The Three Stooges, Sarah Palin, and a Good Book

Sean Penn is out as Larry in the Three Stooges Movie. Anybody surprised? Penn’s a talented guy. I’ll give him that. But he ain’t funny. You have got to be funny if You’re going to be one of the Three Stooges, baby.

Word on the street is Paul Giamanni may be the new Larry. I can dig that. Paul Giamanni is a funny guy. Our tentative line up of stooges includes Jim Carry as Curly, Benicio Del Torro as Mo, and Paul Giamanni as Larry.

Paul Giamanni, mind you, is not officially in. If Paul doesn’t work out, I have a nomination. It turns out the Alaska fishermen were kidding about Sarah Palin making the buddy picture with Jack Black. This means she’s wide open if the price is right. I’m telling you, Sarah Palin just might be our Stooge.

THE THINGS THEY CARRIED

Tim O’Brien’s The Things They Carried is a profound book about the Vietnam War. The book is also about writing, truth, and reality. The stories are based are based on the author’s experiences as a soldier in Vietnam.

O’Brien points out that writing is a form of dreaming. Ain’t that the truth? And when you get right down to it, we are creating our own stories when we dream, aren’t we? The author also blew me away with the concept that writing about the dead allows them to live again.

O’Brien writes “...the story-truth is truer sometimes than happening-truth.” I love this concept. The longer it takes to write the story down, the more ambiguous the truth becomes. Do you remember James Frey’s book, A Million Tiny Pieces? It’s a riviting story of a man’s experiences in a drug rehabilitation center. Oprah Winfrey promoted the book on her show and Frey sold millions of copies. When it was discovered that after marketing the book as a memoir, the author had stretched the truth from time to time, Oprah lambasted the guy on network television for lying. It worked out OK for Frey; the ass chewing prompted millions of readers to buy his second book. But dog gone it, Frey should have told Oprah, “You simply don’t understand writing, lady. As Tim Obrien aid, the story truth is truer sometimes than the happening truth.

Sorry about the digression. Tim Obrien’s The Things They Carried is one of the best, most unique, and quite possibly the truest books I’ve read.

WRITING REPORT

The John Wayne story is finished At 3,400 words. The story entails John Wayne showing up at my house Christmas night asking for a drink. The two of us end up playing a grueling one on one basketball game that lasts until dawn. I seem to have this thing about putting myself in my stories. Wish I knew why I wrote the thing. Sigmund Freud would have his hands full figuring out why the hell I wrote this thing.

The problem is I haven’t been able to sit down at the computer for more than a couple of hours at a pop. I can’t seem to establish any kind of rhythm. The summer production stands at three stories and 8,500 words. I'll keep slugging.

SARAH PALIN TO SHOOT BUDDY PICTURE WITH JACK BLACK

You heard it here first; Sarah Palin has signed a lucrative deal to shoot a buddy picture with Jack Black. How do I know this? Let’s just say I have a connection with a few Alaska Salmon fishermen.



Writing Report

I was able to bang out 1,400 words of a new short story. In this one John Wayne shows up at my house on Christmas night to drink Scotch and talk wax philosophical.

I still haven’t been able to hit my stride and I do turn into a pumpkin in two weeks when I report back to school.

A Trip to the Movies

In an effort to escape the 107 degree heat I took my girls to see 17 Again with the kid from the High School Musical movies. The flick held my attention and my girls seemed to enjoy themselves. It was a little mature for kids and a little dopey for adults; I guess it was geared toward teeny boppers. The adult stuff blew right past my girls so I guess nobody will be psychologically scarred for life.


Commander McBragg?

Blues Frau of Germany asked the following question: who is Commander McBragg?

Well here goes, Blues Frau. Commander McBragg was a 1960s cartoon about an old blow hard British guy. He hung out at some elitist club telling whoever he could corner about his daring exploits in history. It was pretty funny. If my memory serves me correctly, Commander McBragg usually aired with The Rocky and Bullwinkle show and Tennessee Tuxedo. By the way, I can sound exactly like Bullwinkle the Moose.

You can see Commander McBragg cartoons on You Tube.

Pixar's Partly Cloudy

Pixar’s latest short animated film is called Partly Cloudy and they’re packaging it with their hit feature, Up.

Whoooah.

I hadn’t heard anything about the short. In fact, I thought I was watching the beginning of Up. Partly Cloudy absolutely knocked me on my can. I’ve never seen anything like it. The animation is breathtaking. The story is pure magic. It’s laugh out loud funny too.

Nice goin’, Pixar.

WRITING REPORT

My writing goal for last week was 10,000 words and five stories. I ended up hitting almost 5,000 words and finishing just one story. The second story, a high school memoir, is almost there. Hopefully, I can pick it up this week. I’m setting a goal of 15,000 words.

INDEPENDENCE DAY

The family and I celebrated Independence day with a trip to the movies, a swim, steaks, hot dogs and potato salad, a swim, and a couple of fireworks shows. The first pyrotechnical display was presented by my neighbor, Joe. The festivities were cut short when his roof caught fire. Don’t worry he was able to put the thing out in no time with his handy garden hose. We took the kids to the park to watch the city of Chandler’s half hour long fireworks display.

"Mrs. Reagan's Holy Water (1991)"

A Short Story from Dart Safety and the Purple Bikini
“Mrs. Reagan's Holy Water(1991)"
by W.Z Snyder
© 2006 William Snyder

My eighth grade science students were busy copying diagrams of mitosis and meiosis from their textbooks into their science journals. I assigned heaps of science diagrams that year. They looked good hanging on the classroom walls. Very colorful. I had no business teaching science to these students whose working class parents were paying 125 dollars a month to insure their children a superior Catholic school education. I was certified to teach English. Mrs. Chun taught English next door. She was certified to teach Math and I don’t know what the math teacher was certified to teach. I guess these parents got a better deal than my mother received when she sent me to Catholic school in the 1960’s. Nuns provided my elementary education and I'm quite certain they weren’t certified to teach anything. There was only one nun left at Saint Agnes. Her name was Sister Rose. She was very old and quiet and sweet. I never saw her beat the devil out of anyone’s knuckles with a ruler. Perhaps she had mellowed with age. The odds are old Sister Rose had whacked a few knuckles in her day. She was a nun. Chickens cluck and nuns beat on the knuckles of grade school children with twelve inch rulers; it's the law of the Catholic school jungle baby.

Joe Tinsley walked purposefully to the front of the room to pick up some colored pencils. I was standing, leaning on an old wooden podium. I could feel his presence lingering behind me.
“What are you doing back there Joe?”

“I’m checking to see if your bald spot got any bigger.”

“No respect. I get no respect,” I said.

“This is a science class. I’m observing data.”

“Glad I can help. I do what I can.”

“How old are you, Mr. Snyder?”

“I’m thirty-one, Joe.”

He walked back to his desk and did some button punching on his calculator.

“By my calculations, you will be completely bald by the time you’re forty.”

I want to point out that at the time of this writing, I am forty-five years of age and I am not completely bald.

You can read the rest of this story in Dart Safety and the Purple Bikini. Check current postings to learn how to purchase Dart Safety and the Purple Bikini.

The First Story of the Summer

I knocked out my first story of the summer today – first draft complete at 2,800 words. Writing has been a challenge at la casa de Snyder. Today my granddaughter knocked a speaker onto my grandson’s head. I picked my grandson up, bounced the crying boy on my knee and kept on writing. No retreat, baby. No surrender. The story is pretty out there. The eighteen year-old me has a beer with the forty-eight year-old me and God. I’ve been reading Zora Neal Hurston’s Moses, Man of the Mountain and I’m thinking Zora had something to do with the plot. The story is going to need plenty of work but it felt good to get the first one under my belt. Fourteen more to go.

Yogi Bear is smarter than the average bear,

Yogi Bear is always in the ranger's hair.

At a picnic table you will find him there

Stuffing down more goodies than the average bear.

He will sleep till noon but before it's dark,

He'll have every picnic basket that's in Jellystone Park.

Yogi has it better than a millionaire

That's becasue he's smarter than the average bear.

Commander McBragg, Roller Skating, Writing and a Texting First

It’s been a fast three weeks – too fast. My summer school students were pretty good pranksters. The highlight of the three week session came when I ran to the office to make copies and returned to find they had moved my desk out into the hallway. Crazy darned kids.

My goal is to write fifteen short stories by the time school resumes in three weeks. At 1,500 words into the first story, I’m finding it hard to get the creative juices flowing.

Yesterday we celebrated my daughter’s eleventh birthday at the skating rink yesterday. I laced up the skates for the first time in a solid decade and showed the kids a few old school moves. All I can say is falling is bigger deal now than it was ten years ago. I’m moving a little slow today.

I finally broke down and sent my first text message yesterday. My daughter will be attending school in California next year and I realize I’m going to have to text her if I want to communicate with her.

You might be wondering why I included the picture of Commander McBragg. No reason...

Summer School, Michael Jackson, Steve McQueen and Dirty Harry

There was a half hour left to go. One of my summer school students stood at the front of the room delivering a presentation on a book by Chuck Palahniuk. We were all out of gas. It’s been a helluva long two weeks and four days. One of the girls pointed at her high dollar texting gizmo and shouted that Michael Jackson was dead. I asked her if she knew who Michael Jacks was. Before she could answer someone else said he was in the hospital. I dropped my head to my desk as just about all of my students pulled out their gizmos to find out whether Michael Jackson was dead or in the hospital. A lanky kid in a Black Sabbath shirt said he wondered if people holding tickets for Jackson’s upcoming tour would get their money back. Everyone soon agreed that Jackson was dead and not in the hospital. The kid up front went back to his Chuck Palahniuk presentation.


Steve McQueen turned down the role of Dirty Harry.

Time Flies, Baby

I’m baaaaack…

Hello. Just thought I’d drop a quick post to let you know I’m still kicking. The last month has been intense – like the circus fire.

There were the study sessions and final exams. My daughter graduated from high school. My other daughter turned eleven. Hard to believe how fast time goes. I almost forgot my wife’s birthday. And then there’s summer school; I spent a couple of weeks preparing to teach senior English. Things changed and the summer school bosses asked me to teach PE. Sounded good to me. Sounded easy - and quite frankly, I’m OK with easy. Then at the last minute the bosses asked me to teach sophomore English. I had 48 hours to plan the sophomore English summer school course.

A full year of English in three weeks is an interesting endeavor. Lucky for me, my students are nice. The highlight of the first two weeks came when I returned to the classroom after a trip to the restroom. I opened the door to find a wall of books and desks; the kids had effectively walled me out. That’s funny stuff.
And then there was the kid who wouldn’t smile. Finally got him on the ninth day – with this Chuck Norris joke: The Boogey Man checks his closet at night for Chuck Norris.

One more week of summer school to go. I hope to get back on the writing track.
I’ll post another story from The Eight Fingered Criminal’s Son next week.

Trskaidekaphopia

I don't think of myself as a triskaidekaphobiac. As a matter of fact I wore number 13 on my jersy as a high school basketball player. But the truth is I felt the need to throw up of fourteenth post because I wasn't comfortable with 13 blog posts for the month of May.

Astro Jetson and Technology Wars

I can sound exactly like Astro Jetson. It’s worth noting that I can also sound like Scooby Doo and anyone who knows their cartoons knows that Astro sounds an awful lot like Scooby Doo. I can also stick my thumb in my mouth and cause a baseball cap to rise from the top of my head. My old friend Danny Martinez taught me the amazing baseball cap trick. Just thought I ‘d share.

Dolla, 50 Cent, Barney the Dinosaur and more Steve McQueen

CLASSROOM BANTER My students were talking about the recent shooting of a rapper by the name of Dolla.

“Is there really a rapper named Dolla?” I asked.

“Yeah, dollar’s tight.” one of them said.

To which I pointed out, “I guess he must me twice as good as 5o Cent.”

I COULD A BEEN A CONTENDER

It was a decade or so. I was hosting educational television programming. A local actor told me his agent was looking for voiceover artists who could imitate the voice of “Barney the Dinosaur”. I could indeed do the voices of Shaggy and Scooby, Goofy, and yes – Barney the Dinosaur. I met with the agent; we created a tape and the agent and she sent it to the Barney the Dinosaur people. If it panned out, if I were to become the voice of Barney, I’d be looking at a couple hundred grand a year – just for doing a goof ball kids show voice. Alas, it turned out producers used the voiceover tape to show the real voice of Barney he could be replaced. So you see, one of my worthless talents was almost worth something – almost.

STEVE MCQUEEN

Anchorage police arrested The King of Cool for drunk driving in 1972. Legend has it that McQueen executed a back flip during the field sobriety test.

On Practical Jokes and Impractical Talent

One of my colleagues has been working with a confident young student teacher. We’ll call the student teacher Fred. We’ll call him this because it’s his actual name. Fred was asked to deliver his final lesson. This was supposed to be his masterpiece, the lesson with which he would demonstrate everything he’d learned about education. Unbeknownst to young Fred, his master teacher had given the students a special set of instructions beforehand. She also asked the principal to drop by. He had also been given a special set of instructions. Fred had stayed up half the night preparing the mother of all English lessons. Nothing could have prepared the self-assured young student teacher for the nightmare he was about to experience. Fred began his brilliantly prepared lesson on existentialism. In accordance with the master teacher’s instructions, the students began talking on their cell phones, throwing things at each other, walking out of the room, laying on the floor and feigning sleep. It was a three ring circus. The principal pulled Fred out in hall and gave the verbally battered him into complete submission. The boss assured Fred that he would never get a job in his school district, that his name was Mud in Arizona. The master teacher, the principal, and the students had a blast executing the elaborate prank. The last time I saw the student teacher he was walking through the hallway muttering incoherently to himself.

I can sound exactly like Goofy. I’ve been able to imitate Goofy since I was in high school. Just thought I’d share another example of my numerous worthless talents.

Star Trek

"These are the voyages of the starship Enterprise, it's continuing mission to explore a strange new world, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before. "


I AM NOT NOR HAVE I EVER BEEN A TREKKIE, but I did thoroughly dig the new Star Trek movie. The going rate for a daytime movie in Arizona is seven bucks, a hefty chunk of change to be sure. And you know what? I feel like I got my money’s worth – even with two noisy inconsiderate nitwits who brought an infant sitting directly behind me.

Note to inconsiderate nitwits: You’re not supposed to bring infants to the movies. Furthermore, you aren’t supposed to be noisy, or inconsiderate, or a nitwit.

Back to the subject at hand; the new Star Trek movie is a roller coaster ride in the spirit of Raiders of the Lost Ark and the first Star Wars movie; escapism in its purest form. The casting selections are outstanding. The young actors were able to pull of the mannerisms and speech patterns of the original cast. The new Scottie is funnier than the old Scottie. The new Sulu is cooler than the old Sulu. The young Bones and Kirk capture the essence of the originals. And the young Spock is the old Spock. As for the new Uhura, she’s quite beautiful but doesn’t begin to approach the sultry sizzle of the original Uhura. That’s right, I said sultry sizzle. I have a personal history with the original Uhura. When I was seven years old, this woman stirred up new feelings within me, bringing about a realization that not all girls were ickie…

My mother-in-law was upset that Leonard Nimoy and not the greatest ham in television history, William Shatner delivered the monologue from the original series. Of course my mother-in-law is harboring a forty year crush on Billy Shatner.

Finally, the audience applauded at the end of the film, something I haven’t experienced in a long time. So go ahead and plop down the seven bucks to see the new Star Trek Movie; it’s well worth it. Now if you live in L.A. or New York where a trip to the movies will run you somewhere in the neighborhood of 147 bucks, you might be better off flying out to Phoenix to see the movie.

Here's the original cast. Wait a minute, the blond wasn't a cast member. I think that's my mother-in-law. How'd she get in that picture?

The Origunal Spock

The New Spock

UHHHHURRRRRAAAAHHH......

Kirk and Uhura engaged in the first interracial smooch on network television.

Everybody dug Uhra.

Even Mr. Sulu...

On Scooby Doo and Blogging

I can sound exactly like Shaggy or Scooby Doo. This is a talent to be sure, a talent that has afforded me absolutely no benefits. Speaking of worthless talents, I can do lots of unusual things with quarters. Just thought I’d share…

To those that read Dual Dreams and John Hill, thank you.

I’M STILL STRUGGLING TO FIGURE OUT THIS BLOG BUSINESS. The idea of this blog is to promote my writing and establish some semblance of a network. Last week I posted a short story in three parts, hoping people might be willing to read it in smaller chunks. The site meter tells me 241 people hit my blog last week; however, just 15 people stayed long enough to actually read the story. It seems I’m attracting a lot of traffic, but not a whole lot of people who are interested in reading my short stories.

While I have somehow managed to attract hits, I need to figure out how to bring in readers who are interested in my style of writing. Better yet, I might benefit by attracting publishers or agents who are interested in my style. Oh well, I suppose I’ll keep hammering away.

My hit count has enigmatically increased significantly over the last month or so. I was under the impression that the key words “Swine Flu” and “Star Trek” were responsible for attracting hits, but the hit count remained high with “Dual Dreams and John Hill.”

Last week I received an email from a travel agency offering to place fifty bucks in my Pay Pal account to insert an advertisement on my blog. Fifty bucks! I could use an extra fifty bucks. An internet savvy friend rained on my parade, advising me not to accept the offer, that the ad could damage my computer. For a minute there, I thought I’d hit the big times, not to mention the fifty bucks...

Dual Dreams and John Hill

A Short Story from The Eight Fingered Criminal's Son
“Dual Dreadms and John Hill (1968-1976)"
by W.Z Snyder

© 2006 William Snyder

PART ONE

Dreams are wiser than men.
-Omaha Saying

I was shuffling through the playground sand at Hawthorne Memorial Park on the corner of Prairie and El Segundo. It was 1968 and I was in the fourth grade. The park was completely empty. It was quiet; there were no cars on the road, no other kids, no old Italians playing bocce ball, no planes in the sky. I was feeling kind of lonely, and then I noticed John Hill from my class at Saint Joseph’s swinging on the monkey bars. He was wearing his thick black-rimmed glasses and our school uniform, a neatly pressed white collared shirt and salt and pepper corduroy pants.

“Hill!” I shouted to him.

The kid was doing some amazing things on those monkey bars. He looked like some kind of gymnast, swinging up and over the bars. John Hill was a pretty good athlete but these moves were nearly impossible.

“Hill!” I shouted again as I sprinted to the monkey bars.

“Hi, Snyder.”

“What are you doing here?”

Hill let go of the bar, did three flips, and in the same motion, shot upward to the square platform at the top of the big metal winding slide. Dumbfounded, I executed a Little Rascals style double take. Something wasn’t right.

“What the heck? How did you do that Hill?”

“We’re in a dream Snyder. You can do anything you want.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Do I look like I’m kidding, Snyder?”

He hopped down from the platform, strolled over to the basketball court and casually picked up a weathered red, white and blue, ABA style ball that just happened to be sitting at mid-court. John Hill dribbled the ball, showing moves that would have put Walter Clyde Frazier, himself to shame. Upon reaching the free throw line, he leapt into the sky and threw down a crushing, rim-rattling, two handed Wilt Chamberlain style dunk.

“Whoa!”


“Go ahead and try something Snyder. Nothing’s impossible in a dream.”

Taking a couple of steps, I leapt into the sky. I became weightless as I shot rapidly above the park and into the clouds. I was flying. The cool pristine breeze rushed against my face. Freedom. Hill was right. This felt too real to be a dream. John Hill promptly joined me amongst the mysterious white clouds. “Try this.” Hill said.

He dove into a cloud. I followed him into the thick fog that made up the immaculate white cloud. It felt good, wet droplets spitting against my face. The pure white light from the sun hurt my eyes as I emerged. I really dug flying. I still do, at middle age - in my dreams. It feels so incredible, so free, and always so real. John Hill taught me well.

“So Snyder,” Hill looked at me as we shot past a screeching seagull, “isn’t it weird that we’re both having the same dream at the same time?”

“I thought this was my dream.”



“Well, it’s my dream too. Isn’t that obvious to you?”

Hill was the smartest kid in the class.

“This is your dream?”

“No. It’s our dream Snyder; I read about this in a psychology book.”

“Flying?”

“No stupid, dual dreams. Two people sharing the same dream.”

"How do I know you’re not just part of my dream and the real John Hill isn’t at home dreaming about the Green Bay packers?”

“Here’s a simple solution, Snyder. Ask me about the dream when you see me at school tomorrow.”

He spun left, executed a series of rapid rolls and spins before rocketing off into the horizon over the blue Pacific.



Dual Dreams and John Hill can be read, in it's entirety in The EIght Fingered Criminal's Son, available in a book store in Thailand in November of 2010 - Or you can check current entries to this blog to order a copy of this book...