Because I Can… the random thoughts of Marc Scott

There was a time, not so long ago, when words flowed.  All I had to do was open my laptop, position my fingers over the keys, and let them do the talking.  My job was simple.  Check for spelling mistakes.  The rest just seemed to happen.  I honestly didn’t have to try or think or even edit really.  Give me 20 minutes, and there was a blog.

Truth be told, it was kind of frustrating sometimes.  Many nights I would go to bed, turn out the light, close my eyes, feel the cool breeze of the fan sweep across my face, and drift into the darkness I couldn’t see.

Sleep was often not swift to come.  Instead, swirling inside my head like fallen leaves on a green October blanket of grass were words.  Sentences.  Paragraphs.  All this in place of dreams.  Ideas jumping onto a screen instead of sheep jumping over a fence or the moon or wherever those sheep are supposed to jump.

More often then not, I would have to get out of bed at 2 in the morning and type those thoughts into a blog.  Freeing the words from my mind was the only way I could convince it to shutdown and go to sleep.  This went on daily for around 6 months.

I don’t know what happened.  I have some theories.  Most of them rubbish I suppose, but they are theories nonetheless.  Having grown up in a small town where homes relied on cisterns for water, I am all too familiar with the act of turning on a dry faucet.  Where there is no water, there is no flow.  Perhaps my well of words has simply dried up.

Once a cistern has been run dry, it is in such a state it will remain until it is filled again.  This provided the basis for a theory of greater concern.  Since my blogs are often about change or growth or lessons learned, I’ve pondered whether or not I’ve reached a dry spell, as it were, in my life.  Perhaps there are no words to write, because there has been a lack in my life.  We should always be changing, growing, learning, or so I tell myself.

It is in winter that the land lies dormant.  It rests.  It heals from the punishment inflicted upon it by massive green combines and tractors with 8 tires the size of a Volkswagen.  From it’s dusty brown bed it’s birthed wheat and oats and corn.  It’s provided nourishment for us for another year.  Before it can do it again, it rests.  Snow provides it’s fluffy white pillow, the cool crisp air it’s blanket.  It rests.

After this season comes spring.  A time of freshness.  Renewed fields come to life, ready to be worked and planted.  Ready to be kissed by the rain and hugged by the warmth of the sun.  Ready to produce again.

Of all the theories I’ve tossed around in my head, I like this theory the best.  Though I’ve never considered myself a writer, and thus have ruled out the theory of writers block, perhaps I’m just in period of winter.  Of rest.  My hope is that a new season is just around the corner.

When it comes to words, specifically, the written word, there are two kinds of people, as I see it.  There are writers, and then there are those who write.

Writers are important people, special people, gifted people.  They use their craft to earn or living and bring about change.  They write books and songs and magazine articles and report the news.  They’re published.  They’re famous, the scale of which isn’t so important because fame is entirely subjective.  Writers encourage us to read and make us want to read.  A writer can make you laugh, make you cry, make you smile, or make you vote for a political party.  Perhaps, for me anyway, most importantly, writers make you think.  They make you ask questions.  Maybe of yourself, or maybe of others.  Good writing generates good dialogue, or I think it should.

Then there are people who write.  These people don’t expect to be read, and don’t really care if they’re read because they probably don’t think they’re good enough to be read.  Some of them write journals, some of them write blogs, some of them write girls phone numbers on napkins in coffee shops.  Some write for fun, some write to hone their craft with aspirations of being published, some write because.  That’s it.  Just because.  And you know what?  That’s OK.

I am just someone who writes.  My dear friend Carrie will argue this.  But she also invited me over to punch me in the face once.  She says she was joking.  She probably won’t be after she reads this. We debate the writer vs someone who writes deal often.  I get to win because it’s my blog.  I digress.  Since I don’t very often find myself writing down girls phone numbers on napkins at coffee shops; something I like to think has more to do with the fact that I don’t drink coffee than it does with the fact that no girl would ever give me her phone number, I write for therapy.

I assure you I am not mental.  Not yet.  Or, not entirely.  I suppose that could be considered subjective as well.  For the sake of argument though, lets assume my mental faculties or mostly in tact.  When I say I write for therapy, I just mean that it’s a good way for me to get stuff out there.  Sometimes I just need to get stuff out there.  If 300 people read it, if 3 people read it, if nobody ever reads it, is of little consequence.

My friends whom are closest to me have a small insight into how my mind works.  I tell them I’ll never let them fully understand because once they are in there, there is no turning back.  Basically though, they know that sometimes, I’ve got to vent.  It could take 5 minutes.  It could take 50 minutes.  Their job, and God bless each one of them for doing it so well, is to sit and listen.  Sometimes I’ve just got to throw everything out there from the completely probable to the utterly ridiculous.  It’s not that I believe it all, it’s just that I need to get it out in the open so I can begin the process of sifting through it and making sense of it.

My friends that I chat with online are the lucky ones.  Especially on the 50 minute sessions.  For all I know they’ve long since left the computer.  They could be outside mowing the lawn, or eating a banana split or going for a swim.  All the while, I’m just typing away, blabbing away, venting away.  As long as they come back before I’m finished, I’d never know they left.  Even in their absence, the session is just as effective because I got everything out in the open.  Of course, having just said this, for those that hadn’t got the bright idea to go for a banana split during one of my venting episodes, they’ll now likely do it.  This means I’ll have to start asking random questions in the midst of everything, just to be sure they are still there!

After I’m done, after I’ve let it all out, and when I’ve completed the process of sifting through it and finding sense, if any sense is to be found, I write.  That’s what you see.  That’s what you read.  My therapy.  Dr Phil it is not, but it’s real.

It can be an intimidating thing, I admit this.  Once it’s out there, on this world wide web, I’m exposed.  Vulnerable.  Open.  One day, I suppose, that could come back to haunt me.  Thus far it hasn’t.  I like to tell myself – though I promise not out loud –  that maybe I’m not as crazy as I think I am.  Maybe we’re all just a bunch of people taking up space in the cosmos, dealing with the same stuff, thinking about the same things, sorting through the same chaos caused by same problems.  Brothers and sisters.  Like God intended it.

If my blood sister needed my help, I’d give it.  I’d likely tease her for a while, or make her beg for it a little, but eventually I’d help her.  So maybe some of the things I write, and some of the things you read will help you too.

It still boggles my mind that people actually come here daily and read my blog.  What gets me even more is that it’s not just my mom and dad and a couple of good friends.  It’s all kinds of people.  Lots of different people.  Some that I know, most that I don’t.  I’m actually quite humbled by it.

The internet is a beautiful thing in the sense that it can give a voice to those who may not have otherwise had one.  There will likely be no book deals in my future.  I don’t ever expect to be employed as a writer for any influential magazines.  Don’t look for me to be the next Stone Phillips on Dateline.  Is Stone Phillips even still on Dateline?  I haven’t watched it for a few years.  I digress.  That aside, I can take my little piece of cyberspace and use it to share a few random thoughts.

I do track the traffic on my blog, to a certain degree.  One of the things that always amuses me is the way some people find the site.  I have to believe that they are never expecting what they find when they get here.  At the same time, I also wonder what the heck people are really looking for with some of their keyword searches.

To those of you that have found this site as the result of a random Google search… I hope you found what you were looking for!  If you came back the next day… thank you!

Some of my favorites…

A cat in a tree: This really shouldn’t come as a surprise, since I am a Firefighter and cats in trees seem to go right along with that.  This search lead to this post… No Glove… No Love!

PUT THIS BY YOUR TOILET! My sister and brother-in-law give me “Uncle John’s Bathroom Reader” books for Christmas every year.  They are actually great books.  At first I was a little hurt that somebody would search for that phrase and find my blog.  Then I remembered the Bathroom Reader books and figured I was in good company!  It lead to this blog… Thoughts From The Throne

ATTENTION LADIES SAVE A FIRE TRUCK RIDE A FIREMAN SHIRT!!!!! Mom… I want you to know that I had nothing to do with this keyword search.  I am still a good boy and a perfect gentleman!  Why this particular keyword search brought somebody to the blog is, again, beyond me.  It directed them to the blog titled Pull Over

pictures of a boy in a cornfield: These people must have been greatly disappointed.  I assure you that there are no pictures of boys in a cornfield anywhere on this blog.  I wonder if they took the time to read Friday Night In The Cornfield which is the page their search sent them to.  If they did, I hope it inspired them.

chicken -typepad -wordpress -bloglines -blogspot -flickr: What could you possibly be looking for with a keyword search like that?  I have no clue.  But I bet it wasn’t anything close to what they found on my blog!  That search lead them to a recent post called Protecting You From My Hairy Chicken Legs

“marc scott” chorus: This search came from Google Denmark.  Do you suppose it means somebody has written a song about me?  That’d be pretty sweet!  Of course, if they were in fact looking for a song about me it, would have been a letdown when all they found was a blog titled What Heaven Might Sound Like

skinniest firefighter: This one made me laugh.  Truth be told… when I joined the department in 2000, I don’t doubt I was the skinniest Firefighter.  I weighed about 125lbs soaking wet!  No kidding!  I wish I could have seen the look on the searchers face when their Google results brought them to a blog post about my boxer shorts! HA!  That would’ve been classic. Yes… They’re Blue

“i am divorced” Somebody did a keyword search for this from Google Russia.  That’s right baby… my blog is famous worldwide!!!  My heart goes out to the person who conducted this search.  If they were looking for advice, encouragement, support or a date (you never know) they must have been really disappointed when they found a blog about my trip to Walmart to buy new underwear! I Could Hide Out Under There… I Just Made You Say Underwear

kara dioguardi pictures of her big ears: It is no surprise to regular visitors of this blog that I watch Idol, and blog about Idol.  If you have read those then you also know I have a crush on Kara DioGuardi.  That said, I do not think she has big ears.  Nor do I have pictures of them!  This search, however, did bring people to my wonderful play by play Idol blogs!

I could actually keep going.  There are a ton of these.  No kidding!  But I will end with my favorite thus far…

shrunken man trapped in the women’s purse: What in the world could you possibly be expecting to find with such a ridiculous search?  I can’t even begin to imagine.  Here is what I love about this one.  The blog it lead them to is actually the perfect way to wrap up this particular post.  With all these bizarre keyword searches leading people to things on my blog they most likely weren’t looking for, it seems fitting that this persons search guided them to the post Lost In Translation

Roughly 60% of the traffic I’ve had on this blog in the past few days has been as a result of Google searches for “Jon & Kate” or “Jon & Kate Plus 8.”  I wrote one blog about them on January 10, 2009 (check it here) and it’s from that single blog, that I now receive hundreds of hits a day from individuals who are looking them up in Google.

Since Jon & Kate are back in the news, and since their searches are generating the vast majority of traffic on my blog right now, I figured I may as well jump on the bandwagon, so to speak, and address the current situation.  I’ve read a bit about the allegations being made against Jon.  My reading has included both media reports and blogs.  I wanted to make sure I had a firm grasp on what the deal was before I made any sort of comments about it.  Now that I’m convinced I’m thoroughly educated with regards to what is floating around about them in cyberspace I feel more than equipped to share my two cents.

My thoughts are as follows, and you may not like this, but here we go.  It’s none of your stinking business!

The allegations are that Jon is cheating on Kate with a school teacher.  I do not know if these allegations are true or false, nor do I particularly care because, as previously mentioned, it is none of your business… nor is it mine.

Jon had he following to say on the issue…

“These allegations are false and just plain hurtful,” Gosselin said Wednesday, insisting: “I did not cheat on Kate.” Gosselin was speaking out against tabloid reports that he’s had an affair with a Pennsylvania schoolteacher. Photos of Gosselin and the woman have surfaced in recent weeks.

“I need to be more careful and aware of who I am associating with and where I am spending my time,” said Gosselin, who apologized for putting his family “in this awkward position.”

Quite frankly, that is good enough for me.  I’m a firm believer in giving everybody the benefit of the doubt until they give me a reason to not.  Then… I forgive them!

To the media that is digging for dirt, and more than likely praying to their media gods that there is more to this story, I say get a life.  Write about something positive.  Something productive.  Something that will actually contribute to society as a whole.  You may be surprised at how it makes you feel about yourself.  Good!

To the bloggers who are condemning Jon to hell, I say, get a life!  You don’t know the whole story.  You likely never will know the whole story.  So find something better to blog about.  How about important issues like what are you trying to hide in your own life by focusing your attention on destroying somebody else’s!  That would make for a great blog.  When you write it, let me know.  I’ll read it, link it, and maybe even mention it on my radio show!

I’ve often wondered if Jon & Kate themselves have ever read the blog I wrote about them.  I mean, lets be honest, who hasn’t googled themselves to see what comes up?  So just in case, to you both, Jon & Kate, my prayers are with you as you deal with unnecessary scrutiny.  I am sure you are well aware that by setting yourselves up in the public spotlight, these storms would come.  That doesn’t make it right, and it certainly doesn’t make it any easier.  But there one is who will get you through them.  I know you pray to the same God I do.  He’s listening!

For the rest of us, I share the following advice I read it in a great book once.  You should spend a little time reading it for yourself.  We all need to be spending some time reading it for ourselves!

“Don’t pick on people, jump on their failures, criticize their faults— unless, of course, you want the same treatment. That critical spirit has a way of boomeranging. It’s easy to see a smudge on your neighbor’s face and be oblivious to the ugly sneer on your own. Do you have the nerve to say, ‘Let me wash your face for you,’ when your own face is distorted by contempt? It’s this whole traveling road-show mentality all over again, playing a holier-than-thou part instead of just living your part. Wipe that ugly sneer off your own face, and you might be fit to offer a washcloth to your neighbor. Matthew 7:3-5 The Message

I’ve often thought it would be cool to write a book.  Actually, I suppose “author” a book would be a more appropriate term.  I really haven’t literally written since I got my first computer.  I’m not entirely sure if I’d even remember how.  So it would be cool to author a book.

I don’t really know what my book would be about.  I don’t feel as though I have anything book-worthy to say.  Even if I did, I certainly wouldn’t expect that I’d be able to fill an entire book.  It seems to me that if you want your book to taken seriously, if you want it on the bestseller list, it needs to be big.  It should be thick and grand, brimming with hefty words.  The greater the number of syllables, the more eloquent and intelligent it would sound.  I don’t know if I could write a book like that.  Perhaps I’d be best to begin a little further down the literary hierarchy .  Maybe a short book.  I could use large print and double space.  Perhaps I could throw in a few illustrations to increase the content.

I get lost in daydreams when I think of my book.  I picture a man, middle-aged.  He is sitting in the park.  He’s wearing slacks, tan, like they just spent a week on the beach in the Caribbean.  A white, short-sleeved shirt is covered by a sweater vest, not unlike those worn by Mr Rogers.  It’s blue.  Not blue like the sky mind you.  You know the color of blue that the oceans are when you see earth from space?  A deep, rich, bold kind of blue?  It’s like that.  He has a hat.  A wool plaid cap and he’s smoking a pipe.  He wears glasses.  Thick rimmed, black.  They rest on the end of his nose.  The way somebody wears them when they want to be able to look down and through them, or up and over them.  He looks distinguished.  Intelligent.  Like a professor or something.  The kind of guy that you’d go to if you needed the answer to a really hard question.

The air is warm, a light breeze takes the edge off.  The grass is green and thick.  Children are playing in the distance.  People are rollerblading and cycling along the paths.  There is chess table, like the kind you see in the movies.  Two elderly gentlemen are sitting at it playing.  My professor though, is sitting on a park bench.  He’s leaning a bit, left leg crossed over the right.  With his right hand he holds a book, with his left hand he works the pipe.  It appears as though he is unaware of the world around him.  Whatever this piece of literature is he holds in his hand, it has consumed him.

In my daydream, my professor is reading my book.  I like to picture it this way because it makes me feel good.  If such an intelligent looking man would spend his afternoon in the park with my book, then it must be good.  After all, such a man wouldn’t devote his time to pages unworthy.

Women would read my book too.  But I don’t put near as much imagination into the type of woman that would read it.  Men watch sports in my head.  They don’t really read books.  It seems like only certain types of men would, and that is the type I picture.  Of course, I read books and I don’t look anything like that.  But I read books in hopes that one day I can be deep and profound and articulate.  Then, perhaps, I’ll be perceived as intelligent, even if my high school transcripts say otherwise.

Women though, in my opinion, are generally smarter than men in many ways.  Maybe not in the greasing the chainsaw sort of way, but in most other ways.  So I don’t need to picture a specific woman reading my book.  I picture all women reading it because I just assume all women read.  I don’t mean to sound arrogant by saying I picture all women reading my book.  It’s not an ego thing, like my book is so great all women will read it.  It’s just more of me picturing all women reading books, so they could, theoretically, all read mine.

I can lose myself in this daydream for a long time.  Is it still technically a daydream if it happens at night?  I’ve often wondered about that.  I get lost in my thoughts a lot.  But it definitely happens to me most often while I’m in bed.  I’m not asleep mind you.  I think it’s just because I’m quiet.  Darkness is my blanket.  There is no TV, no radio, no computer.  Just the gentle whirring of my refrigerator.  For the record, that’s not in my room.  My apartment is just small and so I hear it at night.  So I lay in bed and think and dream, I’m just still awake when I do it.  I think about my book and about people reading it.  Then I think about how much my fridge runs and wonder if that’s normal.

I never expected I’d be writing a blog.  I really don’t know what brought that on.  It just seemed like the thing to do at the time.  I had some stuff to say, the internet is free, I already had my own web site.  So why not start a blog?  I’m not on the NY Times Bestseller list, that’s for sure.  Maybe it’s practice?  That thought has crossed my mind.  It’s a good dream though, even if that’s all it is.  I love dreaming about my book.

Do you ever have one of those days when you feeling like you have nothing productive or intelligent to offer to society?  I say this not in a negative way either.  I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing.  I mean really, can anyone be expected to be on their game all the time?  Should anyone be expected to be on their game all the time?

When I first started this blog, my biggest apprehension was that there would be days when I wouldn’t have anything to write about.  If I’m going to post everyday, and people are doing to give me their time everyday, I should have something here for them to read everyday.  It’s actually a lot of pressure, and it’s probably unnecessary pressure that I’ve put on myself.

The reality is, we all need a day off.  I don’t just mean a day off from work either.  I mean, sometimes we all just need to take a day to do absolutely nothing.  No work.  No thinking.  Nothing productive.  We just need a day to relax, restore, renew.  Productivity is not a constant.  Creativity is not a constant.  If Shakespeare was allowed to have days when his pen ran dry, then I guess it’s OK for me to.  After all… he was Shakespeare!  I’m just some random guy.  I don’t suspect that my literary offerings will ever be required reading in High School.  That’s not to say that it couldn’t happen.  Just to say that it’s not something I’ve considered!

So I guess, what I’m really trying to say is, it’s OK to have an off day.  It’s OK to wake up in the morning every so often and not feel like getting out of bed or offering anything to the world.  It just means when you come back the next time around, you’ll be that much more energized, that much more creative, and be that much more of a blessing.  Here is hoping tomorrow I prove this true!

When I started this blog a month ago it was just something I thought I’d do for fun.  Just share a few random thoughts here and there, perhaps, from time to time, offer a word of encouragement, a nugget of truth, a tidbit of wisdom, or, maybe even a little inspiration.

After a month, I would like to think that I’ve covered the spectrum of all of the above.  During that process, though, I must admit that I’ve been completely caught off guard by what has happened!

In the beginning I had no expectations for this little blog of mine.  I fully expected that it would be sent out into the vast expanse of cyberspace and float around the constellations of blogs and tweets and legitimate literature going, like the stars, mostly unnoticed as an individual entity.

When I look in the sky at night, I’m taken back by it’s wonder and beauty.  A simple mind such as my own can’t even begin to fathom has it was put together.  The thought of how each unique star was set in it’s place the same way with which you or I would hang an ornament on a Christmas Tree, is simply unfathomable to me.  Rarely, when gazing upon it’s splendor, do I notice a single star.  Instead, I drink the in the canvas of twinkling, dancing lights as a whole.

I guess that is sort of what I figured would happen with this blog.  It would become as a single star, swallowed in a backdrop of millions.  It would be out there to see, but never noticed amongst the rest.  It would seem that I was wrong.

The first week this blog was online, I collected a couple dozen page views on a good day, maybe 3 or 5 visitors.  Little more than a month later, I’m averaging between 100-200 visitors a day, and my page views have climbed from a couple dozen to between 800-1000.  

In the grand scheme of things, those numbers could be viewed as insignificant.  I can appreciate that many blogs have tens of thousands of readers.  To me, however, somebody who takes a few minutes each day to share a little piece of himself , those numbers are quite humbling.

So to you, the one who reads, I say thank you.  Thank you for the gift of your time.  The most precious commodity any of us will ever posses is time.  I’m honored that you’ve chosen to share some of yours with me.  In return, I hope you’ll find a blessing.  Whether it come in the form of a smile, a laugh, a tear, or a truth, my desire is to give you something of value, the same as you have shared with me.

When news broke this week that Demi Moore was addicted to Twitter I thought to myself, perhaps it’s time I check this deal out.  I mean, after all, Britney uses Twitter, the President uses Twitter, Ryan Seacrest uses Twitter, so why don’t I?

I actually registered for the account months ago, I posted on it twice, and then I never looked at it again.  This week, though, I finally decided to come back and give it another shot.

I’ve yet to determine the exact purpose of Twitter.  If nobody is actually following your account, then it seems somewhat pointless.  You are literally sending out random messages to the vast expanse of cyberspace 140 characters at a time, but nobody will ever see them.

So with no followers, what is the purpose?  In a day and time when we are already devoting our attention to MySpace, Facebook, personal web sites, personal blogs, and whatever other wonderful social internet creations are out there that I don’t even know anything about, do we really need one more?  Maybe we do.

The thing I love about Twitter is the restriction of it.  By limiting my “tweets” to 140 characters or less, it eliminates the crap.  It forces me to get to the point and get there in a hurry.  I can offer an insight into my day, my life, my thoughts, my emotions, whatever I like… and I can do it without all the fluff.  That, to me, is kind of cool.

It would seem rather contradictory for a guy who writes a daily blog to say such a thing.  After all, I write several hundred words here each day and hope that you’ll grant me a few minutes of time to read them.  But what I’ve determined is there can be a time and place for both.

What I have realized is that you can learn just as much about a person from 140 character tweets, as you can from 500 word blog posts.  The interesting thing, though, is that both insights, while not even remotely equal in quantity, are fascinatingly equal in quality.

Read my blog each day and you’ll slowly learn about who I am on a deeper level. Sometimes it’s just random thoughts.  Sometimes there is a greater purpose.  Read my tweets, and you’ll quickly learn about who I am more on the surface.  It’s insight on both ends of the spectrum.

So, if you want to get to know me better, here is your chance.  Follow blog my, and see what I think.  Follow my tweets, and see what I do.  We’ll get to know each other better a blog and a tweet at a time!

http://twitter.com/MarcScott