal"> obligated to spend a month’s allowance on gifts for relatives and loved ones with no guarantee that we’ll ever see any payback. And that’s not the worst of it. How do we know what to get them? What if they don’t like what we bring? What if they get </span><span><i>us</i></span><span style="font-style:normal"> something we hate? Uncle Jerry is not comfortable when he can’t control things. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal">One season, when Uncle Jerry was a just a young whippersnapper like yourself, he bought his mother, Grandma Jerry, a jolly good-looking two-dollar ankle bracelet. It had a “silver” chain and three little stars (one for each wise man, Uncle Jerry thought), which were made of a sturdy plastic substance and only slightly broken. (This breakage might have occurred during the three days it spent in Uncle Jerry’s pocket.) </p><p class="MsoNormal">“Oh,” said Grandma Jerry, smiling as she picked off the pocket fuzz, “you shouldn’t have.” </p><p class="MsoNormal">Uncle Jerry wasn’t quite sure what she meant, until he found the chain and stars in the trash. In the trash—not even the recycling! This later became the subject of one of Uncle Jerry’s talks with the nice doctor. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Never mind about that. Here’s the point: Even the wise men made mistakes with their gifts. I mean: gold, frankincense and myrrh? Not even a dradle? </p><p class="MsoNormal">The gold was okay—always appropriate. But myrrh is about as proper a choice for a child’s present as a can of refried beans, and I don’t mean the lard-free kind. Frankincense? Were they trying to cure bladder cancer? Did they think the holy child had asthma? Had they consulted any gift adviser, these not-so-wise men would have traded in the frankincense and myrrh for at least an iPod, if not a Wii with a light saber app. I mean, come on. It’s Christmas!<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So it’s complicated. Your Uncle Jerry, after years of therapy, has learned that the best approach in gift-giving, no matter the occasion, is to go for quantity, preferably in small gifts, and never to store them in your pocket. This brings us inevitably to . . .<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Your Uncle Jerry’s Gift-Giving Guidelines<o:p></o:p> </p><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in"><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span>Do your homework, for once. Listen for hints, and write them down—you know you won’t remember. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in"><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span>Don’t let it go till the day before, like you did last year; that was a disaster. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in"><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span>Don’t worry about blowing people away with a huge gift—that’s a strategy that only dads can pull off, and even they mostly get it wrong. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in"><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span>Important: Give lots of little stuff. This will almost always mean you manage at least one thing right, like the wise men did with the gold. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in"><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span>One gift that's a little bit funny, every time. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in"><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span>Something edible, for sure. Cigars count here. Or, for your dad, one of those 24 ounce cans of Australian beer in a festive cozy. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in"><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span>Never socks. Puleeze. I shouldn’t have to tell you this. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in"><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span>Yes to a classic toy, like a kaleidoscope, a top, a Jew’s harp or kazoo. (Look it up, boy; look it up.)<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in"><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span>Music <i>only</i> if you have better taste than the recipient, which, from the looks of you, I’m guessing you don’t. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in"><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span><i>Never</i> make the gift yourself, unless you have a college degree in it. Just trust me on this, and don't argue. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in"><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span>Most of all, <i>cor tuum das.</i> Give your heart. A gift without feeling is a kiss without a mustache. (And vice versa, of course.)<o:p></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">None of which has anything to do with chapter six of <a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_06.htm">Molly and Rhinehart.</a> Your Uncle Jerry can't force a connection every time. Gimme a break. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Joy and peace. </p>Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-61423439021760631892010-12-10T06:06:00.007-07:002011-03-06T14:07:47.142-07:00Leakage<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: right;">[Government outrage at] a massive document dump</div><div style="text-align: right;">which WikiLeaks gave to news organizations.</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;">—CNet News</div><div style="text-align: right;">lame old news organization</div><p></p><hr /><p class="MsoNormal">Joy and peace, Camper. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Your Uncle Jerry noticed recently that some young persons are being pursued by The Authorities for having leaked certain documents to the public. The documents were actually rather embarrassing to The Authorities, so naturally they wanted to keep those documents secret. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">At his age, Uncle Jerry is opposed to leakage of any kind. If these documents had dribbled out over a long period of time, they might have gone undetected—at least in crowded places. But, in fact, the leak in this case was more like a gush, so naturally it got noticed right away. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Worse, the name of the crew that had the accident is “Wikileaks.” How silly is that? Why not wear a tee-shirt that says “Oops: My Bad.” Much better to have a name that conceals your problem. One suggestion: “Information Plumbing Solutions.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Think about it, Camper. Let’s say your posse has an hysterical fear of gay campers, or of campers who don’t believe in the Second Coming. Don’t leak this embarrassing fact by naming your group “American Red Necks” or “Sarah’s Hate Mongers for Jesus.” That’s just asking to be discovered. Instead, think of a friendly, inviting, festive name; call yourselves “The Tea Party,” or maybe “Fair and Balanced.” This way, you can leak when you need to, and maybe no one will notice.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Because Authorities don’t have a sense of humor about leakage—their own or anyone else’s. That’s why they’re called Authorities. If you need to leak, a smart camper will do it discreetly. Which brings us to:</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Your Uncle Jerry’s Rules of Leakage: </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in">1.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span>If an old person has been using your laptop, always check the settings. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in">2.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span>Cross your knees before blogging or sneezing.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in">3.<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span>Sit next to someone you can blame.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Here’s what happens to Molly in <a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_05.htm">chapter five.</a> She knows how to hold out. </p> <!--EndFragment-->Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-82237371313934698032010-12-02T20:22:00.010-07:002011-03-06T14:07:47.143-07:00The Question of Orphanhood<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">If pity you can feel,</span></div><!--StartFragment--><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">forgo your cruel employ.</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Have pity on my lonely state:</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">I am an orphan boy!</span></div><p></p><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">—W.S. Gilbert</span></div><div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">lame old pirate operetta</span></div><br /><hr /><p class="MsoNormal">Peace and joy, Camper. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Young persons have wonderful questions; don’t listen to your parents on this. What do they know? Parents are impressed with you only when you’re a baby. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Oh, would you listen at that? She just said ‘euphemism!’ Harold, come here! Tasha just said ‘euphemism!’ Harold! Get your mother on the phone.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When you’re older and have something serious to discuss, parents are just not that good. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Why does America have a bicameral legislature??? Now you listen here, young man. America may not be perfect, but you’d best be grateful to live here at all, instead of some place like . . . like France, where they don’t even have a legislature!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">But since they’re confused by everything you say, the best question to ask your mother or father is some version of the classic trio:</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in"><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span>who were my real parents?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in"><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span>why does that woman keep calling for Dad?</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:.8in;text-indent:-.25in;mso-list:l0 level1 lfo1;tab-stops:list .8in"><span style="font-family:Symbol;">·<span style="font:7.0pt "Times New Roman""> </span></span>nothing bad happens when you put water in the gas tank, does it?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Your Uncle Jerry was an adopted child; that's why he has what the nice doctor calls “abandonment issues.” </p><p class="MsoNormal">Abandonment can excuse a multitude of issues—such as that prison-style tattoo you got in eighth grade and still haven’t showed your mom. When she confronts you at the swimming pool, you just say, “I needed to find out if you really love me—and you've answered my question.”</p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_04.htm"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#000066;">Chapter Four</span></a></p>Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-61354936325454199472010-11-25T15:37:00.006-07:002011-03-06T14:07:47.143-07:00Dark and Wintry Thoughts<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">Darkness and snow descend.<br />The clock on the mantelpiece has nothing to recommend.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">--W.H. Auden<br />lame old defender of high culture.</p><br /><hr /><p class="MsoNormal">Joy and Peace.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">In winter, like many campers, Your Uncle Jerry finds himself a little blue. The snow. The darkness. The neighbors pass by on the street, judging decorations and straining to be cheerful. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">There are so many things about winter that care nothing about you. Cold weather’s only purpose is to snuff out your life. The sun has turned away. You hate your boots, and there’s a hole in your glove. At night, the ice weasels sniff at the gaps around the door.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The holidays are all about family, but we both know that relatives are a mixed bag. When you’re a young person, especially, it’s amazing to discover that aunts and uncles can be so completely wrong about who you are. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Here you go, Buddy. You love the white meat. And LOTS of gravy.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“No, he hates white meat—don’t you, Buddy. Have some green-bean casserole.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“What you wanna be when you grow up, kiddo? Stock broker, like me?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Buddy likes music. He wants to be a singer.” </p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Give him some of my cranberry relish; he’ll eat that.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“He’ll eat what he’s told to eat!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Oh, like you should talk.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“Can’t make any money singing, you know. Terrible waste of time.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“When I was coming up, the kids ate in the kitchen, and they were quiet . . .”</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Uncle Jerry understands. It’s the crowd, my friend. The crowd itself makes you lonesome, and this is what your English teacher would call a paradox. (Crowd = Loneliness. Get it? You need to brush up, Camper; school starts again soon.) </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Not that long ago, there was one person in your family who really understood. Maybe she was your grandmother, or an older cousin, or maybe that unmarried friend of the family who everybody winked about behind the hand. Unfortunately for you, it’s winter, and that person has died.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly_Chapter_03.htm">Here’s chapter three.</a><a></a></p><a> <!--EndFragment--> </a>Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-8838445893923168122010-11-21T14:15:00.008-07:002011-03-06T14:07:47.144-07:00Sneak Preview<!--StartFragment--> <hr /> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This is a hell of a good book. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">—lame blurb about someone else’s book<br />(Sara Zarr’s book, if you must know.<br />It’s okay; go ahead and read it. Whatever.)</span></span></p><hr /> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Peace and joy, campers. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Some young persons have made the occasional sarcastic remark about the pace at which Your Uncle Jerry adds a post to the blogosphere: not often, that is. A fair comment (although not the sort that most effectively motivates a person). In fact, Your Uncle Jerry </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">has</span></span></i><span style="font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> been busy writing, and he’s happy to share.</span></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">What’s he been writing? Not blogs, clearly. Not status updates on Facebook. Not even 140-character classics for the tweetscape. Uncle Jerry has gone old school: he’s written a novel. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Cool, you say, but is he going to post that novel here on the Uncle Jerry Blog? Yes, camper; yes, he is. Uncle Jerry’s Novel has twenty-five cheerful chapters, and he’s going to post one chapter per week just for readers of this space here. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">If you’re looking for stalkers, vampires, and sublimated teen sex, you won’t find them here. Sorry, camper. This is nobody’s girl-fantasy about true love that overcomes a vexing difference in age, money, or species. No boy-myths here about righteous bolts of raw energy and a grim lust for revenge. If your taste is so last-semester, go to the mall.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:justify"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Uncle Jerry writes only the truth. And, as you know if you’ve been listening, the truth . . . is hilarious. Uncle Jerry’s Novel—which, out of modesty, he’s calling </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Molly and the Geezer and the Death of Grandma Claire—</span></span></i><span style="font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">is a joyful look at the highest of human values: greed, double-crossing, poor parenting, love, spite, and come-uppance. And a bit with a dog.<br /></span></span></span></p><p><a href="http://www.michaelspooner.net/Molly/Molly%20Chapter%201.htm"><i>Chapters One and Two begin here.</i></a></p>Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-91751010840196765172009-07-03T09:14:00.003-06:002011-03-06T14:07:47.145-07:00Romeo, Juliet, and Google Talk<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Lucida Grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span></p><blockquote><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Lucida Grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Romeo, Romeo . . . Wherefore art thou Romeo? </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; font-family:'Lucida Grande';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">--Juliet, lame old love scene</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p></blockquote><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Joy and peace. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In the famous play, Juliet asks, “Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou always online and never in mine arms?” Which is to say, “Dude, turn off the laptop and climb my freakin balcony.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This may have been a sensible comment for Juliet, but for those of us without a balcony, things aren’t that simple. There are times when we only have online. For the modern Romeo and Juliet, sometimes, whole romances may begin and end online. Promises are made, hearts pledged, hopes dashed, doors slammed. Okay, once in awhile it can work . . . but not for you. (Just kiddin. Don’t be so serious.) </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But think about it. How real is life online? There’s a fundamental falseness in a scene where you can adopt a name that isn’t yours and put up an image that isn’t what you look like. Doesn’t this whole deal make us all fakers? Yes. And that’s probably the coolest thing about it. You can be who you want to be. You can change. You can transform. You can experiment. You can fake it. </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Now, hang on, mom and dad. Hold up there, Bishop. This is a totally different issue from whether you’re being authentic, truthful, or trustworthy. You already know that writing fiction is a way of lying to tell a truth. Online, we’re all fiction writers. Which brings us neatly to what our friends learn in the book </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Entr@pment</span></i><span style="font-style:normal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">: </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">All You Need to Know about Life Online<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"></p><ol><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">life online is as real as you are</span><br /></li><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">so is life offline</span><br /></li></ol>Peace and joy.<br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'Times New Roman';"><br /></span></p><!--EndFragment-->Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-4301103526597681422008-11-29T14:45:00.005-07:002011-03-06T14:07:47.145-07:00In the Cards<div style="text-align: right; "></div><blockquote><div style="text-align: right; ">The cards, they do not lie, my friend</div><div style="text-align: right; ">--Ulrica, in <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; ">Ballo in Maschera</span></div><div style="text-align: right; ">lame old gypsy saying</div><div style="text-align: right; "></div></blockquote><div style="text-align: right; "><br /></div>Joy and peace, Camper. Today, back by popular demand: Uncle Jerry's Tarot Tent. <div><br /></div><div>Gloomy in here? Never you mind. Psychic truth is often found in shadows. The cards do not lie, young camper, and why not? Because they do not care. How cold, you say, how dark. No no no. Think. Think how cold and dark your little world would be if the cards did care. Suppose they were to sugar-coat. Suppose they saw some lurking danger in your future, and said nothing—just to spare your feelings. What a disaster. No no, destiny must be faced with open eyes. If the cards cared, you could not trust them. And without trust, well, where would any of us be?<br /><br />A quick three cards, my friend. The first . . . aww . . . two of cups. How dove-lovely. Two cups raised to lovers’ lips. Two pair of bright eyes meet . . . But wait, this is in the past. Tsk tsk. Oh please, don’t weep, young camper. Lovers’ lips may lie, but the cards do not.<br /><br />Second card: eight of cups. Many things offer shiny promise, but today you find them cheap<br />and empty. (We might say your cup runneth NOT over, heh heh heh. That’s a joke, son. Psalm 23. Look it up; it’ll do you good.) But how right you are. The world is full of false promise, and by the way this is the subject of Uncle Jerry’s latest online Sunday sermon, available now at a website near you. (You look like you could use a sermon, son, if I may say so.)<br /><br />So, young camper, love is in the past, and the present does not satisfy. Ah me. Ah life. Let’s move on.<br /><br />Card three: Yes . . . the eight of wands. News approaching, the future unfolding. Tumult and shouting. But oh, how like the cards: the eight does not say WHAT you will learn, my friend. It says only that knowledge will come, and soon.<br /><br />So there it is. Destiny. For good or ill, it comes. Be brave. Beware. For as you know, the cards do not lie.<br /><br />And neither does your Uncle Jerry.<br /><br />Joy and peace.</div>Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-66683477917328787712008-11-01T12:38:00.000-06:002011-03-06T14:07:47.146-07:00Masks and Maskosity<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">The mask <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> the face.<br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">--Susan Sontag (lame old philosopher chick)<br /><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWGnCc7kyzyMq7C3pK8HdaUrvvfiI7xIZce5qtBVdckf94rA2jtdB4MLDErNULFHy6gchlxvv1Yew7nBnT87OWqgUYylLdteuI_ClH1-OiffoEnRXwHXtsixP-qp_krGAH67dCNwKDeQUp/s1600-h/MS+Cartoon.jpg" style="text-decoration: none;"></a><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51);font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:13;"><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Joy and peace. Lately, some campers have written Your Uncle Jerry to ask about avatars. Avatars. Are they more than pictures? When should you change them? Do they cause a twitch or rash? May you have more than one? Should you talk with your parents about them? So many questions.</span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">In Your Uncle Jerry’s Dictionary, young camper, “avatar” comes right after “mask,” which comes right after “face.” Now, a mask is something You put on, to put on a new You. But a mask is not JUST for Halloween.Think of how many masks you wear in RL. You have a mask for home, a mask for school, a face you wear to Grandma’s house, a face for that party at your friend’s house. Those are avatars of you, dontcha see. Different incarnations, different sides of you. And sometimes you make one up online so you can be someone totally new.</span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">On social sites such as the wasteland known as MySpace, camper girls and boys should </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">never </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">show their home faces; they should </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">always </span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">don a different mask. “Yes, my parents work at the embassy. I spend most of my time in Paris.”</span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">But then the question is, who am I when I wear a mask? Am I still myself, or am I a new identity? Is a mask dishonest? This brings us to ----></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Your Uncle Jerry’s Rules of Mask-osity.</span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Rule 1. Your face is a mask.</span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Rule 2. A mask is your face.</span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Rule 3. There is no rule 3.</span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Rule 4. There is no point in trying to figure this out.</span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Can you wrap your head around this, Camper? </span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">If you ever allowed the Real You to appear, we both know how that would look: a huge blob in a diaper, flopped in front of the tube, pounding gummy bears and pizza with four hands. In short, you’d be your little brother. To cover their shame at creating such a monster, your parents make you adopt an avatar called Good Manners. Are good manners dishonest? Yes, but won’t you be glad when your brother learns them?</span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></span></span></span></span></p><p style="margin: 0px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal;font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(52, 34, 12);"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Peace and joy.</span></span></span></span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:Helvetica;font-size:12;"><br /></span></div></span><p></p></div></div>Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4721741318236701646.post-67215161712153070152008-10-02T08:57:00.000-06:002011-03-06T14:07:47.146-07:00Young Love<div style="text-align: right;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">We will vow to one another</span></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">There will never be another.</span></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Cartey and Joyner (lame old love songsters)</span></span></span><br /></div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br />Peace and joy, Camper. Spring is long past but still young hearts have turned to thoughts of LUV. Young love--it's what the kids can't get enough of. </span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">It seems ever new, but trust me, Camper, it's only more of the same. Call it what you will, as long as it rhymes with lame.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Now don't jump to your keyboard; don't flame your Uncle Jerry. Hear me out. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Because I am just as fond of love's longing gaze and worn-out phrase as anyone. Uncle Jerry absolutely delights in mouth-breathing and half-wit conversation. I </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">live </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">to hear young campers pour out the passion from their shallow shallow souls.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Why? Because Uncle Jerry knows what follows. And there is nothing--</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">nothing</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">--more entertaining than the flash of fury in a young girl's eye when she finds her boy in the arms of her own best friend.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Cruel, you say? Heartless? Not at all. I enjoy this only because I know it is the prelude to wisdom. Ah yes, young lovers. I've had a love of my own: worst eight hours of my life. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Pay attention, that's a joke. I say, that's a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">joke, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">son.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Sorry, Camper Girl. Did you really think he could be true? Sorry, Camper Guy, did she say she'd save herself for you? Care to gamble on it? Turn your back and trust her if you dare. That's the only way to know.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Here's Your Uncle Jerry's wager. I bet your lover will not love you still, young miss; your sweetheart will not sigh for you, young sir.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Young love will find another love next year.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;">Peace and joy.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=";font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:14;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'lucida grande';"><br /></span></div>Uncle Jerryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16349869719436487886noreply@blogger.com0