So here it is, my 99th post.
It has nothing to do with Manny Ramirez, but I miss the guy and still appreciate everything he did for my Boston Red Sox.
Hell, I even loved him when he was playing for the Dodgers… and I’m also a proud San Francisco Giants fan.
No matter what, he made the game fun.
“Manny being Manny”…
which was kind of the way people viewed me down at Child Support Services for fifteen years.
There were times they just kind of figured I was being “Harris being Harris”.
The most widely and reverently repeated phrase I heard in all my years down there was …
“Damn smart-ass hippie. You know the way he is.”
So maybe it was sort of about Manny, but not really.
I have something planned for Number 100, but I also figured I wanted to do something a little special for Number 99 just on general principals.
Had one all worked out for this past Friday, and while I will stand behind the statements I made in it when I do share it, I just thought it would be a little bit disrespectful to start off a Fourth of July post with
Happy Birthday, Sammy,
you senile ol’ fuck.
Think you could try keeping your kids in line?
There are certain lines I just won’t cross.
Don’t want to offend too many people.
I started re-reading some of my old posts and came across some I really liked, some I didn’t. Some that sounded just the way they did when I thought them out to begin with, some that didn’t sound at all like they were supposed to.
I noticed something I was doing that I have noticed others do on occasion, and when it’s not done gracefully, it’s very noticeable:
I tried too hard.
I was looking for the words instead of letting them find me.
And those posts just sounded too forced.
I gotta start working on that. I’ve always found that I like what I write better, I am more satisfied with it, I feel like I’ve accomplished my goal better when I just let ‘er rip.
I will go back and fine tune or touch up or re-write a bit for the sake of clarity, or maybe just to emancipate a phrase or five I was keeping prisoner when it had no business being there to begin with.
That might be one of the reasons I have twenty-six drafts sitting around in here somewhere, waiting to see the light of day.
They had gotten to the point of being more procedure than passion, more style than substance.
More than enough steak, not enough sizzle.
Have to work on finishing them up.
Number 100 is inching its way towards ten thousand words.
“Long form” around these parts is considered anything over one thousand, from what I can gather, and that wouldn’t have been nearly enough, especially in light of the fact that the piece is more personal and painful than anything else I have shared here or elsewhere…
… and there’s an agent I have spoken with a number of times, who’s read a bunch of my other things, who would really like to see it. Just out of curiosity.
Most of what he has seen is related to Child Support.
More marketable than another aging flower child talking about the good ol’ days.
And he really likes the conversational tone and irreverence.
Number 100’s pretty much one of the centerpieces of “The Admissions” page on this blog, and that page was always meant to be the heart of the blog.
Not quite as marketable, but more therapeutic.
Got sidetracked on a number of the other variety of entries, sometimes trying to slide one in for profundity’s sake alone, paying less attention to how it sounded rolling off the tongue. Or brain, as it were.
So… twenty-six drafts.
Give you ample warning, but here’s what some of them will involve:
Yes… THAT Philbin
My first ever Cub Scout knife and the Conviction of Scott Peterson
Entitlements of the Rich and Famous
Five Seconds that turned into a Lifetime
Grubsteak and The Hippie’s Black Pepper Theorem
Telling a Mom everything I didn’t know
Baby Mamas: “… and you’re PROUD of that?”
A Pre-requisite for Outrage over the Casey Anthony Acquittal
Rape Survivors as innocent (if not quite unknowing) accomplices
(start lining up for that one, ladies)
Ultimate Reality TV: “The Bachelorette” Premium Cable Edition
I lost my family the easy way: they all died
and more stuff on Child Support, on what I make of relationships,
what I think of some political issues, Alex Rodriguez …
a Shakespearian love sonnet to Diane Keaton, if I can ever
get my iambic odometer to go past 3
And, just for old time’s sake, some routinely lame shit
that I just get obsessed with late at night.
The only promise I can make is that I seem to get a bit better at this the more I read what you guys have to say and how well you go about saying it.