I know this is going to come off with the same ridiculous ring of any other “first-world” lament reverberation, but I am now convinced that it is possible to be too diverse; in short, it’s great to have a myriad of talents, but there is a certain kind of artistic schizophrenia that comes with them.
At least in my case. Depending on what room I walk into, I can be contexted, pigeonholed, rendered, slotted, painted, dubbed, christened, and categorized in a moment’s notice. To some, I a musician, but even with that comes a bunch of subheadings: singer, guitarist, harmonica player, writer, bass player, spoons . . . and even a few things I don’t play a lot, but make it work. I went to a Kish Moody concert the other night, thinking of myself contextually as a guitar player with a night off. Instead, I wound up on the drums. On my birthday.
Oh. Also, the Ukulele has managed to forge its own identifying markers as well.
Then there are the factions that are completely fascinated with the mechanical facility I’ve cultivated with playing cards. Granted, if I truly wanted to cheat at poker at mid-level games, I could. But I hate card games. I just happen to like card tricks, and have also managed to foment a notion that I could slip into a blackjack game and annihilate the house. Of course, the notion of using the pasteboards in a simulacrum Samson pulls down the Philistine house of cards” thing has the romanticized echoes Robin Hood. Doing it to the individual? Not so much.
Anyway, then there are some that have this notion that, because I happen the love fly-fishing, have a zen-like relationship with the water; that I know everything there is to know about the temperament of trout. Not true, but passion goes a long way. Thus, to some, I am the haggard guy at the river, flinging line and caterwauling about caddis flies.
Pretty much, if I’m relatively good at something–or at any rate interested in something, I’m going to write about the subjects and involve them at a level that I hope translates.
Thus, my concern for this title, Master of None. While I think it’s a nice summation of my hodgepodge talent quilt, I also think it’s too “inward” pointing. It’s no mystery that I’m the principal writer for this blog, but I was thinking that possibly the title could be changed to reflect something that focuses on the conceptual side of what this blog is: diverse. The blog is somewhat frustrating for a few, because one minute I’m on about Tenkara fishing, and the next I’m making a thoughtful overview of Stephen Hawking’s recent pronouncements . Right after that, I’m messing with baristas, book-mavens or lake hounds.
Or, I’m planking in the middle of Wal-Mart. Make no mistake; trolling is a talent. But at the bottom if it all, it becomes obvious: I am weaving all over the road.
So the expectations here can sometimes cause a bit of grief. A few people I know prefer it when I write about music. A few more wish I’d keep posting card tricks.
A bunch of you want me to explore the Grand Apologetic–thus make my own strategic arguments that contend for a God in our design, purpose, and destiny. And trust me, that book is coming. So is a ridiculous novel, of which I have just presented the structural outline to the person whom I want to write the foreword.
But a name. Where to go with a name that reflects the nature of this blog’s direction? No idea. Should I change it at all? Again. Not a clue.
Maybe I’m messing with scratching a useless itch. Maybe the blog’s title is perfect.
Or, maybe it’s sitting right there within reach.