The Fickle Fate of Being a Recording Artist

 

fickle - adjective - changing frequently (Google)

Although I am aware that I am dating myself here, back in the dark ages (late 1960s, early 1970s) of television when channels were few yet not far between, I liked to watch "Ronan and Martin's Laugh-In," a bizarre variety show that was all about comedy. It was oftentimes silly, but creative, satirical, and quite a few names synonymous with humor (such as Goldie Hawn and Lily Tomlin) became household fixtures because of it. The weekly award known as the "Fickle Finger of Fate" was presented to noteworthy individuals who received media attention for their dubious achievements. We could sure use it today. Right? Not much has changed, yet I digress.

As a recording artist who stands in the same room with 75.9 million music creators (Google) is a fate that is fickle, meaning that since there are so many releasing songs, no one can predict whose music will be embraced by hundreds, thousands, millions - even billions, like artists such as Taylor Swift, who won the lottery and probably has more luck than talent (or just a financier father to back her). Spotify alone reports that it drops 100,000 new songs a day. Will all of them find open ears that will stay alert and stream them more than once? Probably not. But you never know until you take the risk of releasing a heartfelt composition to the entire world.

The aforementioned numeral supports the fact that the competition is just beyond anyone's comprehension. It seems like everyone has a song or even a book to release, and it is easy to do either if you have enough money to pay the right people. But once the product is out there, you must either spend money on just the right public relations persons, or like me, spend a lot of time and a few dollars (way more than you are making) on every social media platform promoting. At the end of the day, I am fortunate to see any results at all. And critics overseas have called me "the real deal." Well, I'm not feeling that moniker, not at all. For example, I may get 2,000 streams a month on Spotify and a minuscule pay check. Imagine one record turning 2,000 times on the radio over the course of one month. Doesn't that seem to be a lot of rotations to you? It does to me, too. However, the amount is only worth a bill with a portrait of Alexander Hamilton on it. He doesn't go far. Thank Goodness I am not depending on Spotify or any of the others to pay my rent.

Still, if my one hundred fans in Brazil like what I am putting out there on Spotify, every one of them counts. If all of them enjoy what I'm doing musically, all of the money that I am investing that I may never see back is worth sacrificing, especially since I could just be changing their worlds for the better in some minute sense. I'm sure all 75.9 million music makers are thinking the same thing except I don't give a you- know-what about fame as it only creates problems, but a little more compensation wouldn't be a bad thing as I could support more charities with it. 

I hope someday the music channels will up the ante on remuneration. Until that happens, check out my tunes on your favorite streaming service, such as YouTube (https://www.youtube.com/@gwynnielsen5081) or Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/artist/2qiQLmWs81Zno7WFH4lLiS. My newest single "Another Woman Trying to Wear My Shoes" debuts on Friday, August 23rd. Who knows? You may be able to relate to it. 

Thanks, all! 

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Why A.I. Won't Prevail in the Future

 

prevail - verb - prove more powerful than opposing forces; be victorious (Google). 

Lately, it seems to me that "artificial intelligence" is a topic of interest for many who depend much on technology. Personally, I know that a few of my former colleagues in education are quite distressed as their students are starting to purchase various programs that can literally compose essays for them. As a former English teacher, the question that initially registers in my mind is the following: What is the point of teaching writing when students can rely on their computers to do the work for them? Or just What is the point of education at all? Maybe when Trump proposed to eliminate the Department of Education, he was just responding to the latter question. Scary, I know. 

This particular blog's case in point isn't terribly obvious. Since A.I. is all about human invention (meaning humans feed knowledge to these robots), it is terribly imperfect. From my own experience, I am finding that the A.I. I use (Siri) is terribly stupid. She is far from error free. Just when the students are thinking they can get away with gross indolence, they can't because their teachers can tell that they are using A.I. due to its ignorance of the basics. The supposed "brains" who are feeding information to artificial intelligence know nothing about English grammar because they are most likely too young, products of the contemporary educational system that frowns on the direct instruction of the A, B, C's of the written word. These modern-day geniuses, who only paid attention in science classes when they attended secondary school, aren't experts in language. Does it make sense for imperfection to perpetuate imperfection? (Does anything make sense today?) No, no, no! 

On the flip side, I am hopeful, extremely hopeful that A.I. may just fail completely to make the billionaire techno mobsters more billions. I believe this could be an accurate prediction as I have been spending time with toddlers lately, yes, little kids, who are incredibly with it, sharper than the millennial tots whom I once spent many hours observing when my own daughter was that age. I totally think that today's inchoate generation won't have to depend on A.I. in the future after all, and they may even reject it in favor of the byproducts of past inventions, like that of the Gutenbergs'. This immature group finds books (yes, physical, hardcover books) to be fascinating and fun because their brilliant parents bestowed with common sense are making a sincere effort to keep them away from technology (iPads, etc.) by taking them to public libraries. No, I'm not kidding. I work with these little ones at a public library, so there. That has got to mean something. Albeit a small test group, I am hoping that it will soon represent a large portion of the majority. 

Parents, if you are introducing your children to the rudimentary, please keep it up before we as humans disintegrate and get swept up by machines that can hardly employ brooms correctly. And demand that your kids be taught English grammar when they get to school even if the current batch of teachers must return to classrooms themselves to learn it. Your infant Einsteins deserve to have their cerebral matter stimulated from this moment on. Together in this push, we will prevail. 

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The Garden of Fruition

 

fruition - noun - state of being actual, complete

Perhaps many of you out there are looking to find fruition somehow, searching for a sense of completeness. At the risk of sounding trite, the state of being actual may be close to being within your grasp. I'll give you a hint: perhaps the wholeness you have been desiring can be found where seeds meet soil and the vegetables and fruits of life grow abundantly. Yes, perhaps what you want can be found in a garden. 

I am a gardener; however, I am not a master gardener. I am a forever-inchoate landscaper who plays by ear, goes by intuition, and listens to those who have more experience with getting their hands soiled than I have. In April, I sold my house and my vast English garden on which I had labored for over twenty years, planting flowers, perennials but also annuals, annually. I got my tanned hands dirty, my crooked fingernails outlined with black, my Walmart sneakers and torn jeans muddy in the spring, summer, and fall. I didn't mind. It was all part of the plan: to work in collaboration with Nature to create beauty. According to my friends and relations, I succeeded and have the photographs to prove it. 

Strangely enough, I don't miss my miniature Versailles in Jersey, probably because I've replaced it with a vegetable garden, not mine per se, one that belongs to others, one that is kept alive by a community of us voluntary seedsmen who toil on arid land under the heat of the sun in order to help eliminate hunger and homelessness on a boulevard called Venice in a portion of L.A. with the same name. On Thursdays, I join a former stage actor who would rather work for a nonprofit than teach the children of movie stars just because she likes to be outdoors, watching and watering and waiting, producing good food and sharing it with us volunteers and the hapless few who live in their parked cars parallel to the garden. With downturned smiles, they watch us as we till, dig, hoe, pull, and plant. Their hands are as filthy as ours, but the mire does not come from gardening. Theirs originates from the grime of poverty and/or mental illness that takes opportunity and/or psychological/medical aid, not just soap and water, to wash it away. 

I can't save the world albeit I have been trying for about 45 years now. What I can do is plant one seed at a time and harvest what grows to fruition. It just makes me feel whole. Try it. You just may wind up feeling the same way.

#word-to-words, #slice-of-life,  #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing, #truth, #society, #good advice

The Dating Scene: Los Angeles at Present versus New York in the Past

 

snooker - verb - trap, trick, entice (Google)

Dating in any city isn't easy, especially if you happen to be a woman 65 or older, and you haven't really dated for a long time. I am talking decades here. The last time I dated for an extended period of time was back in the early 1980s when I was a roommate on someone else's lease in Manhattan. Fifty (yes, fifty) years later, I am on my own lease in a luxury apartment in Los Angeles, dating men I am meeting online as opposed to organically (meaning in bars, clubs, and parties as I once did in New York).  What has changed? Well, not too much. 

To be fair, I will focus on what is an obvious difference: technology. Five decades ago, there were no smartphones, just landlines. Unless you had an answering service (which was costly), you had to be in the right place at the right time to receive a call, i.e. in your apartment. Or if you were hard to pin down, you had to depend on your roommate to imitate what is, at present, known as voicemail. If she wasn't all that responsible, she would forget to tell you who called. If she was, she'd write you a message and snooker you intentionally (or not) by sticking the minuscule note somewhere you'd never think to look, like on the side of refrigerator as opposed to the front. Ergo, it was rare that dates were arranged via the technology of the day. Well then, how were they planned? Usually at the location where the initial meeting took place or via unusual, creative circumstances. For example, I once enticed a date by posting my phone number in the window of my office skyscraper. I couldn't help but notice a very handsome salesman who had an office directly across the street on the same floor as mine. I waited until he looked directly over at me before I posted it in very large letters. He copied the number, called me, and we arranged a meeting. As I recall, we saw each other quite steadily for about six months before we broke it off, but not before I spent time with him at his Park Avenue apartment and his family's house in the Hamptons. Sweet. 

What remains the same? Men in general. Which makes perfect sense because human nature doesn't change over time, just technology. The sameness is particularly pronounced in both New York and L.A. At present as in the past, most urban men prefer not to commit to anything resembling a relationship if they can absolutely help it. What they deem to be perfect love is more or less what my mother (1917-1999) called "sex and sandwiches," casual sex and conversation sans much else. To be fair, most are willing to take you out to at least two dinners and spend a few bills as opposed to treating you to a roast beef on marble rye at Yummy's (L.A.) or Zabar's (N.Y.) before they make an attempt at seduction. Rather big of them, I'd say, or perhaps not, if you get my drift, ladies :). 

Okay, okay, I do seem a bit cynical as I am sure that there are citified women out there who are just like men in this respect. I can't help it if I keep meeting men like the aforementioned. This is a personal essay after all. Don't forget that I am limiting my critique to men in cities where trite expressions like "I'll be done in a New York minute" are coined for a reason. The urban populace tends to be impatient. Sexual satisfaction must come within the first three dates if you want to grasp anyone's loyal attention. You must have watched at least one episode of Sex and the City. Right? 

The bottom line is that I refuse to throw up the white flag of surrender. (In my city, no one would notice it anyway.) I figure by the time I am 75, most men of the same age in L.A. (where I reside) won't be as adept at sex as they once were, so they might have to rely solely on their sense of humor, talent, and/or intelligence to secure companionship. I think I can wait ten years as there is no safer sex than sincere affection in the way of hand holding and hugging :). No snookering will be necessary.

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"Spirit" in the Sky: A Critique of Commercial Airlines

 

penchant - n. - a strong or habitual liking for something or tendency to do something (Google).

In the sixties, seventies, and early eighties, I used to have a penchant for traveling via commercial airlines, the key word here being "used." After flying to L.A. from New York, L.A. to Portland, L.A. to Boston via Philadelphia, L.A. to Vegas, and L.A. to Ft. Lauderdale via Houston in under four months, admitting to being "spent" would be an understatement. I am exhausted, not from adventuring forth, but from the means by which I adventured: the airlines themselves. Ugh.

To be fair, not all of the commercial airlines are half bad. It is also necessary to take into consideration that I fly "steerage," what the liners refer to as "basic economy," the lowest common denominator of options. To be entitled to the reduced fare of basic economy, you must take only one carry-on that has to be stowed under the seat in front of you and must agree to join the crammed occupants inhabiting stiff, straight-backed, third-class seats on the jet in the way, way back. As bad luck would have it, I usually find myself in row 30, right in front of an ever-flushing john, surrounded by screaming infants in considerable distress, much to the dismay of their parents, who are apathetic to the comfort of their fellow passengers. When I find myself in this unfavorable position, "You only get what you pay for" tends to reverberate through my head. Ugh.

But I digress. In case you don't already know, Delta is about the best corporation in the sky. Even if I do find myself where I don't want to be, sometimes I might have a row to myself in addition to complimentary beverages, a snack in a small package, and movies projected on the headrest of the seat in front of me. Although overworked, the flight attendants are generally industrious and agreeable. 

On the other hand, American and United can both be problematic. The former tends to emphasize the extremes of classism by dividing the cabin into thirds: first (upper class), business (middle class), and coach (lower class), making those relegated to steerage think they are mutually stuck in a third-class berth on Titanic. The last time I flew American, one of the flight attendants mysteriously disappeared, causing a delay of about an hour. The company's excuse? The euphemistic, "Oh, there was a scheduling conflict." Yet murmuring through the crowd was the probable rumor: "The flight attendant forgot something in the ladies' room and went back for it, never to be seen again." For whatever reason, the latter, United, usually experiences delays, especially from their hub of Newark. Ugh. 

By far the worst airline I've encountered is yup, you guessed it: Spirit. Like People Express before them, Spirit believes in customer service for a price. They nickel and dime you for everything. It is flying at the bare minimum, no frills whatsoever. Actually, I'm surprised the passengers don't have to sit on the meagerly carpeted floor. And if you are unfortunate enough to be caught on the runway for over an hour in the middle of the night due to a corporate scheduling error regarding gate availability, the flight attendants (who do pretty much nothing because there is nothing for them to do) won't even offer the incensed passengers any free leftovers from the barely touched, pay-per-portion refreshment cart. No kidding. Yet they smile and laugh just to convince you they own what was formerly known as "the ole college spirit," living up to their employer's name: Spirit. Ugh. 

In summary, traveling economically via commercial airlines these days is not for the weak at heart. You have to be tough and tenacious. Take it from an experienced, yet frugal flyer who has gone up in biplanes, a stunt plane, and even a balloon. If you have the money, spend it flying first class on Delta. Although you will probably still have to wait in line somewhere in the airport, at least you'll be able to relax in comfort once you are on board. No "ugh's" in sight. 

#word-to-words, #slice-of-life,  #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing, #truth, #satire, #society, #good advice, #critique

Losing on Jeopardy?

 

jeopardy - noun - exposure to or imminence of loss or injury

Looking to find a basic definition, I googled "jeopardy," and guess what I came up with? The television game show, of course! Jeopardy has been on the box for forty seasons, boasting over nine thousand shows. Which says a lot. It says that enough people out there in TV Land (network TV Land) are interested in seeing just how much they learned in all of their years of schooling. Ergo, for decades, they have played along with the three contestants chosen from a deep pool of erudite individuals. But as we all know, when it comes to Hollywood, nothing is as it seems to be, especially in a town that invents fantasies and perpetuates them.

Today, my daughter and I drove onto the Sony Pictures' lot in Culver City (definitely one of my favorite L.A. sub-cities) unprepared for what the morning and a portion of the afternoon would bring us as members of Jeopardy's studio audience. Personally, I thought the experience would be more like being in the house at Jimmy Fallon's show where one observed an even taping and only had to applaud when the flashing light labeled APPLAUSE warranted it. It was more of a live broadcast. Being in the stands at Jeopardy was quite different, like being an extra on a movie set sans the omnipresent catered cuisine and eventual paycheck. We volunteers had to do a lot of cueing up and waiting in corralled herds (common on movie sets), listen to and follow through with multiple directives, and maintain patience while the production crew corrected misspellings on the board and overdubbed some of Ken Jennings's and the contestants' words. We, about a hundred naive tourists, were put in jeopardy as human flaws were being perfected in real time. Of course, no one in the audience realized that the studio system was taking advantage of them since both the parking and ticket to the show were free and so few things in life are free. On the other hand, as P.T. Barnum once said, "There's a sucker born every minute." And Hollywood makes no exceptions. 

On the totally positive side, while we were lined up single file outside against the wall of the soundstage, polished Ryan Seacrest, Dick Clark's successor and new host of Wheel of Fortune, drove up in his new muted-gray Austin Martin (yes, I know how much they cost), parked parallel to our firing line, stepped out three feet in front of me and gave me, my daughter and a few other stunned onlookers one beaming Hollywood smile. He was, to be honest, a sparkler, perhaps better looking in real life than on TV. Being able to drool over him for a New York minute was worth the complimentary ticket to Jeopardy and what it yielded.

Needless to say, as many of you bonafide fans already know, the contestants don't lose even if they lose. The second and third place gamers walk away with 2K and 1K even if they wind up with nothing earned. One could say that the audience is at a loss, but it really depends on how you look at it. We did walk away with a thorough knowledge of the recording process and the recognition that it isn't easy. 

My recommendation? Even if you are a huge fan, don't buy a plane ticket to L.A. just to see a taping. Watch the show at home where you can call out the answers–whether they be right or wrong–and throw popcorn at the tube if you feel the answer to the inevitable question was too vague or misleading. We in the audience didn't have those luxuries. I actually missed them. One thing is for certain. If you at home continue watching the show, you'll never be in jeopardy of losing it. 

#word-to-words, #slice-of-life,  #blog, #blogging, #editorial, #reading, #vocabulary, #ReadersMagnet, #spilled thoughts, #personal-essay, #writing community, #writing, #truth, #satire, #society, #good advice

Whether or Not Weather Affects Personality

 

weather - noun - the state of the atmosphere at a place and time as regards heat, sunshine, wind, rain, etc. 2. verb - to wear away or change the appearance or texture of 3. verb. - come through a storm 

Weather is a common noun in the English language, so well known and frequently used in fact, that few ever bother to research its meaning. The verb forms are perhaps not as familiar, but language arts teachers in American middle schools might suggest them as "strong verbs," if indeed the "strong verb" is even taught anymore. But I digress. 

At the center of this one-sided conversation as the title indicates is whether or not weather affects personality. I am sure there is scientific or psychological evidence proving that it does via named maladies. For instance, there is SAD or Seasonal Affected Disorder, which my daughter swears she has as documented by her manic depressive experiences in Boston and New York where the climate and atmosphere were and still are bi-polar as well. Now that she lives in Los Angeles, a city of not only angels but extraordinarily, consistently sublime weather, her syndrome is no longer apparent. She only gets manic when confronted with the insanity of the drivers on the 405 and elsewhere. There has been no proof of depression, though, just threats of overt violence that could be explained by the fact that she grew up and learned to drive in Jersey.

Which brings me to my point. Although I have lived here in SoCal for just over a month, I have noticed some patterns as is my habit, good or bad. As is the case in any large city, quite a few of the inhabitants are from elsewhere other than Southern California. So far, I have met people from Brazil, Mexico, countries in Asia, France, England, the Midwest, the South, the North East and Middle Atlantic states. What I tend to see daily is that native Californians are easy to pinpoint in a crowd of foreigners. They stand out simply because they are unusually congenial, sunny. You know, like the weather. I'm not saying the transplants aren't nice; they can be, but their dispositions just aren't as...hmm. Ebullient? 

Case in point, last night I attended a read-through of a play that I will be stage managing this summer. When I walked into the room, only about three unabashed actors were talking, breaking the ice with friendly chatter while the others sat in silence, staring vaguely at their devices. Feeling the contrary vibes, I said to myself, All of these people aren't from around here. And I was right. Only three out of eleven (most likely the chatterboxes) were from California, something I discovered by doing a bit of sleuthing. I looked up the area codes of their cell phone numbers the following day to find that my assumption was correct. Most were from the Midwest. 

So what can I conclude? The weather pretty much everywhere is not consistent, and neither are the affected personalities.  Even when said personalities are in a consistently sunny place, they aren't always sunny themselves because, well, their past environmental conditions jaded them somewhere down the line. 

Weather can and does influence human disposition, but just because you don't live in Southern California or aren't native to the state doesn't mean you can't be cognizant of how you present yourself to others. 

The takeaway? Don't let weather weather your demeanor unfavorably. 

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