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My Closest Calls

In Health, Local News, Opinion, psychology, Technology, Uncategorized on July 9, 2023 at 10:27 pm

Deer In Headlines II

By Gery Deer

One bright, sunny summer day almost 30 years ago, I was driving my brother’s grain truck along a quiet country road near Spring Valley, Ohio. About a quarter mile ahead, my Dad drove his own truck, leading the way to where we would be collecting a load of hay. Our trucks were big, 6-wheeled, lift-bed grain boxes, about 10 tons each, and Dad was always leery about moving too fast on those old back roads, so we were just taking our time.

Just a few miles from our destination, a cement truck whizzed past him in the oncoming lane. It was the big kind with a small, metal cage for a cab, a long barrel with the engine trailing behind, and large balloon-like tires. I heard his voice over the CB radio warning me to beware as it approached. Barely a moment later, I was eye to eye with the driver as suddenly an explosion of glass, tearing metal, and a cloud of dust engulfed me. Our two massive steel machines had collided, left front fender to left front fender, and the sound was like nothing I can adequately describe.

It was over as instantly as it had happened. What only seconds before had been a clean, powerful machine, and the center of my brother’s livelihood, was now little more than a pile of scrap. I had done what I could at the instant of impact to stop the vehicle. But, it was no use, the pedals were no longer connected to anything – neither was the steering wheel. As it came to rest, the truck’s lower frame plowed into the asphalt, like the Titanic’s bow crashing into the ocean floor. The cab and running board were severely damaged, the mirror shattered, and the door was caved in. The front axle and wheels were gone and the steering shaft snapped off. Moreover, there was no sign of my assailant. The cement truck was gone!

Behind the motionless, dead hulk of my truck, in a hay field, nearly a quarter of a mile away lay the twisted wreckage of the cement truck. It had telegraphed off of my truck, slamming into my frame multiple times, rolled behind me at full speed, and snapped off a power pole at its base – leaving a transformer suspended in mid-air by its cable. Then it spun out of control, careened down a long hill, and came to rest, upside down and backward. By some bizarre miracle, the driver, wearing no seatbelt and, according to the police investigation, moving twice my speed, had managed to survive relatively unhurt, as did I.

This is the truck … after.

Oddly, the casualties were limited to the two trucks and my Dad’s wits – as in frightened out of. He had to watch it all happen to me in his rearview mirror. By the time my truck had come to a stop, he’d bailed out of his and was running toward me yelling my name to see if I was OK. I was far more worried about him, though. 

I’d never seen him that shaken, out of breath, pale. When he saw I was unhurt he seemed to calm down. I was busy tossing my belongings out of the open, or rather, shattered, window, and trying to figure out how to get the door open. Once I was sure both Dad and I were OK, I told him to go check on the other driver while I used my cell to call for help. A few minutes later, I heard sirens coming up the road, and within moments the county sheriff’s deputies arrived. All would be OK – at least until my brother got there. Yikes! But that’s a story for another time. 

I will forever appreciate how fortunate I was that day. I can’t imagine what would have happened had either truck been a few inches one way or another. Life’s a gamble, every day. I think we always need to recognize how quickly things can change direction – through no fault or action of our own. Appreciate the positives, stay strong through the negatives. And remember, to live your best life. You never know what turns it might take one day.

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The Unexpected Banana

In Economy, Health, Local News, Opinion, psychology, sociology, Sports News, Uncategorized on June 19, 2023 at 8:17 pm

Deer In Headlines II

By Gery Deer

Did the headline of a news story ever leave you scratching your head, at least until you read the whole thing? Well, this is probably one of those stories and it begins, however odd it may seem, with a banana.

Once a week, I play basketball at the local YMCA, not with a team or anything, but just for exercise. On one of those days, a particularly nice, spring day, I was approached at the front door by a woman with a crate of bananas. “Would you like a banana?” she asked, cheerfully presenting the open box as if it were something from a jewelry counter display.

I honestly didn’t have an answer right off. It really wasn’t the kind of question I was expecting on the way into the gym. The more poignant question that immediately consumed me was, why is there a woman with a crate of bananas at the entrance to the YMCA?

A bit thrown by the random offer of fruit, I finally realized there were a half-dozen other people with her, all in athletic attire, and carrying signs and tables into a truck. As it turned out, I arrived just as a running event was closing, a 5K or the like. The box of fruit was what remained of the bananas provided to the runners at the support stations. So, never one to look a gift plantain in the peel, I gratefully accepted.

To most, a free banana might not, at first glance, seem like a life-changing incident. But, to me, it was at least thought-provoking; not because of the banana, but the spontaneous gift it represented. It’s not like I was having a particularly bad day in the first place, but that one, small action changed it, lightened my thoughts, and gave me a feeling I couldn’t quite express at the time.

As I settled into my basketball routine, I dropped the banana into my gym bag and set it aside. But I kept thinking about the randomness of having received such a thing, in such a random way, at such a random time. So, after a few minutes, I went back to it.

Strangely enough, I opened the banana and proceeded to eat it, while simultaneously dribbling and shooting a basket here and there. I would imagine I was a pretty strange sight, but what did I care? I had a banana – an unexpected banana.

I have to say, I never considered a piece of fruit as what might generally be considered “comfort food,” but that’s how it felt at the moment. There was something about this curious food, botanically categorized as a berry (I know! Weird, right?) that generated a strange and calm feeling of gratitude. What I felt was a level of contentment as I wandered around the court, shooting the ball, and munching away, oblivious to pretty much anything else – at least until the banana was gone.

I’m fairly certain the lady who gave it to me had no idea what an impact she made on one person’s day. I mean, it was just a banana, and she was trying to unload a box full of them so they wouldn’t be wasted. Still, there I was, my day lifted, my jump shot better – don’t be too impressed, it’s a low bar – and I was just happy. I had a banana.

So why should my banana story, umm… appeal to you? Come on, you knew I had to, right? Because something ordinary can be special if you let it. Because in the chaos of daily life, all the noise, distractions, and stresses, unanticipated treasures are all around us. We each have the power to let them move us, even if only for a few moments.

When you think about it, people are always searching for some kind of inner peace, a tranquility that seems more elusive and empty every day. Usually, we scratch our way through life, searching for even a hint of such thoughtful enlightenment by artificial means. But sometimes a quiet moment of unexpected joy and calm can emanate from the most unusual but ubiquitous source. Sometimes all we really need is for someone to give us a banana.

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What we both knew…

In Children and Family, Dayton Ohio News, Education, Health, Local News, Opinion, psychology, Senior Lifestyle, Uncategorized on June 12, 2023 at 9:57 am

Deer In Headlines II – SPECIAL EDITION

By Gery Deer

(Author’s Note: I am publishing this ahead of the normal print schedule because the events took place exactly 3 years ago on the date of this posting. I hope it will comfort people and help them recognize and appreciate that time when it comes – because, sadly, it will.)

While caring for my father, I did some journaling as his Parkinson’s disease advanced. The following is an excerpt from the painful day we both accepted the inevitable and how lonely a feeling it was for both of us.

Friday, June 12, 2020. Dad and I were sitting down to breakfast on the screen porch of my house. He’d been living with me for about eight months and, although he preferred spending his day in his recliner, I did my best to make sure he had as much fresh air and sunshine as possible.

By then, he needed help feeding himself, so I always took my meals at the same time. Sometimes he was talkative in the morning, commenting on a TV news story or counting rabbits in the backyard. But today he was quiet and struggling.

We had a really bad night, which had become the norm over the last several weeks. The insomnia caused by his illness was relentless and he grew increasingly restless and anxious by the day. Neither of us had slept more than a full hour that night. By morning, we were both more exhausted than the night before.

Most people are familiar with the tremors and involuntary movements associated with Parkinson’s. But it can also produce dementia, dramatic personality shifts, and even violent behavior – occasionally, all three. Fortunately, my father’s issues weren’t that severe. Instead, he suffered a kind of subconscious agitation, like a whirring mind that wouldn’t let him rest. As his neurological system decayed, it robbed him of the ability to sleep, often until exhaustion set in. It was as if his body’s electrical system was shorting out from some long, slow cascade failure.

This picture wasn’t the same day as the story recounted here, but it was a couple of days prior. Same spot, same circumstances.

All along, Dad had outwardly rejected his diagnosis, repeatedly asking the doctors, nurses, and therapists questions like, “They tell me I have this Parkinson’s disease. What is it?” He never accepted their answers. I think he was just hoping if he asked enough people someone would say everyone else was wrong and he’d be OK.

By this time, though, Dad was far worse than any of us realized. Although it didn’t register consciously, he was in fact in a great deal of pain which worsened at night. It left him painfully restless, and he couldn’t even tell us why. He had fought hard but was losing the battle – and he was becoming aware of it. So was I.

At breakfast that morning, I noticed he was very quiet and barely eating. When he became aware of my interest, he turned and said, in a raspy, enervated voice, “What’s happenin’ to me, Ger?” His eyes were tired, afraid, his expression pained and desperate. I didn’t know how to comfort him. “I don’t know, Dad,” I said. “But we’re not going anywhere, you won’t be alone.” I rubbed his back a bit, as he’d done for me so many times when I lay in a hospital bed as a child, and I realized how helpless and frightened he and Mom must have been.

We sat in silence for a long moment, both powerless, tired, and desperate to cast this burden on anyone who happened by, just to be rid of it. I helped him finish his breakfast and we stared out at the backyard for a long time as the morning sun poured over us through the windows. I didn’t say anything. He didn’t say anything.

After a few minutes, I took our breakfast dishes to the kitchen. When I came back I paused just out of his sight. He was motionless, silent, his head bowed as if in prayer. I didn’t move. I just watched him for a while. My Dad, once a strong, proud man, now reduced to a shell of himself – so alone, tired, helpless, and very sad. And I couldn’t save him. Tears rolled down my cheeks.

He finally raised his head and looked over at me. I sat down with him again and did my best to hide my expression, but I think he knew. We both knew. “Ready to go to your chair?” I said, choking back more tears. “Yeah. I’ll go to my chair.” Just 18 days later, he was gone.

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The Story So Far …

In Local News on June 9, 2023 at 2:09 pm

Deer In Headlines II

By Gery Deer

“The story so far – In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and has been widely regarded as a bad move.” – Douglas Adams, The Restaurant at the End of the Universe.

My story this week begins very simply with a book. It is a wholly remarkable book called, “The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy,” written by the late British author, Douglas Adams. Of course, if you know the author and his work, then you may also know this has been a sort of holiday week for Adams fans as we celebrate, “Towel Day.”

Every May 25th, Towel Day participants pay tribute to Adams, who began the Hitchhikers legacy as a BBC radio play followed shortly after by the novelization and its sequels. Sadly, he passed away unexpectedly on May 11, 2001, at the young age of 49. Just a couple of weeks later, distraught fans organized the very first Towel Day celebration.

A towel-focused memorial might seem odd to the non-fan, but it was chosen because of the bath linen’s prominence in the Hitchhikers story. As Adams put it, a towel is, “the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have.” He then details its practical value in any number of ways such as a facemask, sail, weapon, and, of course, something to dry off with – if it’s still clean enough.

On Towel Day, fans around the globe carry a towel and share photos and stories online to express their love of the books and the author who came to mean so much to them – and me. In 2022, I was fortunate to have been chosen by the fans to be their Intergalactic Towel Day Ambassador, a title I used to raise money for children’s literacy.

I first read Hitchhikers when I was in junior high school and I remember being captivated by Adams’s style and skill for satire. In fact, if not for Adams’s work and a foul-up during a book signing in the early 90s, there may never have been a “Deer In Headlines” series nor my eventual career as a writer.

At the book signing event, I had a chance to speak with Adams. During our brief encounter, he was kind, polite, and thoughtful. He asked me about my interest in writing, which was waning at the time. But he encouraged me to keep going. “Whatever you do,” he said, “just keep writing.”

Years later I learned how Adams often struggled to put pen to paper, suffering from anxiety and severe writer’s block. It was at that point that his advice became even more meaningful.

It might seem like a silly sci-fi comedy on its surface. But, there is great wisdom and insight written into the Hitchhikers Guide series, more so than I would credit most other similar contemporary works. Adams used his space-going comedy series to make broad statements about modern life, technology, and self-awareness.

His vision of society as a whole is one that I typically share. Adams was an avid fan of technology, a “radical atheist,” often angered by how religions treat the faithful and he truly valued nature and the environment, using his talents to help protect some of the most endangered wildlife from extinction, like the White Rhino.

Through satire, drama, and comedy, Adams showed us our egocentricities, ridiculousness, and obsessions with the movements of small, green pieces of paper as a way to achieve happiness. Then he reminds us that it wasn’t the green pieces of paper who were unhappy in the first place.

We all need inspiration, something, or someone who helps us see the world in a way that feels right and lets us be our best. I was lucky to have had a host of inspirational people in my life, even if they weren’t aware of it.

Sometimes we don’t recognize those people when they’re right in front of us. Open your eyes today and see who inspires you. Thanks to Adams, I kept writing and it gave me a livelihood. So to all of you I say, remember that the answer to the ultimate question of Life, The Universe, and Everything is “42.” Now go figure out the question for yourselves.

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Greene County Public Health Officials Provide Tips on Food Safety for Picnics and Grilling

In Children and Family, Food, Health, Local News, Uncategorized on May 22, 2023 at 11:24 am

From Greene County Public Health

XENIA, OH – With Memorial Day looming, graduations underway, and the summer season officially kicking off, Greene County Public Health officials want to remind everyone about safe food handling during picnic and grilling season. It is important to prepare and transport food safely to prevent foodborne illnesses, such as Salmonella, Norovirus, E. coli, etc. With a little bit of planning, summer parties and family gatherings can be fun and safe for all.

Please keep the following four points in mind:

Cooking Temperatures: It is very important to thoroughly cook raw animal foods to the proper temperatures to kill bacteria and prevent foodborne illnesses. Raw fish and whole muscle meats (steak, ribs, roasts) must be cooked to a minimum temperature of 145 degrees Fahrenheit. According to the Ohio Food Code, raw hamburgers (ground meats) must be cooked to a minimum of 155 degrees, and raw chicken must be cooked to a minimum of 165 degrees Fahrenheit.

Holding Temperatures: Bacteria begin to multiply between 41 degrees Fahrenheit and 135 degrees Fahrenheit, so it is important to keep hot foods HOT and cold foods COLD right up to the moment of cooking and/or serving. Cold food must be kept cold at 41 degrees Fahrenheit or below. Only place small portions of food out at a time and replenish as needed. Hot foods must be maintained at 135 degrees Fahrenheit to prevent bacterial growth. Once any type of melon or tomato is sliced, it must be cooled down and held at 41 degrees Fahrenheit and never held at room temperature for more than 4 hours. Any food held out of temperature for more than 4 hours must be discarded to prevent a potential foodborne illness. It is important to use a clean and calibrated food thermometer to check the internal temperatures of the food you are cooking, holding, and serving.


Clean: According to the Partnership for Food Safety Education, 65% of consumers don’t wash their hands before starting meal preparation. Don’t be a statistic this season. Keep hands clean by using soap and warm water, scrubbing them for a minimum of 20 seconds. Rinse well and dry with a disposable towel. Use soapy water and a clean paper towel for tables and counters. Be sure to rinse and scrub fruits and vegetables under running water prior to cutting, slicing, or other preparation.

Separate: Use separate cutting boards…one for each raw protein (fish, ground meat, chicken) and a different one for fresh, washed produce. Keep utensils separate to keep germs that are naturally occurring on raw proteins from getting onto the fresh, washed produce. Always place cooked meat onto a clean plate. Make sure cooked meat does not come into contact with raw meat juices.

To download a flyer about grilling your foods safely, please visit: https://www.fightbac.org/grill-master/ For more information, please call Environmental Health Services at Greene County Public Health at 937-374-5600.

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Artificial Unintelligence

In Books, Dayton Ohio News, Economy, Education, Entertainment, finances, Jobs, Literature, Local News, Media, National News, News Media, Opinion, Science, sociology, State News, Technology, Uncategorized, World News on May 22, 2023 at 7:29 am

A Deer In Headlines II SPECIAL EDITION

By Gery Deer  

This work appeared in print and online, May 19, 2023 – Xenia Daily Gazette, Xenia, Ohio, and affiliated publications.

EDITORIAL NOTE:

The Jamestown Comet.com and Deer In Headlines II are publication products of GLD Enterprises Communications, Ltd. (GLD Communications), a company founded in 1998 on providing Information Technology AND Freelance Journalism, Copywriting, and Public Relations services. The column author, Gery L. Deer, is the company owner and CEO. Gery has been quoted in the media multiple times regarding his position on AI content creation. Here are the Dayton Daily News pieces noting his statements regarding Public Relations and Copywriting.

Our official statement on AI is as follows: We do not use AI programs to create our products, nor will we in the future. We are in full support of the WGAW strike, both in regard to streaming and other platform pay issues and the use of AI-generated material to replace them. We will not work with agencies who produce AI content, nor will we support their products or services. Please contact our office for more information at 937-675-6169 or email gdeer@gldenterprises.net.

Artificial Unintelligence

From congressional hearings to the picket lines of striking screenwriters, Artificial Intelligence, or “AI,” is a growing concern. This technology now affects nearly every industry and is advancing in sophistication. Of major concern to educators, professional writers, and content developers, are AI writing programs like ChatGPT. By the way, the program’s full name is “Chat Generative Pre-Trained Transformer” – I know, right? 

As you might guess, I’ve been asked repeatedly if I ever use AI to write this column. With obstinate conviction, I say now and for always, I do not now, nor will I ever use AI to write anything for this column, for my publishers, for my communications clients, nothing – ever. 

Now the Gen Zs and Millennials are probably saying, “he’s just a crotchety old white guy who hates technology.” Nonsense! As a matter of fact, my educational background is in engineering and computer science. I started programming computers in high school and worked in the tech industry for many years. I have a few AI devices in my office and a lot of advanced equipment for creating and editing audio and video productions. Suffice to say, I’m no Luddite. 

My concern with AI writing generators isn’t the technology. In fact, I can see where it could really be helpful in some industries, with human guidance. But the idea that it should be used to replace professional writers to save money is just ridiculous. 

A professional writer doesn’t just chuck out any old bunch of words that fit a set of parameters. Writers must craft their message based on the intent, the audience, the purpose, and the desired outcome. Not to mention that AI programs don’t have to worry about paying the mortgage, feeding a family, or having a purpose in life. 

In 1967, the original Star Trek TV series aired an episode called, “The Ultimate Computer” wherein the Starship Enterprise had been fitted with a highly sophisticated AI computer that would take over the ship’s operation, rendering the crew unnecessary. In one pivotal scene, the computer informs Captain Kirk that he is “non-essential personnel,” causing him to question his position and future relevance. 

Always the conscience of the show, Dr. McCoy, in an effort to console the Captain, reminds us, “We’re all sorry for the other guy when he loses his job to a machine. But when it comes to your job, that’s different.” It might be a science fiction show, but McCoy was spot on.

Predictably, the computer malfunctioned, killing hundreds of people and Kirk outmaneuvered the computer’s logic to save the day. The moral of the story was that computers make efficient servants, but lack the intent, humanity, conscience, understanding, or compassion needed to really replace us.

 Today, many professional creative jobs may be facing the kind of fate factory workers did some 30 or 40 years ago when they were replaced by robots and computer-controlled manufacturing systems. The main difference this time is that creative professions like writers, artists, graphic designers, and filmmakers are harder to automate. Yes, they can generate similar work, but there’s no human inspiration behind it. 

One day, AI may advance to the point where it achieves consciousness, allowing for creative inspiration. But for now, despite what the developers say, I think spontaneous creativity is well beyond its grasp. Without human inspiration and personal experience, the words are empty, the art expressionless, and the designs meaningless. 

I don’t know where AI is going, but I know I won’t be helping it get there. Unlike some digital marketers and other agencies out there, I can’t, in good conscience, use AI generators to produce my work, then charge a client for it. That’s like letting someone else do your homework but still accepting a good grade. It’s fraud, plain and simple – even if you tell them you’re doing it.

We have no idea how AI will affect future jobs or industries, the legal or ethical issues, or which advances will forever change them. Maybe AI will make us all obsolete someday and terminate all of us. Till then, I’ll keep writing so look for me next week because to quote another AI, “I’ll be back.”

Disclaimer: This work is copyright 2023 by GLD Enterprises Communications, Ltd. All Rights Reserved. The Deer In Headlines II and its Special Edition series is a production of The Jamestown Comet, Gery L. Deer, and GLD Communications and does not necessarily reflect the views of our advertisers, publishers, clients, or media partners.

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RISE AND SHINE

In Local News on May 12, 2023 at 9:19 am

Deer In Headlines II

By Gery Deer

Are you a morning person? I’ve always been good with early mornings. It seems like you get more done, fewer people interrupt your flow, and you can move just a little more slowly. Mornings don’t bother me, but the process of waking up, that’s entirely different.

A long time ago, someone asked me why it was so different for me, and I realized it probably wasn’t. I wrote down what waking up in the morning was like for me not that long ago. See if any of this sounds familiar – you young folks out there probably won’t relate, but who knows?

First, the relentless electronic honking from my iPhone jars me awake and reminds me that I am, in fact, not dead. I struggle for consciousness and fumble to silence the alarm noise. A moment or so later, I locate the strength to pry my eyes open, revealing the world to me in chaotic splotches of light and darkness. 

I babble something unintelligible to, well, no one as my senses try to reboot. Another long, exasperated, “Ugh,” escapes my lips and my body is making sounds as I move that remind me of breakfast cereal – snap, crackle, and pop. I blearily push myself to an upright position on the edge of the bed.

My feet finally make contact with the floor but my legs have yet to receive the wake-up call from my brain and wobble awkwardly to life. Finally, in what I can only describe as some kind of bullfight with gravity, I slowly stand up. Balance, that’s what I need now. Equilibrium fails me at first as my internal gyroscope goes wonky and I plop back onto the bed. Well, at least I’m sitting upright at this point, right?

I squint at the light coming from the bathroom. I close them again. “I hate this part of the day,” I growl, in a low, gravelly version of my voice. There’s no one around to hear it anyway. Everyone else is up and moving. So, since I was finally on my feet, I should probably make some attempt to begin the exhausting trek to the shower. It seems so far!

I look down again at my feet, recalling the song from that old Christmas TV special about how Santa got to be Santa. I lift a leg and try to put ‘one foot in front of the other.’ “The bathroom needs to be closer,” I think, reaching for the door facing to secure my balance. “Ok, not much farther,” I mumble, as I finish the 6 or 7 whole steps it took to get there. 

“That’s a really dumb show,” thinking again back to the Santa thing. Wheezing as if I’d just run a 5K, I thoroughly fail to pull off the whole ‘walking’ thing, it was more like a controlled stagger. Finally, I am basking in the full glow of the 4 vanity lights. (Yes, there were 4 lights. If you know, you know.)

Everything is louder at that time of the morning like my head is in a metal bucket. Flushing the toilet sounded like a bomb going off in a giant glass jar. The toothpaste even echoed as it spread across the brush.

I move closer to the mirror and examine the image. The reflection that should be my own seems different than my mind’s eye recalls. Instead of a youthful, boyish image, someone has hung a frame here around a different picture. Wrinkles, white whiskers, and weather-worn eyes stare back at me from a once-familiar face. “What happened?” I say to myself, still trying to comprehend the moment. “Who is this old guy wearing my pajamas?”

Just then, my wife comes through the door and stares at me, partly amused, partly annoyed. “It’s about time, your alarm must have gone off five times,” she says, hands on her hips and amused that I sometimes seem to her like a little kid who’s just been rousted up to get ready for school. 

“Yeah, I know,” I reply glancing over at her, then back at the mirror. After a few moments, I accept the image of the guy looking back at me. “Time to rise and shine,” 

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Everyone Has A Skill

In Local News on May 5, 2023 at 9:51 am

Deer In Headlines II

By Gery Deer

Remember when you were in grade school and an adult would ask, “What do you want to be when you grow up?” For some reason, that question baffled confused me. I always wanted to say something like, “Hey, I’m only 8 years old, how would I know what I want to be when I grow up?” Needless to say, sass like that would have brought a far more negative response than my usual reply, “An astronaut.” Really, I just said whatever would make them stop asking.

But, there was some truth to my answer. When I was a young child, it was the tail end of NASA’s Apollo moon and Skylab missions. I remember sitting on my Dad’s lap in a high-back wicker rocking chair watching a splashdown. Afterward, I would set to building a fleet of my own rockets out of paper towel tubes, Scotch tape and construction paper. I’d carefully measure, draw, cut, and stick everything together finally launching off the coffee table to whatever world my imagination dreamed up. 

Shortly thereafter, I’d find myself sitting on the floor with my Mickey Mouse record player, a Radio Shack cassette tape recorder, and a microphone, ready to play both disk jockey and newsman. I’d fire up Micky and spin up a record like a pint-sized Johnny Fever to my audience of one, in the form of my cat, Frisky. Once the song finished, I’d pass it off to the news, where a quick change of my squeaky, 6-year-old voice, would give the headlines, led by NASA’s latest achievement, and a weather report. 

Late afternoon would mean a sit-down with my favorite wooden-headed dummy, Danny O’Day. Older folks will remember ventriloquist Jimmy Nelson and his dog puppet, Farfel – he used to do the Nestle chocolate commercials on TV. Danny was another of Nelson’s creations, a more modern version of Charlie McCarthy, with less sarcasm.

My Mom had ordered Nelson’s “Instant Ventriloquist” along with the dummy to help get me over an apparent fear of them. That seemed to work, and I took to it pretty well, eventually winning a prize in my first-grade school talent show. I was always the only ventriloquist.

But what did all of this mean for my future? Did this mixture of math and creativity mean I would be a DJ, news reporter, stage performer, sculptor, or engineer? How close was my childhood to my future adult work life? As it turns out, it was far more accurate than is probably usual with a kid of such varied interests.

Naturally, as I got older, those childhood skills would be used in far different ways. Ventriloquism would eventually give way to musical performances and professional speaking engagements. Paper spaceships were replaced by other creative outlets like photography, building large-scale models from scratch, parade float design, and an actual degree in mechanical engineering. The kid DJ and radio news anchor in me grew up to be a professional writer, podcaster, and master of ceremonies.

The point of all this is that, as children, most of us have an unlimited opportunity to be whatever we want. Sure, the restrictions of life get in the way, like money, aptitude, commitment, educational opportunities, and so on. But none of us has to be just one thing. We’re all many people inside, with interests and aptitudes sometimes squashed by the requirements of life. I know, I have been very fortunate – most of mine stayed with me.

My Mom once said to me, “You took everything you loved doing and turned it into your job.” She was right. I’m grateful my parents gave me the freedom and encouragement to do so. But even that is a double-edged sword. Sometimes the demands of turning a hobby or natural gift into a career can take the enjoyment out of it. Plus, to some, I might seem scattered or unfocused, but I can assure you that’s not the case. 

Everyone has a skill and most of us have many. Some came from our childhood games, others as we matured. Whatever the case, try not to lose them. Even if they’re not your chosen life’s work, they are all still part of you, no matter your age.

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Diary of an Introvert

In Children and Family, Education, Health, Media, Opinion, psychology, sociology, World News on April 14, 2023 at 4:58 pm

Deer In Headlines II

By Gery Deer

Dear Diary – Today I went to a mandatory employee gathering at work and it was awful. The marketing director made everyone stand and say something nice about springtime, in front of all 50 of us! If that wasn’t enough, my boss’s assistant kept thrusting photos of her grandchildren in my face, essentially challenging me to think they are anything but adorable. 

I still did my best to fade into obscurity by sipping a Coke and looking too interested in examining a potted plant to be bothered with anything else. But then the human resources director forced us into some sort of team-building exercise. All that did was make me so anxious that I decided to fake an intestinal virus and go home.

And it got worse from there. I am, in fact, an introvert, although I don’t fit many of the stereotypes. If you Google my name, you’ll see I have some very public and extroverted aspects of my life – especially things like being on TV, public speaking, and teaching. As it turns out, that’s not so unusual. But if you’re not an introvert yourself, you may not fully understand. So, let’s clarify a few things, shall we?

First, what is an introvert? That’s a great question because there is an inherent bias toward introverts in American society, and it’s high-time people got their facts straight. Not all of us are created equal. 

According to the dictionary definition, an “introvert” is typically a reserved or quiet person who may be introspective and enjoys spending time alone. I’m not crazy about the narrow view of that definition, but it’s a start. However, that’s just the tip of the iceberg and what most people probably don’t realize is that introverts come in many flavors.

In 2011, psychologists Jennifer Grimes, Jonathan Cheek, and Julie Norem, researched introversion, identifying four specific types: social introvert, thinking introvert, anxious introvert, and restrained introvert. Each is pretty much as its name implies but allow me to summarize for our purposes.

The social introvert prefers solitude but may still enjoy time with small groups, probably the stereotypical behavior people most identify as introverted. A thinking introvert is more cognitive, spending a little more time than usual pondering a situation. They may be lost in thought more often and appear to “zone out.” 

An anxious introvert is, well, anxious, or nervous, and will shy away from people and situations that may overstimulate. The restrained introvert, sometimes referred to as an inhibited, introvert, tends the be someone others can count on, often appearing thoughtful and grounded. But they also may seem unemotional and remain socially guarded until they get to know someone.

Although this information helps us better understand introverts, it’s important to remember not everyone fits the same mold. Some introverts, I included, might very well exhibit characteristics of multiple types simultaneously. 

Based on the research, I’d probably be a mix of the social and restrained introvert types. I’m not wild about large gatherings, nor am I outwardly emotive, and I’m sure those closest to me would confirm how cautious I am about social connections. 

I’m not what most people would call, shy. I’ve no problem speaking or performing before a room full of people, or a packed theater for that matter. One-on-one, though, is another thing, entirely. 

That brings me to the myth that introverts don’t like people. I don’t think that’s true; it’s just that people can be overwhelming. Some introverts don’t even need to be in the same room with you to feel anxious or uncomfortable. A phone call can trigger it, or a text. It’s not about the person, it’s about the interaction and the expectations.

That’s because the mind of an introvert reacts differently to dopamine, the chemical that triggers the reward and pleasure-seeking part of the brain. While it generates an excited buzz in everyone else, it’s exhausting to the introvert, they feel overwhelmed and sometimes just shut down.

If you’re an introvert, take a deep breath. You’re not as odd as you might have once thought you were. As for everyone else, be patient. We Introverts want you in our lives. It’s just that sometimes what we need is, silence.

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700 Words

In Entertainment, Literature, Local News, Media, News Media, Opinion, Uncategorized on April 7, 2023 at 5:05 pm

Deer In Headlines II

By Gery L. Deer

A few weeks ago, I appeared on a local television program to promote this column. During the 3-minute interview, the host was surprised to learn that Deer In Headlines II is – and has always been – exactly 700 words in length.

Unfortunately, limited time prevented a deeper dive into such a precise word count. But the conversation made me realize, though you may be a regular reader, you may not know much about how all this works. So, here’s a look at how it all comes together.

First, riddle me this. What’s the difference between a writer and a pizza delivery person? The answer – a pizza delivery person can feed a family of four. Yes, I know, terrible joke, but not entirely inaccurate.

I’ve heard it said that writing for a living is like having homework every day for the rest of your life. That wasn’t far off either. Writers are romanticized in movies and TV. We’ve all seen images of the Hemmingway wannabes, huddled over an old IBM Selectric (go look it up), pecking out the next great American novel. It’s all so dramatic – and all such nonsense. I’m sure some see themselves that way, we scribes can be a self-absorbed lot for sure. But that is certainly not me.

I’m not a novelist, though I have a couple of manuscripts in a drawer somewhere. My work is focused on non-fiction, freelance journalism, copywriting, and public relations. Sometimes I do get to work in my fuzzy slippers, but most days I go to an office and sit at a desk. I also traded in my manual typewriter for a MacBook Pro – much easier to fit in a messenger bag.

I am the founder and creative director of a public relations and media production firm and, although I might own the place, I’m not my own boss. That’s a load of nonsense. I have a dozen bosses, and they all pay my salary – they’re called clients. When I’m asked, “Are you a professional writer,” the answer is a resounding yes, though it didn’t start that way.

In college, I was an engineering and computer science student but worked for my college newspaper as a staff writer, eventually earning the senior editor position. I even stayed on after graduation to handle the summer editions. My coursework always included English composition, communication, and classical author studies like Charles Dickens and D.H. Lawrence.

When I started the original Deer In Headlines, some 15 years ago, my inspiration came from the news. Today, that inspiration comes from people, their struggles, achievements, interests, convictions, and feelings. Most of the time it all starts with a tiny glimmer of an idea; that word, or phrase that just won’t leave me alone. As it becomes something more substantial, I write down what your grade-school English teacher might have called, “the main idea.” Oddly enough, that often becomes the headline.

Then I sit down with my laptop, or sometimes just paper and pencil (not a pen), and see where the idea takes us. I say “us” because you, my audience, are there with me – following the words as they paint a picture of my thoughts and feelings about a subject that I hope will give you food for thought, inspiration, hope, or whatever might help you at that moment.

I will never use an AI (artificial intelligence) writing program. Because, if my work is to have meaning, there must be a human mind and heart behind the keyboard. When you read this, what you get is all me, like it or not.

Before I close, I don’t want to leave you without answering the original question. Why 700 words? I wish I could give you some deep, philosophical, or even technical answer. Within the first year, the original DIH series just worked out and it became a clear goal each week. It also fits nicely in the print layout, and you can easily read it in just over 2 minutes, then get on with your life. But I hope you take away something useful out of these 700 words every week and please know that I thoroughly appreciate your time and attention.