An Update

I will be away for a few days on a snowboarding trip, which will probably conclude with an article on how horrifically terrible I am at snowboarding. As the house I will be in has no wifi I will not be posting for a few days, but I will be preparing to write a much longer piece.

A Novice and his Guitar

My life  has always been saturated with some kind of music, whether it was my dad blasting Coltrane or Pink Floyd on the weekends or my mom and her Motown cassettes that would eat away the hours on long car rides. I've been singing in choirs and a cappella groups for over ten years, and I listen to an unusual range of genres and styles. The one musical aspect of my life that has always been lacking is an instrument. I played cello for a year in elementary school and the trombone for four years, and I was mediocre at both, to put it generously. Since my early instrumental failures I have never attempted to play another instrument until recently, when I decided to try my hand at acoustic guitar.

I began in the summer, and needless to say I was terrible. It took me weeks just to establish basic chords  and more weeks to string a song together. In spite of my ponderous progress I have managed to string together a few simple songs and am slowly noticing improvement, and hopefully by next summer I'll be able to play with some degree of skill. I didn't know what "action" was, and barre chords remain a nightmare, but in comparison to where I began, I am a modern-day Clapton.

I began playing on my black Takamine Jasmine, a cheap guitar with strings that are noticeably rusted, and promptly discovered that playing guitar was a moderately painful exercise, at least for someone who squeezed down on every string like he was trying to make the instrument surrender. In the end, the  guitar remained unbroken and my fingertips had developed some blue-ribbon weals. I stubbornly proceeded, because I am a methodical, inefficient mule when it comes to these things and I rarely circumvent a wall that I could just try to punch through it. Calluses came slowly, and the discordant plangs and scrapes of the guitar became incrementally more noticeable as an attempt to play music. My dad would stop downstairs and nod with a hint of approval, and my dog gradually ceased fleeing the room when I stomped in, guitar in hand.

I don't want to give the impression that I'm good, because that would not be close to the truth. For me, playing the guitar is still a physical struggle, and every transition from chord to chord offers a chance to screw up. More important than the sound is the fun I'm having, something I could not confess to in the early days of playing. The instrument was a chore, and I loved the idea of it but didn't enjoy trying to bend it to my will. I look forward to grabbing my guitar and just banging out chords, singing off-key to songs that are well above my vocal range (my version of Bob Marley's "Redemption Song" is essentially me just warbling well into my falsetto while loudly and ponderously clanking out chords. Thank God my parents are tolerant people) and keeping my family up at night. I had my doubts at first, but playing has really become a great musical outlet for me.

One last note before I wrap this post up is the influence of my uncle, who plays guitar well and has always pushed me musically. I have taken to playing his old 1978 (or thereabouts I think, he can correct me) Hondo II, this beat up piece of wood that sounds better than it should and is easy to play. I think this is the thing to remember about music-whether you're awful at it or a virtuoso, it carries a history and connections that can only be loved.

Disc Golf: A Simple Summary

I am a disciple of a fringe religion where there are no gods or texts, just festively colored discs and online instructional videos. The religion is a small, cultish sport called disc golf, a premise that is loosely  similar to the traditional game of golf and is appealing due to its interaction with nature, need for creativity, and lack of cost. I began playing disc golf sporadically as a sophomore in high school, and really became a devotee my senior year, when my friends decided they would play as well. We became a roving band of amiable, easily frustrated players with a propensity to find discs and curse extremely loudly. These traits, for better or for worse, are with us to this day.

Disc golf centers around the premise of putting discs (shaped approximately like frisbees but with a few key distinctions) in chained baskets. There are multiple ways of getting to the basket, whether you go with a backhand or forehand approach, a thumber, or a basic hammer. The game centers around your capacity for making shots and seeing the course from different perspectives. Maybe there's a tree that requires an interesting shot to get around, or a slope that has to be accounted for. I have learned that disc golf is as much about the approach as it is the form.

The sport is an extremely cheap one to play, as most courses are free to enter and used equipment can be bought for low prices or simply found around the course. It is common courtesy to call the owner of a lost disc if that option is available, but a simple blank disc is not rare, and it is through these little finds that you can build up your own collection. There are a variety of brands and types of discs that contribute to a round, and these can be broken up into the three categories of putter, mid-range and driver, which I assume are self-explanatory. Without going into too much detail, you should know that a disc may be more inclined to break left or right at the end of a flight depending on the model.

I'm trying to spread a little more appreciation for the game of disc golf, namely because I'm sick of answering questions about it and am always happy to find a new player on the course. Good sites for more information about discs and play are Innova Discs and Discraft, and a good way to find a course near you is Disc Golf Course Review. Good luck and happy playing.

A Reflection on "The Hobbit"

I was in second grade when I read The Hobbit for the first time. Since my previous literary jaunts had consisted of the Magic Tree House series and some bland stories about children playing baseball, The Hobbit was more of a revelation than a good children's book. My first copy was a ragged paperback with a cover of the Company in the eyrie of the Great Eagles. The stubby little book was an epiphany. Nothing was more thrilling than Bilbo taunting oversized arachnids in the forests of Mirkwood or Gandalf outwitting a trio of trolls, and my seven-year-old mind had dimly realized that this is what writing was about. I quoted Tolkien's opening passage in a subsequent book report, something that had never crossed my mind to do before because nothing before had ever been worth quoting. The Hobbit was my true introduction to reading and writing, one that I will not forget.

Not long after finishing The Hobbit my dad took it upon himself to read me The Lord of the Rings, a decision which is probably looked back upon by him with a twinge of regret, because all I would do for the next four years of my life was pepper him with questions about Tolkien's lore, inconveniently not reading The Silmarillion until sixth or seventh grade. I have read a lot of Tolkien, from his Unfinished Tales to Smith of Wootton Major. The Hobbit remains my absolute favorite, a book that I have read at least thirty (yes thirty, I had a lot of free time and evidently no sense of repetiveness as a little kid) times, and I did not wish to see it demolished on screen, even though I knew the project was in the hands of the steady Peter Jackson. Early reviews of the film did not inject me with confidence, and I walked into the theatre with two friends, nervous but optimistic.

It was great. Not great compared to the LOTR films and not really an outstanding standalone film, but it was one that made me see the scenes I had previously only pictured in my mind, and I could not ask for anything more. Sure, the damn thing was at least 45 minutes too long, and yeah, the plot had been fiddled with quite a bit, but images would flash across that beautiful New Zealand landscape and I could only be grateful. Usually, reading books incurs mental pictures of the action, setting, etc. Now I was seeing my childhood book on screen and these pictures were hitting me with lines of remembered text. I can't say that it was a special movie for everybody, but it was for me.

*Note-From here on out it is especially helpful if you have seen the movie and read the book, otherwise you may find some references confusing.

Now for the griping, which is inevitable and probably not  enjoyed by anyone, but since I found the movie far from perfect, gripes must be had. The introductory segment of Bilbo's house and visiting dwarves is a handful of pages in the book and it feels screechingly long in the movie. Radagast the Brown seemed like an unwieldy character, one that was not needed to bring up the Necromancer, as in the book Gandalf mentions that he found Thrain crazed in the prisons of Dul Guldur, the stronghold of the Necromancer. Azog worked, but that didn't mean I had to like his insertion into the story, and I would have preferred if the malicious plot-pushing orc was Bolg instead. Complaints aside, this movie accomplished what is really important, which is presenting a beloved children's book in a well-done film that captures the essence of Tolkien's storytelling and imagery. Though I have grown from hobbit-sized child to ungainly man, my love for this fantastic story remains undiminished, and I can only offer thanks to the people who made the movie and in turn made me back into a second-grader again, if only for a little while.

My Oddly Named Blog

Assigning a name to something is terrifying business, primarily because I am uncomfortable with the idea of dispensing a title upon an object, whether it is inanimate (this blog) or living (my dog Lucy). Names are taken seriously by human beings, who have a universal and curious tendency to label everything around them, and as I pondered and deliberated over the name of this blog, I had a moment of rare decisiveness. "The hell with a title that makes sense" I muttered feverishly to myself after fruitlessly paging through various Mark Twain books looking for a clever reference. "I'll pick a line from a Springsteen song and a nostalgic childhood activity and just slap them together." Thus Endless Juke Joints and Wiffle Ball Bats was formed, a blog that hopes to serve as a launching pad for opinionated, informative, and creative works of mine.

The line "endless juke joints" comes from a phrase in Bruce Springsteen's song "Backstreets"which serves as a bit of an homage to a great lyricist and a reference to the musical inclination of this blog. My addition of a beloved piece of backyard sporting equipment is as much an acknowledgement to childhood as it is to sports, and since I intend to chronicle both, it is also fairly pertinent.

Now to the business of really trying to identify who I am and what I want to do with this blog. In a perfect world I'll be putting my thoughts up here a few times a day, they will be accepted with unquestioning respect and admiration, and I will be lauded for my eloquence, thoughtfulness, and my impeccable good looks. In reality this blog is just a way for me to express my opinions in my strongest medium. A few early topics will probably be movie reviews, thoughts on music, and sports analysis but I plan on expanding to a greater variety of articles as I fall back into consistently writing.

It isn't necessary to understand me in order to read the blog, and my guess is that the writing will speak for me. If you're interested, I'm a college kid with a long-standing interest in sports, music, and literature. Coltrane, Questlove, Marley, Page, and Dylan serves as a fair representation of my musical tastes, and Bryson, Heller, Tolkien, Kahn, and Twain are probably my greatest writing influences. I sing, play guitar rather poorly, consider myself a modern day Ted Williams with a Wiffle ball bat, and do not play video games not due to lack of interest, but lack of ability. I would appreciate, but do not expect, feedback and if you take time to send me anything, whether it is a compliment or a withering criticism, I promise to respond. If you are curious as to how to contact me, email me at stwilliams0407@gmail.com or simply comment on a blog post!

An Introduction

Hey, I'm Sean Williams, a Journalism major at Hofstra University who loves writing, music, and baseball. I'm creating this blog as a way to express views on sports, music, movies, politics, and general musings about anything, really. My intention is to post at least one piece of writing on here a day, despite college classes and extracurricular activities. I hope you enjoy Endless Juke Joints and Wiffle Ball Bats.