Cliff Rule #37

Cliff Rule #37: Follow your bliss.

For the record, I suppose I must admit that Cliff Rule #37 is a bit derivative, so much so that it was blatantly stolen from some parting advice given by Cher in an episode of Will and Grace.

Yes, I've taken life advice from this woman. In my defense,

she is the only thing other than cockroaches and Twinkies

that could survive a nuclear war. That's worth something.

While I wouldn't buy hair products from the woman, she makes a good point in that advice.

For years, I saw myself being pushed in the direction of becoming a lawyer, mainly by Ms. Liz.

Honestly, it made sense.

I enjoy arguing, persuasion, and theatrics, all of which are essential lawyering skills.

I'm ethically dubious ... yet another essential legal skill.

I did Youth Judicial in high school and was always a lawyer for my team, trying to blend together some high school version of Atticus Finch, Matlock, and Perry Mason all rolled into one. Other than an odd Foghorn Leghorn-esque Southern accent, I dare say I failed at that mission.

Even after I left my law-friendly poli sci major to become an English major, the lawyer mantle was still in the back of my mind.

"You'd be so great at it," the Inner Lawyer said. "What's not to like? Think of the money. Think of the prestige. You'd be a natural."

It bothered me so much that my senior year at Auburn, I actually took the LSAT, just to see what might come of it. I talked to some local lawyers and judges, nice family friends who were happy to talk to me about what I might expect from law school and the legal profession. Several offered to write letters of recommendation and make phone calls.

That was an option. It was dangerously close to being reality.

I thought about it for a long time, prayed over it, and sought counsel.

When none of that worked and I was up nights worrying, I turned to my movies to help me fall asleep.

I popped in "Sister Act 2: Back in the Habit." (What can I say? I love Whoopi and nuns.)

Damn if Whoopi didn't have the advice I was looking for.

I went to my mother who gave me this book called "Letters To A Young Poet" by Rainer Maria Rilke. He’s a fabulous writer. A fellow used to write to him and say: I want to be a writer, please read my stuff. And Rilke says to this guy, don’t ask me about being a writer. If when you wake up in the morning you can think of nothing but writing, then you’re a writer.

When I wake up in the morning, I think about reading and writing.

I wake up and pray that I'll be able to show others the joy and happiness reading and writing have made in my life, inspiring them to read and write more for themselves.

Through reading, we discover more about the world as others see it; through writing, we discover how we see the world ourselves.

I'm an English teacher, the batty kind that will make high school seniors memorize lines from The Canterbury Tales in Middle English.

I am not now, nor have I ever been, a lawyer.

The money would have been nice, but life shouldn't be driven by the pursuit of money. The happiness of doing a job you enjoy can outweigh the pleasures of money.

Ethically dubious though I may be, even I couldn't have made myself defend people or corporations I knew to be in the wrong. I might be a bit of a whore at times, but on larger moral and ethical issues, my compass points due north.

Any good lawyer has to defend the guilty as well as the innocent; that's what makes them good. I know me, and I wouldn't have tried as hard for a guilty client.

There are people out there who are destined to be great lawyers. I'm glad, because I say a lot of crazy things and I may need one of them some day soon.

Don't let the pressures of family, friends, and a logical path push you in a direction that won't make you happy.

Find what you wake up thinking about and do that.

Discover your bliss ... and then follow the hell out of it.

Cliff Rule #26

Cliff Rule #26: From time to time, a little self-affirmational dancing in front of a

mirror to Barry White's "You're My First, My Last, My Everything" is beneficial.

This particular Cliff Rule is one taken from the short-lived but wonderful David E. Kelley series "Ally McBeal." I'm a huge Kelley fan, so I tend to watch any and all

of his shows when afforded the opportunity to do so.

One of the show's main characters, John Cage (played by the incomparable Peter MacNicol) is a quirky fellow with many odd ticks and strange behaviors.

I'm not in Cage's league in terms of quirkiness, but I have always identified a bit

with the character.

Cage suffers from a distinct lack of confidence at times, and, in one of the show's

later seasons, we discover a method he uses to bolster his self-confidence and ego:

Self-affirmational dancing to Barry White music in front of mirrors

in the unisex bathroom.

As crazy as that looks and sounds, it does actually help.

We so seldom take the time to tell ourselves positive things.

We'll gladly heap praise on our friends and peers, but when it comes to saying

something nice about ourselves, we tend to go the self-deprecative route

more often than not.

Mirror dancing, insane though it may seem, reminds you that you should be a

person you care about.

If you can't find value in your own person, you'll be hard pressed to have others

see your value.

I also use Barry White's "You're My First, My Last, My Everything" when doing

my own self-affirmational dancing.

I see no need to improve on Kelley's formula, but that's not to say there aren't

other equally great songs out there for this little scheme.

If Barry White isn't your groove, find someone else.

Use Desree's "You Gotta Be." Use Whitney Houston's "The Greatest Love of All."

Use whatever song brings you joy and contentment.

But, seriously, give self-affirmational dancing a try.

At the very least, you'll get a good laugh and think "Wow, Cliff really is insane."

Cliff Rule #85

Truly, Sir Winston was a litany of things (KG, OM, CH, TD, FRS, PC),

but he was also an OG.

"History shall be kind to me for I intend to write it."

-Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill

Cliff Rule #85: Calls to action never go out of style.

Churchill was a master of manipulating the English language. As Edward R. Murrow said, "He mobilized the English language, and sent it into battle."

In a time of darkness and desperation, a nation sent for that man because he was the only figure who could see them through the horrors of war with the Teutonic menace. He'd suffered their ridicule and scorn, being shouted down in the House of Commons and branded a loon for his continued aggressive stance on Hitler.

When King and country called to welcome him back, he answered boldly and without malice.

He understood his people, their need for a leader, and used the sense of Duty that lay unactivated within the heart of every true citizen of the Realm, the sort of Duty one seldom sees outside of Gilbert and Sullivan operetas. Duty worthy of being capitalized.

As a student of the Prime Minister's speeches, I can tell you that Churchill knew the power of a good call to action. In almost every speech or written document, statements are issued in the declarative in a stern, unwavering tone. "We will" and "We shall" are thrown about, creating a commonality, an unbreakable bond. Every "We must"is a place where vital life knowledge hangs, waiting to found and consumed.

He had the gift.

I'm moderately obsessed with Churchill. One of my most prized possessions is a first edition copy of his only novel, Savrola.

Like it or not, I know he's not only a major influence on my literary life and tastes, but also my odd penchant for calls to action in my own writing.

I can't resist sounding a trumpet or trying to compel some sort of reaction, some sort of rise from my readers.

It's foolish, I know. Print can't convey the raw emotion and physicality needed for an effective call to action. I can write decent words that can occasionally provoke anger, but I can't start a movement. I recognize my limits.

Some words need the power of voice. The written language should, after all, be little more than a guide for how to produce the spoken language. We should read more things aloud, basking in the glow of hearing the ebb and flow of great cries.

Read Malcolm X aloud. Read "The Frogs" aloud (the brekekes and koaxs are quite fun, I must say). Hell, read Goodnight, Moon aloud.

Take power of the written language and know that unless we speak it and claim what's really there, part of literature lies dormant for us. The Voice grants ownership; use the Voice.

...

A call to action.

I told you, I just can't help myself.

Cliff Rule #45

Spurred by a conversation by my friend Ben earlier, I decided that Rule #45, albeit one of my crazier rules, was worth dedicating a posting to.

Ben, by the way, is the author over at The Pigskin Pathos. It's a great blog (It makes me want to read about sports ... You know how rare that is), and it was partially Ben's stalwart influence that gave me the idea to start a blog of my own. I thank you, sir.

Cliff Rule #45: Lyrics from musicals can be cited as precedent. It is also acceptable to quote musicals as long as you are not discovered.

I've always been enamored with musicals. Perhaps I live in a fantasy, but I like to see a reality where it's socially acceptable to burst into song with little to no provocation.

In the world of musicals, farmers and cowmen sing about disagreements, teens in Baltimore dance their way through civil rights, and street gangs all seem to have three years of jazz tap.

Fact: Dancing street gangs are the scariest.

Sure, singing about one's troubling issues does seem a bit disturbing, but it is any worse than how we do it in real life?

You look at the musicals of Stephen Sondheim and find a treasure trove of helpful hints for how to deal with life.

"Company" shows us the isolation found in modernity and that "alone" is not "alive." For someone like me who is surrounded by married friends and well-meaning Yente, the message of "Company" really seems to hit home.

Sondheim writes the thinking man's musical, but there is useful life advice to be taken from even the campiest of musicals.

"Damn Yankees" preaches that "You gotta have heart."

"The Music Man" shows us the problems of having our expectations set too high for a potential mate, as we know Marian the Librarian may have trouble finding that mix of "Paul Bunyan, St. Pat, and Noah Webster (she's) concocted for herself out her Irish imagination, her Iowa stubbornness, and her library full of books."

"Cats" ... I can't defend. Have Sir Lloyd Webber try to rationalize that one. I can't.

Control the cat population ... shoot Andrew Lloyd Webber.

On an almost daily basis, I use musical lyrics to emphasize a point or rationalize a strange view or belief. If you've known me for longer than a month, I can guarantee I've done this to you without you even having realized it. (Fact: I'm always pleasantly surprised when people do call me out on this. I'm also quite impressed with their musical theatre knowledge.)

So, if I start speaking in verse, assume Bock and Harnick, not Swift or Pope. It might be superficial or shallow thinking, but sometimes Comden and Green say it better than the Bard, or at least make it more relatable.

Even if you hate musicals, give them a try. Open your heart a little and you might be surprised to find that you, too, enjoy a world where life's problems can be wrapped up by the end of a song.

Find the songs in your day. Use music to embolden you or give you a sense of purpose.

Life's always interesting when it's done in song.

A Beginning

Starting a blog might be a horrible idea. Lord knows I already have to write enough for the two papers I'm blessed to have a job at, but somehow ... I still want to do this. We'll see if this fever lasts.

I don't really know what sort of blog this is going to be yet, but I can guess it will probably be haphazardly placed observations about almost anything under the sun.

In that spirit, our first topic: Oprah.

I've always been an unashamed fan of Ms. Winfrey, even if she does occasionally feel the need to talk about her "va-jay-jay" on national television. Really, I'm reluctant to say anything negative about her because she could buy and sell me 100 times over and still have millions.

What I really love about Oprah is not her talk show, XM radio station, or magazine ... it's her role as Sofia in the Academy Award-winning "The Color Purple." The "You told Harpo to beat me" scene ranks comfortably ensconced at No. 3 in my all-time favorite movie scenes.

I watch that movie every MLK Day to celebrate self-help. If "The Color Purple" teaches us anything, it's that perseverance and tenacity pay off.

Learn to fight back like Sofia does. You may end up in indentured servitude to Dana Ivey for a while and have the crazy beaten into you, but you make a noise.

We could all stand to be a bit more like Sofia ... or Oprah herself. Let's not forget she's the woman who single handedly took on the cattle industry and took them down, not to mention the kerfuffle with Hermes. The Big O's not afraid of scrapping, so we shouldn't be either.

Life's too short not to fight for what you truly believe in, to protect and defend whatever small amount of happiness and life you've managed to carve out for yourself.

Cliff Rule #32: Learn how to fight back. Oprah calls that empowerment.