Who Are You? (and other songs I like)

You should know by now that this column will have little to do with music, though I am, by nature, a very musical person. As a teen, I played a dozen instruments well enough to fill in in small combos, and a couple well enough to play with several honor groups. I also played guitar and sang lead in a rock-n-roll band (Think "Happy Days" music). And in college in the early 70's, I considered a musical career.

Instead I became a journalist. Rather, I continued down a road that chose me as a high school sophomore. My English teacher, Miss Slezak (fresh out of college, tight body, killer legs, blonde) pulled me aside one morning to talk to me. She had just read my latest essay, she said, and was impressed by my "ability to embellish and describe things ... to B.S. your way through these assignments." She suggested I see the journalism teacher and put my "gift" to good use on the school paper.

I did just that, enrolling in the beginning journalism class the next semester. Midway through the school year, I became a "stringer," which is a newspaper term for someone who strings together information, for the local newspaper on a part-time basis. Unbeknownst to me then, a 30-plus-year career in journalism was born. My writing prowess was more substantial than my musical talents - besides, the local newspaper was going to pay me to write, and they were going to put my name on it! It became my part-time job for the next few years of high school and for a while in college. By the end of the 70's, I was a full-time working journalist.

That bit of history tells you where I came from. This column is intended to shed some light on who yours truly is today - who is DocSmoothieCA?

Good question, one I actually do ask myself every day. Every day I can answer is a good day, right?

There's no real mystery behind the man called "Smoothie" by some, "DocSmoothie" by others. The only question that seems to come up without fail is, "Where/How did you get your name?" There's usually some speculation offered by the person asking the question as to the origin of the name.

That's a good place to start, so once and for all, I will put the speculation to rest. I didn't get the name because I am a "smooth talker" (I am); I didn't get it because I had a shaved head (I did).

Blame it on strawberry ice cream, Amaretto Di Saronno, and the hot tub.

This all happened back in the mid-late 90's, when dial-up Internet was all the rage. After an evening of hot-tubbing and sweet, blended drinks, I retired to the computer room. In short order, I stumbled into an adult chat room; "Butterfly's Castle" or something like that. In order to chat, I had to sign up (for free) and choose a "handle" by which I could go in the chat areas. Being a novice, I went with my real first name - John - and the first thing that I saw when I looked around the room for ideas: the strawberry Amaretto smoothie I was still drinking (I had lost count by then).

That night, JohnSmoothie was born, and over the years, he has grown up. When I began my doctoral studies in the fall of 2009, I dropped my first name and added "Doc" to the handle, an incentive to work hard and finish. It has worked: In less than three weeks I will finish my 27th and final graduate course (including my master's), with a perfect 4.0 GPA. Told you I was smart!

The final addendum came when I opened my Twitter account. Since I am a California native, it seemed appropriate and convenient. The question is now, "What part of California?" instead of the usual inquiry among new friends.

So that is DocSmoothieCA ... at least the outer skin of the onion. Like you, dear reader, there is more to me than meets the eye, and certainly more than one can cover in a single column. Suffice it to say, I am a passionate man with big dreams, big ideas, big plans, and a big heart filled with good things for those who take time to see it. Through this space, I hope we will discover the other layers of my onion, together.

I look forward to the journey.

Open mouth, insert foot!

Every now and again, I have the opportunity to disprove the fact that I am a certified genius ... 149 I.Q. smart, I am ... but minus-149 I.Q. stupid I can be sometimes.

No, I'm not a complete idiot, but it occurs to me the wisdom of certain sayings can be lost sometimes on those of us who believe ourselves to be wise.

"Make sure brain is engaged before putting mouth in gear."

"It is better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt."

"Silence is golden ... shut up and get rich."

In cyberspace, everyone can hear you scream ... and whisper. Most of us put very little real thought into what we say in places like Facebook or Twitter. We react instead of acting with purpose ... and sometimes, our words can hurt others and ourselves. Words on a computer screen, much like words on a letter, lack context and clarity. We can't put our feelings into black and white; emotions come in every shade of the rainbow. And sometimes, in our eagerness to please or be part of the group, we blurt out information meant only for us, secrets best kept among friends …

I write this less to lecture the reader than to remind myself that every word carries power. Every sentence becomes a tool ... or a weapon. Every conversation changes the conversant, even if only in microscopic increments.

Be judicious with your words. Choose them with care.

Friends, lovers, and other people we hate

Ok, before you get the townspeople together and storm the castle, this is not going to be about hurt feelings, unrequited love, or any of that superficial drama.

No, today's journey into my mind is going to be about how we treat each other, based upon how we truly see each other. This is going to be about perception.

Let me explain. A few months ago, I began using my Twitter account ... I had always thought Twitter to be a monumental waste of time and nothing more than an ego-fest littered with big personalities and tiny brains with nothing better to do than to give each other's ego massive and continuous stroking, a sort of ego-centered masturbatory exercise in narcissism. Nothing I have seen in the ensuing few months has changed my mind on that count.

Still, I have been surprised to find some genuine people lurking behind the glitz, glamor, and "Gaga-like" displays of diva-dom. I have met many of these people, face-to-face ... and pleasantly, I have found them to be real, genuine, authentic people. These are the kind of folks you can count on to say hello when you approach, to return a smile when one is offered, and to actually give a damn about what you are saying when you engage them  in conversation.

Of course, for every real person, there are two self-absorbed, vapid, mindless wastes of human DNA who would just as soon step on your 'nads as smile in your direction. Users. Losers. Abusers.

Of course, this is all a matter of perception, how I see things, isn't it?

Certainly, it is ... and just as certainly, my perceptions are shaped by the images others project. Likewise, how I am perceived depends on the images I project.

So my question here is this: Why do we sometimes project an authentic image and other times project one that is contrary to everything we truly are inside? Why are we not genuine all the time?

Could the answer be ... we are? Could those swings in image be a true reflection of our genuine selves?

Could we really be that shallow? Could we really be that unfeeling? Could we really be that unlikeable?

We all have within us the capability to be all of those things. Ethos, Pathos, and Logos - credibility, emotion, and logic - are all at play within us. But for some, Pathos takes control and all Ethos and Logos are in the wind! Thinking with your ego - your heart - instead of your intelligence leads to pain, confusion, anger, self-loathing ...

I see these characteristics within everyone. But what sets the genuine apart from the "wannabe's" is their ability to understand who they are, and to be who they are without apology.

Genuine people are comfortable in their own skin, and they don't need to remind everyone who they are every other moment they are around you. And last weekend, I met a houseful of those people.

One in particular, though, bears a special mention. Though I won't name names here, many of you will know of whom I speak. He moved among the celebrants quietly and unassumingly, and when he was stopped and identified by the various people at the party, he was humble, almost embarassed by the attention. Quietly, with his shy smile, he conveyed a genuine charm that makes him who he is: a giant among those in his world. Yet, by his body of professional accomplishment alone, this man was bigger than everyone there ... and he was the last one to trade that body of work. Humble doesn't begine to describe him.

Still, of all the people I met that night, he was the most impressive, not by what he said or did, but merely by being genuine.

We should all be so great!

Who Decides?

Hello, and welcome inside my mind!

As my introductory column (my journalism background won't let me call it a blog post just yet), I thought I would share with you a little story.


As I approach the end of my sixth decade on this earlthy plane, I am still amazed to find that change remains the only constant. For me, life has been a series of ill-fated attempts to "leave my mark" on the world, first as a journalist, now as a college professor. I must admit my new-found joy - the classroom - makes my having some sort of positive impact on others much more likely. But when change happens to oneself, it can be many things ... unsettling ... confusing ... frightening ... liberating ... inspiring!


For me, change certainly is a constant; I thrive on it. Recently, someone came into my life that has made me rethink many of my own feelings about myself, my life, my friends, my future. For a while now, I have felt something was holding me back, keeping me from expressing what is within me. But I am beginning to feel that weight lifted from my soul ... there is a freedom growing inside of me that is finding its voice!


Today, for the first time in 20 years, poetry flowed from my virtual pen onto electronic paper, an expression, in part, of the changes that are happening in and around me. The words that follow are the first honest expression of my feelings that I have made in a long, long time ...

Who Decides?

Who decides what love is?

What sense it makes,

What road it takes into our hearts,

Which heart it breaks along that ride, How much it will hurt.

Who decides?

Who decides what love is not?

Which love is bad,

Which can be had by those of us seeking, Which love is worth the work

and tweaking that will make it last.

Who decides?

Who decides when love is ours,?

Should we be happy,

or are we sappy to think our love is one that surely will rise above

the whispers?

Who decides?

We do.