"The Only Thing We Have to Fear is Fear Itself"

Photo from Z News, India

These words spoken by Nicole Kidman about how she approaches life and her film roles can apply to everything we strive to achieve in life. Let's also pray that our country is ruled by common sense and not by fear. Fear is a normal and temporary human response to events, real or imagined, that threaten our lives, our well being, or our self confidence. Fear of failure can stop us from even trying. Fear of events people don't understand led people to the Salem witch trials, to the incarceration of Japanese Americans during World War II, to the Red scare with its McCarthy hearings and ruination of innocent lives, into the war in Iraq looking for weapons of mass destruction, and, ultimately, to the sacrifice of liberty in the name of security. When fear is justified, the right response is not reaction out of fear or politics, but with common sense and the right measure of humanity to those who are suffering, even as we direct our courage, defiance, and justice at those filled with evil.

For an Annoying DVR Problem, I Have an Idea

I have a suggestion for the manufacturers of digital video recorders (DVR) that might clear up a very annoying problem. The solution would not require any effort by the cable and satellite companies or TV stations unless they want to benefit from the technology. My wife Carol and I rely on our DVR to record almost everything we watch on TV. We plan our viewing around our activities and schedule. Before DVRs and VCRs, you had to drop everything if you felt compelled to catch your favorite shows. We can binge watch if we wish, but more than that, we can shorten the time it takes to watch a show by skipping commercials. Advertisers don't like it, but Carl Sagan predicted its inevitability in his book, Contact. Some shows have up to 18 minutes or more of ads and announcements in an hour. Currently, I record and watch Penn State football and other sporting events on DVR. I can eliminate commercials, time outs and half times. That's a lot of time gained that you can devote to other tasks, such as writing, playing with your kids or grandkids, or playing Candy Crush (I don't). That's a bane to advertisers, but the horse is already out of the barn.

Here is the annoying part and those who record their programs on their DVRs can tell me if this affects them. The problem is, DVRs rely on a time schedule. That's fine if all programs stick to the schedule. Many times they don't. This is especially true if your program follows a live sporting event, awards show, or breaking news. If there is a tie at the end of late Sunday afternoon, NFL regulation play, you can be sure the evening's prime time shows will begin much later than scheduled. Additionally, independent channels are notorious for not starting on the dot. Your recording of your favorite program might get cut off at the end of an hour and you miss how it ends. Arrrgggh! That's aggravating, right?

So what can be done? It would be easy. Just as most of the millions of products we buy at stores all have a barcode unique to that product, programming and movies could each be given a unique digital barcode of sorts. If you want to record a show, you could still rely on the schedule and use a time related setting the same as before, but additionally, you could select a program code option and the DVR would identify the code and record only that show from beginning to end in its entirety and make auto adjustments when the schedule gets screwed up, no matter when it actually shows. If ESPN decides at the last minute to switch a football game to ABC, the DVR would make the adjustment. ABC owns ESPN which affected a Penn State game recently. The PSU-Indiana game was shown in the advance schedule on Verizon FIOS to be broadcast on ESPN, so I set the DVR accordingly. When I came home, sat down to enjoy the game, I discovered they had moved it to ABC. Instead the DVR recorded the game for I-Don't-Care University.

Who would put the codes into the programming? The producers and owners of the programs could, for example. It shouldn't be that hard to do. There are far fewer programs than there are millions of consumer products that all manage to carry a barcode. They already put lots of data into their digital tracks relevant for technicians and advertisers.  Adding a code should take little effort. There is also an opportunity, should programmers decline coding, where the cable/satellite company could add a code to every program that gets logged in. This could be an add on benefit to market their services. 

Yes, there are a growing number of options for watching programming--that is if you want to pay extra for the access. Perhaps if TV goes full Internet for all programming, this might resolve itself. But I'm sure cable and satellite still have years left to continue providing TV shows to millions of viewers. Now if you happen to be someone or a company who has the time, money, and patents to invest in creating a digital code, do the right thing and send me a check after you've  made a few million dollars off my idea.

Don't Worry About the Word Police. Just be Consistent in Your Writing

When faced with grammatical usage that seems arbitrary or acceptable to use either word, style, or form, the key then is to be consistent throughout a paragraph, manuscript, or book. You may rely on a specific style book that dictates a specific word or grammatical usage. Even among style books there is not always agreement. For example, the AP (Associated Press) developed a stylebook that often uses an efficiency of words or punctuation that results in using less space in newspaper columns. Some rules may be treated differently, for example, in the Chicago Manual or in college style manuals. Government agencies add their own style manuals of gobbledygook and bureaucratese. For example, one manual tells you to always use commas in a series of words or phrases. Other manuals say it's okay not to use a comma before such words as "and" or "or." Another example is confusion between the words "that" and "which" has troubled writers for centuries. The English language is littered with contradictions and exceptions that can drive writers and editors crazy.

So before you worry about being cited by the word police, ask yourself if your work is consistent. Is the writer whose work you're reading consistent? Those who are are usually judged to be good writers, even if they do violate the Chicago Manual, are those who made conscious decisions on word usage . Pick the style that subjectively seems correct and stick to it throughout your text or manuscript.

And here's a side tip for good storytelling. While the narrative of the story needs to be consistent, it's okay in dialogue for characters to use bad grammar. In fact, it makes them seem more human and realistic because most all of us use oral language that violates every grammar rule ever written. But, be careful. Again, be consistent. If your character speaks in a dialect and uses slang, that too needs to be consistent, unless there a change in that character justifies a change in dialogue. For example, we would likely see a change in a teenager that is educated and becomes an adult. So unless your character is an English professor or a British actor, let them speak real world.

A private note to Mark Zuckerberg, would you please publish a style book for Facebook posts?

Happy Birthday, Maureen. I told you so!

     A Happy Birthday shout out to a friend who doesn't spend much time on social media, but it's understandable with her busy career. I met Maureen McGovern in the mid 1970s soon after she was suddenly vaulted from coffee house singer to becoming a mega star in music with her hit "The Morning After" and followup, "Nice To Be Around." Thanks to then night club director, Don Frantz (now a Broadway producer), Maureen initially spent a week filling the bill and the house at the classy night club in the Hershey Motor Lodge.

As an entertainment columnist, I was captivated by her incredible vocals and repertoire of sophisticated standards and jazz classics, some of her own composition. She was far from a diva personality as she was personable, soft spoken, had a fun side, but focused with admirable dedication to music. Don and I had fun helping her plot "revenge" on a band member (pie in the face after she had sat on one at a previous gig). She also introduced me to Orange Julius and, in the days before the Internet, we drove around to various local media to promote her music. It was a time when she was in battles with her record company and talent management who were mishandling her career and leaving her nearly broke. She feared for her career, but with that voice, I was convinced that she would be around a very long time. I've found that few things in show biz are more satisfying than seeing a friend achieve greater heights, even when the odds seem overwhelming. I still cherish my copy of her vinyl album cover on which she wrote, "You'll get the world to listen yet!" Soon after I went to Chautauqua's arts festival where Maureen was the artist of choice after Anne Murray cancelled. She worked very hard to succeed. The rest is history.

Maureen didn't need me to get the world to listen. Her "Stradivarius Voice" led to recording various movie themes, a dozen albums, a starring role on Broadway, being a concert headliner around the world, and using her celeb status to benefit the Muscular Dystrophy Association. You may remember her days as a blonde, but I really like her with red hair (Irish "roots" and all), don't you?

Maureen, I told you so!

Visit Maureen's Web site at: http://www.maureenmcgovern.com/

An excerpt from HEART IN THE JUNGLE: THE BEGINNING

From Heart in the Jungle: The Beginning a novel by Fred J. Lauver

Inquiries: info@lauvermanagement.net

Frank wrapped the fingers of his left hand around the neck of his white guitar. A few months earlier, the band had played a small club in South Philadelphia. During the afternoon sandwiched in between two nights Frank was there, he was exploring the holy land of music on Market Street where hundreds of teens had once stood in line at the old TV station waiting to worship the latest pop stars. Frank fantasized that Dick Clark would come out the side doors and invite The Rockets to be the next big thing on American Bandstand. Of course, by then, that would never happen. Hands in pocket, Frank walked past a pawn shop and stopped to admire a sleek, white electric guitar displayed in the shop window. Frank stepped into the store to get a closer look.

“There’s magic in that guitar,” the owner of the South Philadelphia pawnshop said after Frank picked up the instrument and played a few runs. The ease at which his fingers landed on the frets and produced a clean string vibration impressed Frank.

An African American man stood behind the teenager admiring the sleek Gibson Guitar. He was thin, about two inches shorter than Frank, and the graying fringes on his short cropped hair revealed his age to be in his fifties or sixties. 

“Oh? Magic, huh? Frank replied.

“Oh yeah, man,” the man said. “It was owned by a real badass cat. He was meaner on that guitar than B.B. King…best damned player I ever heard.”

“If he was that good, why would he pawn his guitar?” Frank furrowed his brow skeptically.

“This cat, he done be a broken man. He needed the cash, man. He got the devil in his veins…you know that dust in his nose, heroin in his blood. He was doing real good for a while, He made a record and he was gonna go see Dick Clark. Maybe gets himself on Bandstand. Then he be cool, but then Bandstand, Dick Clark, and everybody up and move to Los Angeles. Four years ago he sees Bandstand show on TV in L.A. Very next  day, them Beatles be on Ed Sullivan in New York. Soul music die in Philadelphia, maybe dead everywhere. Next week, Johnny come in here and pawns this fine Gibson”

“Soul music will never die,” Frank said with conviction. “The Beatles music has a lot of soul in it because they listened to music from Detroit and from Philadelphia.”

 “Oh, I can see you know your music. Philly was good to musicians—especially black soul musicians –until the music died here. Are you a musician?”

“I am,” Frank brightened. “I have a rock band. We’re here for a couple of days.”

Well, too bad you can’t go on Dick Clark’s show no more here, but I’ll tell you what. This guitar is just sittin’ here gatherin’ dust, it’s not ready for no jazz bone yard. I’ll make you a real nice deal on it. Maybe it will bring you luck.”

“That other guitarist didn’t have such good luck. Maybe this Johnny’ll be back,” Frank said, “maybe he can have a comeback.”

“No, ain’t gonna happen. One day somebody told me he was dead, overdose, you know. Damn shame.”

“There you go then. I hope the guitar is not cursed,” Frank said superstitious of the guitar.

“Oh no, man. It’s cool. Nothing happened to Johnny until he pawned his guitar. This guitar was his heart and soul. Music was his reason for living. He just gave up. That dope make him do the wrong thing,” the shop owner said.

“Good point. Well I’m sure it’s too expensive,” Frank said ready to walk away.

“Maybe it would be if the last owner was famous. He weren’t no Chuck Berry or B.B. King. Johnny died before that happened. I want to see this guitar in the hands of a player again. I got a good feeling about you. I’ll let you have it for fifty dollars. I’ll even throw in the guitar case. All that worth way more than fifty.”

“Wow, that’s a deal too good to be true. That would still leave me enough money for gas and a good meal to get home. I’ll take it.”

From that day, Frank always took his white guitar on stage and treated it with reverence. The group’s lead guitarist, Jack, was a bit envious of Frank’s prize and suggested Frank name his guitar. While they had heard about B.B. King naming his guitar “Lucille,” Frank was first tempted to name his guitar “Sarah,” but reconsidered and put his own name on it.

“Never heard of a ‘Frank’ brand guitar,” Jack quipped.

Frank enjoyed Jack’s humor and respected his ability as a guitarist. Frank considered gifting the guitar to Jack, but loved it so much and believed in its magic. For a while, his guitar would be the weapon of a choice for a would be knight hoping to capture the heart of fair maiden. On stage, all his shyness disappeared. He became a different person compared to the one his peers knew in high school. Four boys became four men able to move a crowd to perform tribal dances. It was a taste of life that with each bite made Frank hungrier still. Frank was ready to break out of the prison that he had created for himself.  

About My Posts on Facebook

     I felt compelled to comment about my posts on Facebook and it's not because of any comments others have made. It's my own morning subconscious guiding me. I'm guessing that, like most of you, I take all the events going on in the world quite seriously. Those who know me best know that I often think deeply and sometimes wear my heart on my sleeve. I've always been like that and wished I could wave my hand and make all the wars, strife, hatred, pain, catastrophes, and suffering we see each day in the news disappear forever. I'm not immune to tears and sadness at what I see in the news. But, I like to look at Facebook as though we were a group of intimate friends sitting around together in the same room and having a polite or light discussion. What do friends talk about? Often how the kids are doing, what our mates are up to, that new recipe, a joke heard...in other words, small talk. I never object to what others say within reason, but for me, I try to write comments in Facebook with the same considerations in mind as if talking to friends or relatives face to face. There is a time and place for everything to be said, with the exception that this post is for the record. While I'm feeling deeply compassionate about the people in Nepal's earthquake, concerned about conflicts, or passionate about a social or political issue, we all need a way to remind us that life can be beautiful and that love among friends is precious. Facebook is that parlor where we share a cup of coffee or a beer and say, "Hello, my friend. I've missed you. What's new in your life> I have a funny story. Wow, have I got news for you!" Small talk in some ways connects us as a family of friends. So whether you just landed the lead in a Broadway show, or baked a wonderful cookie recipe today, it's all good. My final point is, it's okay to have a lively discussion on the biggest issue of the day if done with respect for other points of view, but please never feel what you would like to write on your Facebook page is too trivial to post. My father taught me that it's the every day small moments that string our lives together and show others our true nature, just as seconds string together to make minutes, hours, days, or years. Now go forth and multiply Facebook (or Twitter) posts freely!

Nutty Laws Around the World

The U.S. has its share of crazy or perplexing laws. For example, it's illegal to import Vegemite for commercial sale  (as though we have to worry about Americans wanting Vegemite). Australian expatriates can relax. Contrary to rumor, it's not illegal to bring Vegemite here for personal use. I'm relieved to know I'm not a a criminal after trying it (for the first and last time) when offered by an Australian actress during the run of our play. She wanted to make peanut butter similarly illegal in Australia.

 Around the world, there are other nutty laws.

•  In Australia, you could be fined $90,000 for sharing a YouTube video  (it's not enforced). I'm not sure about Facebook.
• It's also illegal in Australia to sharpen a Japanese katana sword, even though you may own one. Be careful what you grab to cut the turkey.
• Don't wear camouflage patterns in Barbados. If the police catch you, you will be told to take it off on the spot, even in public. This is an ill-advised law as it may encourage exhibitionists.
• In Toronto, Canada, it's illegal to drag a dead horse down Yonge street on Sundays. Wait until Monday.
• In Egypt, don't get caught using binoculars near an airport. Squinting to watch planes take off and land is probably okay.
• In Finland, it's okay to buy a shotgun at age 15, but teens will have to wait until age 18 to buy a sparkler.
• In France, it's okay to name your pigs, but if you name any Napoleon, you could be prosecuted. I think maybe Leon would be okay.
• In Germany, pillow fights are out as the law considers a pillow to be a weapon. No word yet about water balloons. 
• If you move to New Dehli, India, you have a responsibility to beat warning drums if locusts invade the city. You can be fined 50 Rupees if you don't. I'd be in favor of adding warnings about politicians invading the city. 
• If you dream of becoming a pig farmer in Israel, forget it. It's illegal unless for medical research. Okay, I may not be Jewish, but I get it. 
• I'm guessing DISH or Direct TV have no customers in Malaysia. It's illegal to have a parabolic dish. Family members probably need to take turns standing on the roof wrapped in aluminum foil. 
• It's unlawful in the Philippines for two unrelated men to ride tandem on a motorbike. I imagine that there is a sudden growth in the number of cousins in each family. 
• Saudi Arabia is not the best country to start a music career. Public live music is illegal. 
• If your family is shopping in Scotland cover the eyes of boys under 10 if you come upon a naked mannequin. If he sees it, the law has been violated. 
• Don't chew gum in Singapore. However, pedestrian accidents are down as people are walking better without gum. 
• In the United Arab Emirates, you can be arrested for kissing, hugging, or holding hands. That's especially true if you do that with someone else's wife. 
• In England, you should know better than to wear a medieval costume to parliament. The law has been on the books since 1313. So far they've failed to ban medieval minds in parliament. We shouldn't point fingers, however. The U.S. Congress has its share of medieval mentality.

From What Dreams May Come to What Dreams May Inspire

  Among my favorite romantic movies is WHAT DREAMS MAY COME. Last night I watched this 1998 stunning film once again, with it's powerful visuals and fantasies about what happens to us after we die. It is a beautiful fantasy of what heaven may look like--perhaps a fantastic vision of how we may wish heaven will be like and a darker, plausible vision of Hell for those who believe in Hell. As a side comment, it's so poignant that in a film that touches on the theme of suicide, star Robin Williams' character is the rock and salvation for someone whose soul is condemned by such an act. In the end, it was Williams who most needed the very words his character spoke to his soul mate.

What prompted this post is that I had one of my very vivid dreams last night. "What Dreams May Come," indeed. My epic dream was not a dream of heaven, but about a romance in Paris. Those highly vivid dreams with a defined story are rare in my life--such as a dream about Three Mile Island exactly as it happened six months before the actual accident (another story); a dream about enemy soldiers in an Asian country, exactly as it happened (an upcoming novel); or a dream about walking on the moon inside a domed settlement, looking up at Earth and the sun shining through the transparent dome, feeling the gritty, gray soil under my feet, and breathing cool, oxygenated atmosphere. The latter dream has yet to happen.

This time the dream was down to Earth, in Paris. I was someone else--a war amputee with a prosthetic leg and magic shoes that could transport me around the city, even walking on water (that happened in the movie). The woman was a complete stranger--a waitress who works at an outdoor cafe along the Seine River, although I have a very clear idea of what she looks like. Keep in mind that this woman was probably fabricated in my mind and I've yet to visit Paris, although my wife and I plan to visit Paris this year or next. A non-writer may wonder and raise an eyebrow. What am I doing dreaming about another woman? But a writer thinks differently and this writer's wife is secure enough in my love for her. She encourages my writing. She is the muse for my dreams.

Moving right ahead with the freedom to dream, I ask myself, could this be the idea for a story? The real question is, if you dream about a stranger, is there a stranger somewhere in the world who dreamed about you? Is there a waitress in Paris who dreamed about me around the same time? While the reality is, even if this was possible or true, it is as if I dreamed about being someone completely different, like an actor in a movie. I am not that person and fictional characters should not be confused with real life. For a writer, however, all things are possible and a new idea is born.

For my friends who are writers, producers, or actors, my apologies, but I don't trust you with the details of my dream. In God I trust--all others get your own ideas. But, this is one of those moments when a rare dream is the fuel for a fresh idea.

Seattle's Football Deflated, Tom Brady a Super Hero, Katy Perry Great

Great Super Bowl this year. I didn't have a pony in the race since the Steelers were knocked out, so no danger of throwing myself out the basement window if my team lost. But, oh, what a finish with both an immaculate reception and interception (alluding to the Franco Harris and the Steelers miracle of the early 70s). Mind boggling for Seattle fans when you consider all the hours, weeks, and months of grid iron battles, making it back to the Super Bowl, and after brilliant moments in the game, and on the verge of winning the game, it took about 2 seconds to snatch defeat from from the jaws victory at the goal line. I would have been okay with either team winning, but it appears Seattle was the one that had its football deflated. I admire Tom Brady, so I'll toast the Patriots with the rest of New England. Katy Perry, Lenny Kravitz, and company, BTW, put on a great half time show, despite the sound limits. My new sound bar makes it sound like you're at the game to enjoy the echoes and unintelligible lyrics, but since we know the songs already, the performance was. . . well, let's just say, "I saw the girl and I liked it."

Auld Acquaintances Are Never Forgotten

    The holidays for me have always meant taking a poignant, pensive reflection on my life, what I've accomplished, and where I'm going. The days between Christmas and New Year's Day have been a kind of purge of bad karma, a recharging of spirit, but a determination to  focus on the good, celebrate the highs of the year, and set the course for the New Year. I don’t believe in New Year’s Resolution, just a practical time to stop and smell the poinsettias, clear the slate, and start again. Some years dealt with loss--loss of members of my family, loss of love, loss of a family fortune, loss of opportunity. But when I weigh the years and compare them with the lives of many others, I know I am blessed and lucky. I've never lost hope, never lost my sense of humor, and never lost my determination to live life my way.  New Year's Day marks the end of reflection and the start of the first day of the rest of my life. There really is a blank page upon which it really is up to me--and no one else--to decide what will be written. 

   When I hear the words of "Auld Lang Syne"..."Should auld acquaintance be forgot," I think, wait a minute, the mind of this writer never forgets—in a good way. Memories have been a rich source of ideas for stories. Better yet, I prefer to selectively remember the best of times and filter out the bad days. I may not ever see you again in this lifetime face to face, but my mind and heart never forgets. In love, friendship, and in common mission, I do remember you. In love, I never stopped loving. One thing I've learned about the human heart is its huge capacity to love others, even as we loyally give our hearts, souls, and lives to one person. With parents, relatives, and friends no longer with us, the happier memories have crowded out the grief. In friendship, I never stopped caring and do hope there are more good times to share. In mission, it was grand while it lasted and wish we could do it again. Some of you have inspired my writing and, even better, inspired me during my life. 

   Even with the heart of a poet and being a dreamer, there is a solid feet-on-the ground acceptance of what is and what cannot be changed. Still, when I was very young, a friend wrote in my yearbook the simple abbreviation, "RMA”—Remember Me Always. I can say after all these years, I took that simple wish to heart as a promise to keep. I have remembered, so auld acquaintances are not forgot. 

   Happy New Year, my auld acquaintances, and to anyone else I offer a "cup o' kindness."