Miscellaneous

Paying It Forward One Person At A Time

To those of you who have heard of the pay it forward movement, well, kudos to you; it is an honorable way of spreading kindness throughout the world, and I hope you have acted on instinct and helped at least one person since you knew of its existence.

To those of you who have not heard of the pay it forward movement, ask the person sitting next to you–they are likely to know of it or know of someone who has paid it forward–and once they tell you, thank them and give them a big high five. They deserve one. And it will make you feel great.

I mention pay it forward solely because my sociology teacher has given us an assignment to pay it forward to three people we know; one of these acts is to be a heartfelt letter to the person that has made a significant impact on you, and the other two acts are of your choosing. Sounds like an easy task, yes? Here’s the kicker: they have to be something big.

We cannot scoot through the assignment by simply picking up a dropped pencil or telling someone they’re wearing a nifty jacket that day–although those are random acts of kindness–we have to impact their lives on a large level; and then ask them to pay it forward to three people of their choosing.

A domino effect.

When I think of who I want to help it sends shivers across my arms. Help improve three lives? Who could be so crazy as to devote time to such a crusade? Finding the right problem alone…

But I am not cowed.

I swear here to write a heartfelt letter to a person who has had a significant impact on my life.

I swear here to help improve the lives of two people, even if it gets difficult.

Movements of kindness can change the world–that is what I intend to do. And in writing about pay forward on my blog I am hoping whoever reads this post will pay it forward to three people of their choosing; and maybe together we can all change the world one person at a time.

Make a difference today.

Think daily,

A Southpaw

Why Collecting Horror Figures Is Fun…

One of my more stranger qualities is my obsession with collecting horror memorabilia; masks; props; and figures–yes, I said figures, as in nine inch action figures of my favorite horror movie monsters, from Frankenstein’s Monster to Leatherface.

As of now I have them propped in my windowsill in numerous terrifying positions: Jason Voorhees is in the process of chopping off Candyman’s hand; Leatherface is about to smash a hammer on a Freddy Krueger head; and Boris Karloff as Frankenstein’s Monster is standing dull on his sandstone podium, his green right arm hanging from a chain on his green left arm, as he looks in wonder at the stupidity of his fellow figures…I also like placing one in view of the doorway; so when people walk into my room–guess what they see:

A fifteen inch Chucky.

He is standing atop my writing desk beside a plush Slimer; and is holding a blood stained butcher knife. This is the figure most people want to throw in the garbage because of how frightened they are of him. It is why I keep him out–how often do people get a good scare anymore?

For me it is a three year collection. I know, lazy, compared to some collectors whose hobbies consume whole rooms, even houses; but I like to keep the collection small and manageable within the parameters of my cramped four foot windowsill–it will get cramped if I buy enough of these plastic guys…you betcha.

Tirelessly I have searched the counters of antique stores and the webpages of Amazon for them. One month I would pick up a figure, then another month would pass; and the following week a package from Amazon would arrive; and then come my birthday–but you get the point. They took a long time to collect. A hobby this large is not easily accomplished in a number of weeks. It takes motivation and perseverance, interest and eagerness, money and…more money. And space; you need tons of space.

But all the same it is worth the investiture. Everyone needs a hobby; and even if you only collect pocket watches or gunpowder shavings from the Civil War you will have fun searching and eventually stacking them on your own shelf.

Think daily,

A Southpaw

Why I Have This Blog

Fun Fact: This blog originally started as a summer assignment for my high school reading class. Crazy, right? Well, what is even crazier is the love I gained for it during my summer vacation.

I had always heard of blogs as being enjoyable for both the blogger and their followers; and above all the opinions about a blog was the view that it opened up a new avenue of communication and expression for anyone. Yes, any one with access to a computer can set up a blog and cast their thoughts across the boundless Internet. The concept is inspiring when you think of it in those terms…is it not?

While I was writing the posts for my class I wondered why I kept making separate posts–these were the Miscellaneous posts–and asking myself if a blog was really my next avenue of writing. As I continued this doubt shortened and a new confidence took its place: the blog became another source of release in life.

So, Thoughts of a Southpaw became more than a summer assignment–and I have valued it since then. A blog is a good form of release.

Think daily,

A Southpaw

The Blockbuster: A Casual Sketch

Currently I am reading Timeline by Michael Crichton, the author of Jurassic Park and the Lost World; and as of today I have read most of the book in enjoyment and distress. Enjoyment, because I’m a sucker for a fast thriller and action sequences get my adrenaline pumping; and distress, because I savor thoughtful character development and scene description, such as in my recent reading of A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. While reading Timeline, however I have realized a blockbuster has its place in literature–they are difficult books to write–and they acquire so much popularity among readers because of these specially chosen factors:

Formula

The definition of a blockbuster is “something notably effective or successful,” and when I hear the words “effective” my mind springs to formulaic thinking, which is how most blockbusters and consistently adrenaline-fueled thrillers are constructed. It usually starts with a simple plot sketch of the rising conflicts–these are tense scenes for the purpose of hooking the reader without divulging deeply into character motivation and backstory–then throughout the first chapters characters are hastily introduced as defined outlines of their personalities (sometimes these can be stereotypical personalities but more on that later…). And soon the story comes to an explosive conclusion in the final chapters–this is the release of the carefully balanced tension throughout the novel.

Characters

In blockbusters characters are mere outlines of themselves–what they lack in psychological development they contribute to with repetition of names, like “Hank climbed the tree” and “Hank waved to Judy and Jack at Steven’s house,” and quirky traits which they repeat constantly in the story: say the protagonist is a fireman who hates touching water and is always carrying a pair of gloves with him– maybe he says “got to get ’em dry” before tugging them on at the hydrant. His actions will be repetitive and predictable; and likely you will feel comforted by the repetition…perhaps annoyed as well.

Sentences

This is a blockbuster sentence. Short and to the point; and ridding a paragraph of all unnecessary descriptions and words. Blockbuster sentences focus on the action at hand–if the antagonist rifleman is preparing to fire a shot at the heroine cowering in the house, then by God the next few paragraphs will center around his aim and his fingers and his mind; how each of them result in his squeezing the trigger on that sweet 22′ caliber. The impact sentences–“The bullet shot from the barrel, whistling. It pegged Katelyn in the forehead, and blood flecked her shining hair. She stiffened and tumbled sideways down the stairs.” By the way that is not an exceptional blockbuster paragraph in any form, merely an amateur writing.

Those three elements are key to a blockbuster…but if you want a successful story, then you need to have an intriguing premise that knows how to scoop up the action on a hot platter and maintain the heat while serving slices of itself to the readers on consistently sized plates. Then it is all up to you on how you personally spice the dish.

Think daily,

A Southpaw

New Additions to the Blog?

A Southpaw here,

In recent months I have written posts on the Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and How to Read Literature Like A Professor–both of which were extremely enjoyable to talk about; as well I wrote some miscellaneous thinkings and a movie review of Last Shift.

I am coming to a close on those books and will review them.

Today I wanted to talk about what the blog will feature in the future. I am certainly going to focus on books (I do love my classics…if that’s any hint) and a few choice movies here and there. They will not be plain reviews. These books are classic for a reason, and so should be treated likewise; meaning I will discuss certain intriguing sections of the books in creative ways, such as I did for Huckleberry Finn.

But most importantly this post is about receiving input from you guys: tell me what books sound interesting; what movies sound interesting; and anything you can think of which will make this blog a delight to read. All comments will be helpful!

This blog is supported by its followers…so why not give some advice to improve it?

Think daily,

A Southpaw

Immortality

As of yet there is no Fountain of Youth, and considering the Holy Grail is more a myth than a genuine relic immortality is a far reach past sanity–or so the world likes to think. But we are not strictly discussing the immortality of life.

Death can grant the most rewarding immortality: a legacy.

There are legacies in all aspects of life–even those that carry the spark along on a smaller scale. They float around us every day: the bronze commemorative plaque on the park bench; the statue of the town founder in the center of the local shopping outlet; the entertaining franchise of films or books or music which passes its torch along to a worthy successor. All of them are children proud of their parental origins who have passed on to them their traits of brilliance and innovation to satisfy the world further.

No matter how large or small sunlight shines upon a mark. It may be a scorch in the soil or even a footprint on the beach. And should it be a crater in the strand of time the light will shine no brighter nor dimmer, as the lightest flick to a house of cards sets it fluttering down.

Legacies are timeless artifacts of contributions to our special swirling bowling ball: the ball morphs from the paintbrush strokes that splatter upon it; moving like a whirring dynamo the ball has little time to sort out the colors, and so it absorbs them all into a single shade of gorgeous indifference.

Change is welcome on our paint ball–one need only take their brush and dip it in a can and slather a smiley face on the green ocean. Forever the smiley face will swim along the colorful coast towards the next dripping brush and the next and the next.

Legacies are not so awful when compared to immortality.

Think daily,

A Southpaw

How To Not Take Life For Granted

There tend to be a lot of misconceptions about life–one person will say you have to take it this way, while the next guy tells you take a turn down that road…oh, which road? The road less traveled…

That’s a Robert Frost joke…did you get it?

Anyhow, life is open to many opinions on how it should proceed, meaning, of course, everyone wants to offer their two cents into your life pool–yes, an actual pool in which you alone float around on an inflatable duck, or maybe a raft, and drink lemonade while watching life proceed around you. Try it sometime–it’s relaxing.

And what is the number one nuisance in your pool? There is the moment when someone cannonballs into the water–nothing like that ever turns out dry….but the most annoying instance happens to be when you are accused of taking life for granted.

Remember how you’re supposed to take advice with a grain of salt?

The people who make these accusations apparently forget that maxim; they want to shove the whole canister down your throat and repeat to you the errors of your ways–they’re like the arrogant kid brother who never shuts up…not that mine is anything like that.

Not all people take their lives for chance; rather, they see it in a different light than the person chatting them up in the inflatable duck. They see it in terms of whether their melting ice cream cone is worth swallowing or if it deserves to be thrown in the trash; and perhaps that is taking the ice cream for granted, but it sure beats having sticky fingers in the pool. And that person on the duck–remind him he chose the duck over the raft.

So, the next time you see those people paddling in your pool and carrying huge salt canisters in their boats–well, first, tell them to get of your pool; it is private property–simply swim to them in your yellow duck and ask them why they waste their lives to punish others who have done nothing but eaten or thrown away their ice cream cones because they either wanted a different flavor or it began sticking their fingers together.

Then steal one of those salt canisters–those are rare to find.

Think daily,

A Southpaw

Is There An Afterlife?–A Post-Hole Digging (#1)

I don’t belong here, we gotta move on dear escape from this afterlife…

Afterlife-Avenged Sevenfold

Consider the end of your life…

Of course, that does not sound appealing, and there is no reason why it should; but perhaps a speculation is due once a year. Now, we are not here to discuss the end per say, but the arguable beginning; that stage of comfort, or discomfort, after death–the afterlife.

Is there one?

A question which has, for most of history, remained unanswered–for good or for bad. There are cultural references springing to your mind right now about this phase; most of them detailing its supposed inhabitants…spirits, more commonly known as ghosts…and then there are their rotten doppelgängers, the demons; but those are best left well alone.

In these outlets, the ghosts expressed are always separate–meaning no one interpretation can ever be the exact same as its prior. Consider Casper the Friendly Ghost, a white blur who speaks and acts out movements; he is not the same as the devouring spirit from Poltergeist, not even if comparing their both being ghosts. One chats, the other haunts. One appears, the other lurks…

I would like to tell you a story about the afterlife, to describe to you the vividness of these spirits and their baffling sense of wrong and right in a world in which they once lived and ate and slept…but, no evidence has presented itself.

Yes, no ghost has appeared to me, shadowy or solid, and it disappoints me for one reason–how can I ever know what is beyond this world without waiting for that eventual succumbing? How can I know if there is an actual afterlife?

I could listen to those who have seen it. I could watch videos of supposed sightings, and, like the mass, claim the kitchen cabinet creaked open by way of an otherworldly hand snapping out from its barrier and reaching so slightly for that brass handle.

But, also like the mass, I will come to forget those.

Somewhere out here, or perhaps out there, anywhere, is tangible evidence.

Somewhere out here, or perhaps out there, anywhere, is a true sighting.

Somewhere out here, or perhaps out there, anywhere, is an actual entity.

I want to believe–in an afterlife, as do so many others; but to do that I must cross this chasm of lousy falsities and satires to reach an honest telling of a story or a sighting near impossible to deny.

Already I believe there are ghosts, those are not too difficult to grasp once you’ve seen enough movies and read enough books…but the place from which they materialize is a tougher trial–one I hope has been completed by a lucky few who have seen a shred of the unnatural and the unbelievable.

Maybe they are real…maybe they have never been more than campfire stories, but I guarantee if they do exist, then they will remain hidden as long as we stand around waiting for a mystical sign in the sky, or our bedroom closet…they likely have far more creative ways of communication; and for an example of one simply watch Poltergeist.

Think daily,

A Southpaw

Are Clowns Actually Scary Anymore?

So, last week, I had the pleasure of visiting the local circus with my family. It is the exact same circus you have probably attended, regardless of whether you reside in the middle of Chicago or in the potato fields of Idaho–you know, Barnum and Bailey.

Anyways, while I munched on a bag full of cotton candy, and enjoyed the spectacle of the Circus Extreme–a new show where the performers travel around the world, from the ocean to a cheap remake of the set of West Side Story–I started to notice something…the performing clowns were not frightening.

Yes, these clowns were far from terrifying; in fact, not a single image of Pennywise sprang once to my imagination as I watched them go about their silly acts. They broke chairs over one another’s heads. They failed to form a human ladder and crumpled to the floor in a pile of rubber noses and giant flapping clown shoes. They even came up to the row of seats behind ours, and started engaging a couple kids in lively conversation–that, and they straightened my flimsy hat, an accessory with the cotton candy.

How, I repeatedly asked myself, are these clowns not as scary as the clowns of my younger days?

Everyone remembers their first clown, unfortunately being one of those memories you can never erase, like watching your first horror movie. If you were as young as me, maybe that clown shook the very circus peanuts from your jittering hands, maybe you had to take a quick trip to the bathroom…it happens, no one is judging.

See, the first time I saw a clown was not at a circus–rather, I had the pleasure of visiting a haunted house, in the deep woods, as a six-year old child.

Some details become fuzzier as I age, so no longer can I recall why we, a rag-tag team of parents and their children, had a family outing at a haunted house; but the moment of seeing that terrible clown has remained throughout these long years.

A foolishly ignorant child, I had wandered from the group of military parents escorting us youthful innocents through this wooded horror, completely clueless of my isolation, when there came an eager whispering out of the dark grove of trees to my left–glancing over to the voice, I immediately spotted the grinning clown in a black and red rubber suit with a frilly fan round his white neck hunched behind a tree, smiling and cackling and beckoning with a gloved finger; and then he began to lurch out on to the matted grass and growled, “We all float here, Georgie…”

Okay, I lied about that last part, but my point is is that perhaps it is not the age at which you see a clown, or if the actor behind those gleaming red lips and starched white face paint is suffering from depression or happens to be a truly pleasant clown; no, perhaps it is about your situational status. If you are in a haunted forest, in which the only sign of life is yourself and a freaky clown who likes to jump out screaming from behind every other tree, then that could end up being a recurring nightmare for weeks; however, if instead you are attending a funny circus show with your family, where those clowns perform the most hilarious tricks to make you spew sticky soda out your nostrils, then there you have a possible cherished memory for years–actually, interpret that one as you will.

Here’s a test to prove my point: the next time you watch your favorite horror movie, double points if it is your first, notice the atmosphere of the scariest scene–is the killer hanging himself on a noose in a graveyard, or is he rolling around in the ball pit at Chuck E’ Cheese’s? Not only will you likely burst out laughing, but you will, hopefully, understand why some clowns are not as scary as they were back then.