Ten Interesting Things About Me

Okay, I usually like to keep a distance, here, when I compose. The less you know about me, the more you can see who I am through my authorship. Like, for example, yesterday's topic for writing challenge. It asked for me to describe my first kiss AND my first love.

Yeah, no. Just can't go there. Sure, it exists somewhere, but, no, I just can't write about that.

Too private.

But, the pause of yesterday led to today. Today's topic was to author ten interesting things about myself.

Since yesterday I left you in the lurch, I figured I should, at the very least, try to find those ten moments that work on the definition of who I am. Maybe, for those out there in readership-land, you'll understand a bit more of where I'm coming from.

Here it goes.

The honest truth? I don't find myself very interesting. But, then, again, I have to live with this yutz all the time.

The clothing choices, alone, kept me away. I look awful in white.

10.  I went to college to become a minister.  Yes, there's a story. See, Ma was pretty open when it came to religion. She didn't force it like so many parents, but, in retrospect, she encouraged me to find enlightement where I found it would. My older brother, working his way through another girlfriend, elected to try the marriage thing and, through contacts, found a Lutheran Church. The minister was a friend of the family, a colleague of my uncle, also a man of the cloth. My biological father had us baptized before he left this mortal toil, a concession my mother made that I may never fully understand, even after all these years. That was always there, a reminder. So, after my brother went to this local church to get married (and divorced, five months later), I elected to continue to go. No, I didn't get all church-y, either. But something clicked. [in later moments in my life, I realized that it was the spiritual-ness I connected with, necessarily the ceremony or doctrine, but, that, my friends is a blog post upon itself]. By the time I got ready for college, I noticed I had aced a ton of vocal music, a knack I have since lost. I knew I wanted a private school. I knew I wanted a small school. And, yes, the college I went to in north, north, north Minnesota was where I sailed away to.

No, I never became a minister.

9.  I've written about 7 plus novels. Fact: They all suck moosedick. However, strangely, I've ghostwritten, twice, and those seemed to do well, but I never followed up on them. So if I am using someone else's idea, I'm fine, I guess. None of them have been published. None have been worthwhile. Most are not digital, either, and have been lost to the ages.

8.  I used to write for a 'zine.  Before there was the internet, subversive behavior and community growth was run by the college writing underground, and they had a cheap copier. We started small, in a small city, but eventually got advertisers. I was paid very little, and was really brought on board because of connections I had with a local theater. Yeap. Wrote their movie reviews. And since I didn't have to worry about the public, I could say, "fuck" alot in my reviews. We grew and grew and as I watched, dumbfounded, a newspaper grew. From them? I learned how to be a journalist. It's why I revere the Fourth Estate a bit more than Faux News does. I even would do ride alongs with the local fuzz and report on the crime beat. Yes, this could have been my profession.

7.  I'm somehow related to Edwin McMasters Stanton. Okay, I'm still learning about this one. But, yes, I'm related, via marriage to Mr. Stanton, the Secretary of War under Lincoln. When Mr. Lincoln was shot, the VP proved to be very ineffective-and Mr. Stanton, a blowhard with a strong personality, supposedly took over. At least, that's what some historians say. And, his wife was, somehow, married into our family.

6.  I have a strange hobby with my dreams and tarot cards. I write them down, if they're strong enough. I can't explain it. I can only tell if I slept well if I knew I had a dream, even if it fades away. Yeah, into dreams. No, not like the metaphors. Like, when you actually sleep and, you know, dream. And, yes, I will interpret dreams.

5.  I am, most likely, part Amish, mostly Irish, raised by Jewish traditions. My grandparents elaborated, once, about how my grandmother (or was it my grandfather)'s family left the River Brethren Order ages ago, but we were still related to them. However, we're still trying to find that link. Other than I kinda look like many of them. Another tale was that, on my mother's side, my Great Grandfather was a immigration officer on ships coming from Belfast.  One day? He got off the boat. And he was supposed what they called "Dark Irish," with dark complexions and dark hair.  Ma went on to get a Jewish husband who is a great guy-and inadvertently taught me the ways of Judaism, by just being...awesome.

Actual house where the crime was committed. Wait. There's something writable in this.

4.  An uncle of our family was a detective in rural Pennsylvania that had to investigate a very famous homicide.  I was also informed that the "Smith" in the nonfiction book, Hexed, was a distant uncle. Seems a group of young Amish boys were creeped out by a new minister in the community of York, PA, and killed him. But didn't just kill him. Severely dismembered him, so his spirit would not come back and haunt them. The book is horrifying in it's simplicity. They were supposedly 'God-faring.'   This was in the 1930s.

3.  I meditate and pray every morning, after reading poetry. Wait, you don't? Why are people so surprised by this? I vary the poetry, it just gives me something to think about. 

2.  My first job of my career was right up the street from where I basically grew up.  I applied to twenty different positions back in the fall of 1992. There was no internet, so these were cold calls, I just sent an application and resume and called, long distance. A few nibbles, including a possible job in Devil's Lake, North Dakota-yeah, no more winters in the North. But a weird phone call arrived and a secretary asked how soon I could arrive at an interview-an hour from my parents' home. "I can be there in an hour." I got the job.

And stayed there for 20 years.

1.  My father's name is on the moon. My father worked with Northrup Gruman and helped with the creation of the lunar lander with the Saturn and Apollo projects. As such, they all signed large poster documents and buried them on the moon, beneath a plaque, to commemorate everyone. So...if they ever colonize the lunar surface. My dad's name is there. Yeah, the guy who died in 1974.