Category Archives: Proze-iac Thoughts

Philly Memories Of A Jazz Lover: Oral History Prose

I was talking to a friend’s father, a resident at a Jewish senior center in Florida, about his life. During our walk, we heard some jazz through the intercom. As we sat in the sun room, he started telling me about his younger days in Philadelphia. These are his words (with “my comments” inserted), as close as I can recall:

Hearing Jazz in Philly
“I remember going to a club off of Walnut, and you had to go downstairs. We were sitting there, and the side door opened and they had a guy by the arm. They walked him out, brought him to the raised stage and took him up the stairs, and they put his hand on the keyboard and left him. And he sat down and started playing. From then on he owned the place. It was George Shearing. THAT was music.
Duke Ellington and Ella Fitzgerald, I saw them together and separately. They were amazing.
The guy with a different-shaped horn … “Dizzy Gillespie?” Yeah, the Dizz. There was a block of houses in West Philadelphia, and they tore out the center of the block, and he played there. That was a great sound.
Philadelphia was where that jazz happened, even more than New York. They loved to play there, and they just did it for the love… Oh,what music!
The guy with the handkerchief … “Satchmo!?!” Yeah Satchmo. Louie Armstrong, what a trumpet player! He wasn’t known as a singer, but could he play! And the Dizz … when he played, his neck and cheeks bulged out and he would force those notes out through the front, just willed it out.
And Sarah Vaughan… Beautiful! She could sing. And I would be the only white guy there, 2-3 times a week I’d be at the clubs, and they all knew me because I loved — we all loved — the music. Stan Kenton, I saw him. Benny Goodman. Except for his band, we didn’t dance at these places. They were small … and just made for listening.
They would play in the clubs until closing, or we’d go to the Boyd Theater at 11, until 1 or 2 in the morning. Then they’d come off the stage and we’d talk to them, then we’d all go to some bar or someplace and they’d set up and play until 5 or 6 in the morning. That was just for the love of the music! Now you have all these musicians, they have no talent, they just perform for the money. But back then, you could see it, and feel it, they would just play until the early morning because they loved making that sound! That music!
They would all talk to me, I knew them all. I was the only white guy in the place, but they knew I loved that sound. They don’t play like that for the love anymore. And it’s too bad.”

Christ’s Atonement Works For The Repentant Sinner (Me)

Nearly a decade ago I was excommunicated from The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints for conduct unbecoming a Priesthood holder and member of the Church. Specifically, I broke the trust of my wife, my children, my family and friends. I hurt my wife, my children, and others, and I will for forever regret the pain I’ve caused them. Each of them know I’ve tried to make it better, as much as you can make restitution for something so terrible. (Note: There was NO excuse for what I did. I take full responsibility for it.)
I stayed “out” of the Church for several years (although I kept attending), because I had insecurities and other issues I needed to work through. HOWEVER, I NEVER DOUBTED THE TRUTHFULNESS OF THE GOSPEL OF JESUS CHRIST OR THAT THE CHURCH WAS HIS RESTORED CHURCH. I knew, someday, that I would return to full membership in the Church. People would ask me “Why”, to which I would respond: “It is true. I’ve never doubted the truthfulness of the Church. I’ve only doubted my ability to live it.”
During the time I was away from the Church, I dated a number of women, but did things which were not in keeping with the Lord’s teachings as revealed through His living prophets.
About 2 years ago, I had straightened out my life to the point that I felt like I could petition to return to the Church. I also felt like I had worked things out so that I felt confident that I could live the Principles of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
Working with the appropriate local authorities (my Bishop and Stake President), I started down the path of returning to the Church, applying the principles of repentance and obtaining forgiveness through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
Since that time, I’ve had a few occasions where women who knew me “before” have told me (and others) of what I did, and that they should avoid me because of who I was. This happened just the other day, again. When this person, who I’ve never met, told me that her friend (who evidently knew me) told her what I was like, and what I’d done, (and thus, she didn’t want to get to know me, as though I was still that way), I felt like I had to write to set the record straight.
This is the content of that email (with some edits to maintain privacy and to improve the flow/make sense) :

Thank you for at least letting me know your logic (of why you won’t contact me any more). It’s always better to write and remove all doubt than to just go silent. Normally I would accept your email, tell you “Thank you”, and move on. However, I feel there are a couple of points I need to make.

1) Who I was when your friend knew me is NOT who I am now. That is the point of repentance and applying the Savior’s Atonement to our sinful lives, isn’t it?
2) I have taken the appropriate steps I needed to, to get my life back in order, and to repent of the many sins I’d committed during the past decade or so.
a) I got divorced
b) Through working with my Bishop and Stake President, and through hours and hours on my knees, I’ve sought forgiveness.
c) Because, several years ago, I’d STOPPED my inappropriate behavior, early last year, through revelation from my Stake President and the Stake High Council (who I had to meet with as part of the process to be reinstated in the Church), I was judged worthy and ready to be re-baptized for the remission of sins and for membership in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
d) Last Memorial Day weekend, under the hands of my father (a High Priest in the LDS Church), in the waters of Lake Winneconne (where he lives), I was re-baptized.
e) Immediately afterwards, under the hands of my brother (also a High Priest in the LDS Church) and other Priesthood holders, I was confirmed a member of the Church AND given the gift of the Holy Ghost.
f) Since that time, I have been working with my Bishop and Stake President, (he being an authorized representative of the Quorum of the 12 Apostles) (and, thus, the Lord), to be ready and worthy to get my Priesthood and Temple blessings restored (it takes at least a year after a person is re-baptized).
g) My goal is to be deemed worthy, when the Payson Temple is dedicated in June, to be there, and to be able to attend as a member in good standing. In order to do so, the restoration of my Priesthood and my Temple blessings will have to be approved by the First Presidency of the Church, acting as inspired representatives of the Savior.

I tell you these things not to boast or brag, but to let you (and your friend) know that I have repented, that the man I was several years ago has been “put away”, and that through the Grace and Goodness and Atonement of Jesus Christ, I have been changed and been made a new man. That’s how repentance and the Atonement is supposed to work, isn’t it? It worked for Paul the Apostle. It worked for Alma the Younger and the Sons of Mosiah (in The Book of Mormon). We all have hope that it will work for us.
I wanted to contact people I’ve hurt and lied to, and apologize, as part of my repentance process, to make some sort of restitution. Some have accepted my apology. Some have requested that I not contact them, so I haven’t.
I have not only sought spiritual help and turned my life around that way, but I also (as some suggested) sought counseling. I’ve worked on, and continue to work on, fixing the things which messed up my life, which caused me to be insecure, which caused me to do the wrong things I did.
I hope that those I’ve hurt can some day find it in their hearts to not only forgive me, but — most importantly — also recognize that people can (and do) change, through the Atonement of Jesus Christ. Because of that Atonement, the statement “Once a cheater, always a cheater” is NOT true.
Again, I only tell you this so you can understand where I am, and the steps I’ve taken. There is a chance that we may meet some day, perhaps even in the Temple. In order for the Spirit of the Lord to be unrestrained there, I feel like you need to know that I will be there worthily, and approved by revelation from the Lord through His anointed servants. I have taken, and continue to take, honest steps to put my life in harmony with what Heavenly Father wants me to do.
I am not perfect, but I know that, through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, I can change. I have changed. And I will continue to change, to follow His will, to be the best person I can be.
Best regards: Dave

Cowboys Overcompensation: Revolutionary Prose

Cheesehead on I-15 with over-compensating jacked-up Dallas Cowboys pickup truckWearing my Cheesehead over my Seahawks’ hat, my Packers’ jersey over my #12 Seahawks’ jersey, driving top down up I-15, I waved at some guy in a jacked-up pickup truck with HUGE wheels.
Then, one of the great pleasures ever as he passed: Seeing that the truck had a Dallas Cowboys bumper sticker.
Do you think he’s overcompensating?

How To Read Aloud: Revolutionary IMprov Prose

A young relative of mine was “feeling frustrated”. She said: “Oh how I just love being able to read fast and clearly in my head, but if I’ve got to read aloud it’s as if my tongue can’t cooperate with my mind and I stutter like a lunatic..urgh!”
I responded:
You stutter and stammer and feel frustrated when you read aloud because you’ve fallen into the trap of the modern world that says “Faster is better.”
It’s not.
Would you rush a sunset?
Would you hasten the first spring song of a robin?
Would you demand that the maple’s leaves turn bright crimson faster?
The written word, spoken aloud, is meant to be caressed and savored and enunciated and appreciated. Reading out loud is not a race to see how fast you can impart information, but a performance to see how movingly you can paint a verbal picture of what the writer intended, with the word pallet given to you.
Slow down.
Breathe.
Emote.
Experience.
Enjoy.

Don't Start A Snowball Fight With A Wisconsinite: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku and Prose

First came the attack. Then the photos. Then the haiku. Then the prose.
Hey Californians! it’s a bad idea to throw snowball at someone from Wisconsin: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Haiku, 11:58 a.m. Feb. 2nd, 2014
Tragic, ye who don’t/
grasp the wrath of Cheeseheads struck/
by your first snowball.
——
Don’t Start A Snowball Fight With A Wisconsinite: Revolutionary ConTEXTing Prose, 12:31 p.m. Feb. 2nd, 2014
I shall tell the tale of a southern Californian who attempted to engage me, a fifth-generation Wisconsinite, in a “snowball fight”. I do so not to boast nor brag, but in the hope that it may prevent further mishaps in the future.
In central Utah, this “beach blonde” picked up a mitten full of dry Utah powder, with the mistaken idea that simply doing so would form a “snowball”. I warned her that she really didn’t want to start start a snowball fight with this cheesehead. She came close to me and threw the handful of powdered directly on my face. The victim of a sneak attack: A handful of snow thrown by a Southern California(See photo number one).
Due to her close proximity, my face was completely covered with snow. I then reached down, picked up a handful of snow, packed it into a snowball, the way it should be formed, and said, “Now you’re in trouble.” As she slipped and slided across the field, my expertly-formed and thrown missiles hit her back, her hat-covered head, and her neck, (where of course the snow slid down underneath her shirt on to her bare back).
At that point, she said “That’s not fair! I don’t know how to make snowballs like that!” To which I responded: “Don’t attack an expert. Don’t start what you can’t finish.”
As I drew closer, thinking that she had stopped her aggressive behavior, she once again reached down and grabbed a handful of snow. This time, she knew enough to pack it, which she quickly did. Unfortunately, she didn’t realize that if you’re standing on ICY, hard snow, when you throw a snowball, the laws of physics will probably force your feet to slide out from under you, at which point gravity takes over and you end up flat on your back in the snow.
Being a gentleman, I of course reached down to help her stand up. Again, she foolishly attempted to engage me by picking up a handful of snow and throwing it toward my face. However, she failed to realize that the snow was light and powdery, and it simply ended up going about 2 feet in the air and then falling back in her face.
Southern California snowball thrower, a victim of her own aggression and follyIn such a situation, I saw no other option but to stand over her and help her understand that she shouldn’t attack me any more. Straddling her, I leaned over and grabbed handfuls of snow, and held them above her face, which she had covered with her mittens. I was patient. When she would open her mittens from over her face, I simply let go of the snow and let gravity take over. With her face covered with handfuls of cold snow, (See photo number two) she finally gave up.
A word to the wise:
We Wisconsinites tend to be a fairly friendly and docile bunch of people. But when we are attacked, especially with snow weapons which we’ve known how to create and use since we were two years old, we will end the fight quickly and conclusively.
-fini-

What Are Words Worth? Sundance Film Festival Entry: Revolutionary IMprov Ideas

Fill is a middle-aged wordsmith who wasted his passion for words writing romance poetry to a too-busy, analytical wife and making up non-scensical, Sesame Street-type rhymes to amuse his now-grown children.

When divorce and an empty nest let him consider other options, he makes up a cheap Lucy Van Pelt-like sign, “The Improv Poet is IN!”, stands on street corners, and does poetic, usually iambic commentary on people passing by.

Life Is Like The Chocolate You Eat: Revolutionary IMprov Prose

Written in the Basque coastal region of Biarritz, France, and San Sebastian, Spain

There are people who are
more practical and planned
than I am.
There are people who show up
when it’s convenient
for everyone.

I show up, sometimes,
when it’s convenient
for noone,
hoping that something wonderful
will happen.

And it usually does
for me.

My pattern is,
because something wonderful happens,
even if it’s not planned,
I keep going to the well.

I keep putting myself
into positions of wonder and amazing …
and I never get disapointed.

But it’s not
everyone’s pattern.
People are wonderful.
My time with them is wonderful
no matter what time it is.

The other day
I ate chocolate crepes
for dinner.
That was after
I’d had chocolate pastries
for lunch.

Along with hot chocolate for lunch
and dinner,
I had chocolate
during the evening.

The next day I had
another chocolate pastry.
For lunch I ate
at a tapas bar
in Spain.
I had a chocolate.
Then, that evening,
I had a chocolate pastry,
Spanish hot chocolate (VERY thick and rich!),
and some chocolate-covered orange slices
that were wonderful.
THEN later on that evening
I had ANOTHER French hot chocolate.

Today I had
two more cups of hot chocolates,
a chocolate pudding dish,
AND a chocolate WARM dessert
with ice cream.

If there was a pastry shop,
or a cafe’,
still open,
I would probably go out
and get another chocolate
something.

You are the chocolate
in my life.
I keep returning
to the feast.