Sometimes it takes Jimmy Buffett to get things done

SACRAMENTO, Calif., USA - Writing inspiration for me comes from lots of different places. And for most of my adult life, I have been what pros in the writing bizz call a 'facile' writer.

The short definition is, if I want to write, I generally just starting banging away on the keyboard.

Just like this.

Generally.

But this fall, the writing hasn't been coming just like this much of the time.  In fact, for the last two months, I thought I was afflicted by the dreaded writer's block, a syndrome most professional writers will tell you is, well, total crap. They also are the same writers who have never faced it.

Even though for months I have been outraged at the lunacy of ideologues like Glenn Beck, the lack of caring (and arrogance) of the people entrusted with running the two public university systems in California, and the seeming inability of Americans to have rational discourse, writing about these issues (and corollary matters) has seemed, well, sooooo daunting.

Daunting and frankly just plain old depressing.

Enter Jimmy Buffett.


Jimmy Buffett on stage

It wasn't actually Jimmy Buffett himself who got mixed up in my writing, it was a book by Buffett, A Salty Piece of Land,  mailed to me by my nephew Tony Fitzgerald.

Tony had read the book, and while he admitted the prose wasn't exactly 'Homer,' he said it had certain style to it and that he thought I would enjoy it.

If it had been Homer, I doubt it would have been as effective.

The tale is about a cowboy/sailor from Wyoming who ends up in the tropics tending to the rebuilding of a lighthouse. That's about all I'll reveal today, because I am about halfway through reading the book and suspect that I will be recommending it later on in a longer review.

But even if I didn't read another page, A Salty Piece of Land, has helped me crack the formation of a writer's block.

While reading about the odyssey of Tully Mars (the main character), I suddenly envisioned myself writing about (and living in) sub-tropical Mexico - the very place Admiral Fox and I will be as soon as the fall semester at the university ends. And the thought of that writing - as opposed to spilling words about the idiocies of a Glenn Beck, for example - made my fingers positively twitch to get to a keyboard.

Is the writer's block gone? Will I never write again about loons like Glenn Beck or the trustees of the California State University system?

No to the first, and probably no to the second, too.

But thanks to Jimmy Buffett and Tully Mars, I think I understand what was blocking the words, and keeping the blood pressure up.

Get the lighthouse back on line Tully, please. I have things to write.


A Salty Piece of Land

George Orwell would love these security cameras

TIBURON, Calif., USA - The City of Tiburon is getting ready to install surveillance cameras so that every car, truck, motorcycle and horse going in - or out - will be photographed.

Yup, every single one.

At this point, the city says it will be taking photos of license plates, just to keep track of possible felons, and perhaps to grab pix of stolen vehicles. The cameras will be tied to a data base that will flag cars - and, of course, their drivers.

LINK: Orwell would be proud

Perhaps.

But suppose this system gets used for other purposes? Suppose the system gets used by the city's merchants to figure out who is driving in and out of town and uses it to target them for some sales pitches.

A good hacker might use the system to figure out when people are not home.

All the ramblings of a paranoid, one might suppose.

And considering all the data that grocery stores, banks, credit card companies and universities collect, perhaps one more intrusion into what passes for privacy in 2009 isn't that great.

But this time - these cameras - seem to be such an obvious affront, it's amazing that the city is willing to sell itself out so cheaply.

And what city will be next?

So what is it about revolutions?

(NOTE: This entry was originally written and posted at a website called The Red Room, a website for writers and editor.)

There is a song making the rounds of many places in California these days called 'Union Maid,' a rousing tune that was written by Woody Guthrie in 1940.

There once was a union maid, she never was afraid
Of goons and ginks and company finks and the deputy sheriffs who made the raid.
She went to the union hall when a meeting it was called,
And when the Legion boys come 'round
She always stood her ground.

It's the kind of song that gets people stomping their feet and clapping their hands and the kind of song that sociologists like to point to as beacons that bring people together and cement social units - units that will promote social activism and change.

Well, that may be true, to a degree. I've even learned to play the tune on the ukulele at meetings and gatherings to get the crowd fired up when some of that social activism and change is called for as the U.S. economy continues to melt quicker than an iceberg off the coast of Greenland.(Economic recovery my ass...)

But it has been my experience - as a journalist and a university professor - that real change, Revolutions, occur not because of group think, but because someone steps up to the plate and takes a solid swing. And those people I have always thought of as champions, champions in the sense that they were willing to stand up for what they believed was right, and take the hits for doing so.

It's not a popular way of looking at leadership and social change. My sociologist amigos tell me I am naive. They tell others (out of my earshot) that I am romantic and don't understand the research and data on the topic about revolutions.

I may be romantic and naive - and, OK, sociologist-collected data doesn't impress me that much. Champions and heroes do.

My sociologist friends might be averse to the theory because, frankly it's hard to ever be that champion, hard to stand up alone and hard to take the hits. I have been called Don Quixote more than once by journalism and academic colleagues.

There are worse sobriquets.

Perhaps the hardest thing about all this, is that all-too-frequently when a champion steps aside, (having won whatever victory was sought) the ground gained is lost, perhaps completely.

Still, two feet forward, one foot back is a better way to live than studying the data, I believe.

Today we often seek champions and at the same time immediately try to discount their courage (or claim self-interest or any number of sins). We can blame media for this, but media in many ways is as reflective of us as it is a force itself.

You say you want a revolution? Look for a champion to arise. Better yet, play Don Quixote yourself and grab a lance.

Without a champion, you might get some good harmonies, but you won't get change.

Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the union,
I'm sticking to the union, I'm sticking to the union.
Oh, you can't scare me, I'm sticking to the union,
I'm sticking to the union 'til the day I die.

Taking a trip to Ireland - via the book 'Shannon'

SACRAMENTO, Calif., USA - As a sucker for most books about Ireland, it was a no-brainer to pick up a copy of Shannon, a book by Frank Delany.

But this book is no travelogue, though the river Shannon is one device that Delany uses to move along the main character in the book - a shell-shocked Catholic priest named Robert Shannon.

And the book is set in 1922, the countryside roiling in a civil war.


The novel, Shannon

Without giving away the whole plot, Shannon travels from the U.S. to Ireland and travels the length of the river looking for his family roots. But he has a lot stalking him, real and spiritual.

The book is also revealing about the politics of the Catholic Church at that time.

Catholic priests, bishops, cardinals, a civil war, and the aftermath of World War I. A great palette for an excellent book.

And, at least in my opinion, a book worth picking up.