What Does Your Signature Say?

I've been fascinated with people's signatures since I learned to write. At that time -- Mid-20th Century -- it was called handwriting, not cursive or chicken scratch. Today, that's what some people's signatures look like -- the scratching of a feral chicken.

All too many modern signatures are unreadable, if not indecipherable. Call it a scribble, a squiggle or a doodle but please don't tell me that is your name.

It could be a brand or a label, but what good are they if you can't identify them -- - not something you'd want to wear on your shirt sleeve, cap or underwear. I could be wrong about that.

The most famous signature belonged to John Hancock, President of the Continental Congress and first to sign the Declaration of Independence. His name became synonymous for your signature. "Put your John Hancock here on the dotted line."

In elementary school, I ran across many amateur forgeries of Mr Hancock's famous signature. Kids tried to copy it. Probably because it was fun and famous, attached to our great document.

I tried it myself. By the time I was in high school I was forging my friends' parents' signatures on bogus absentee notes. In hindsight, I could have made a business out of it, but I never charged a friend for their parent's signature. They provided the signature and I copied it in a note. 

"Please excuse William for his absence from school yesterday. He was ill and could not make it to class. May God keep you in good health, Mrs. Mary K. O'Hara.

Not one parent had a squiggle for a signature.

Mark Zuckerberg

Signature experts claim that people are too busy these days to sign their names legibly. Some psychoanalyze signatures. For example Mark Zuckerberg's signature is simply his initials, which means he's hiding out, doesn't have the time, too important. Zuck runs Meta, formerly and popularly known as Facebook.

Johnny Depp's signature looks like a bold hieroglyphic from another world. The challenge is to find any semblances of his name in his signature. He's an artist. You would think that an artist might be a little bit more clever with some hints. I wouldn't want it on my underwear.

Johnny Depp

Marylyn Monroe, sex symbol of the 1950s -- blond, curvaceous, voice like a cuddly baby doll -- had a mundane signature by today's standards. Easy to read. No frills, loops or runaway lines. Perhaps that was her true inner self: just an ordinary gal. She fooled us. Or maybe that was her unspoken allure. I'm delving now.

Marilyn Monroe

That's what's cool about signatures: they make you want to delve and interpret. But who has time for such trivial pursuits in a digital world where e-signatures will do the trick. I do.

According to my informed sources, your handwritten signature is never exactly the same. You could call it your organic mark, ever slightly changing, a simple breathing symbol of you and nobody else; when on a contract or document, a legally binding notation of one’s name.

I also found out that you can majorly change your signature, but not just on a whim one day and another whim the following day. You've got to be consistent. I've changed mine several times, going with my first two initials -- K.C. -- before my surname for the past 25 years. I've always been fond of the name, Kansas City (K.C.), even considered it as a name for a son or daughter. Luckily, I did not sire another child since I had that thought.

Out of curiosity and for inspiration, I searched out the signatures of figures from the past whom I admire, like Abraham Lincoln, Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Albert Einstein, Hunter S. Thompson. Except for Hunter -- whose signature was as gonzo as he was -- their names were signed legibly with artistic flourish, similar to John Hancock's.

Hunter S. Thompson

I once owned a football decorated with signatures of L.A. Rams players, and I could read every one of them. No loopy, harried circles and cross hairs. What would be the point if you couldn't read their name? I have a baseball signed by pitcher (30-game winner) Denny McLain. A big and notorious man, Denny has a clear, simple signature.

A major regret is my losing a T-shirt that Jane Fonda signed for me, while I was wearing said T-shirt. We had attended the same Willie Nelson concert circa 1981. I knew I would never get that close to her again. 

Jane Fonda

In the distant future, who will be able to identify Johnny Depp's signature? Aliens from another world? Who was Johnny Depp, anyway?

My newly minted signature is legible yet artistic, it flows like water with curves representing iconic symbolism of yin and yang. It is deep and forward driven, while employing the laziness of a cool summer breeze and its author.

Still, I wouldn't have it on my underwear. Maybe on a paper napkin.

 

Welcome Singapore!

Although Singapore is one of the most modern cities in the world (actually a nation-state), heritage buildings are treasured.

I don't know much about you, but from what I've read, you've got a very tidy nation with a rich, diverse culture. 

Let me begin with a huge "thank you" for viewing my blog -- more than 4,000 hits over the past 30 days!

My initial reaction was astonishment! What the hell?! Can you say, hell, in Singapore? I think you can. I know you cannot chew gum.

I understand that Singaporeans read body and facial expressions over the spoken word. I think that's cool. I wonder what you would think of a guy like former President of the USA Donald Trump?

You cannot believe a word he says, yet his body language says it all: lazy, unkempt, showy, overweight, troubled, insincere, arrogant.

We can take a lesson from you regarding communication. Although we can show you the value of free expression in which I can say such things about our government leaders.

Fun zone in Singapore

The closest I've been to Asia is Hawaii, where the population includes Pacific Islanders, Japanese, Taiwanese, Filipino, Burmese, Chinese as well as haoles, or white people. I find the Asian influence comforting, the people tend to be friendly and family oriented. 

I believe the ancients of the East -- characters like Confucius, Lao-Tsu and Buddha -- imparted great wisdom. I have been a devoted practitioner of Yoga for many years.

Your interest in my blog has created a desire in me to visit Singapore! I trust that we share a common spirit. On the other hand, your enormous interest could be an AI-type of robotic glitch, or ---- hack.

But let's not go there. If it is a hack, I have nothing worth hacking. I am a simple man. 

I am impressed by your breakdown of religions: 31-percent Buddhist, 19-percent Christian, 16-percent Muslim (predominantly Sunni),  9-percent Taoist,  5-percent Hindu. And 30-percent no religion, out of a total population of 4-million.

I find the Taoist religion most intriguing: the four principles being:

1. Simplicity, patience and compassion

2. Going with the flow -- when nothing is done, nothing is left undone

3. Letting go -- if you realize all things will change, there is nothing you will hold on to

4. Harmony.

I have learned of the Tao, or the Way, but didn't realize it was a practicing religion. I subscribe to those principles. As much as I can. My Western upbringing and our dominant culture in the U.S. are heavily slanted toward a materialistic reality, so it's not an easy row-to-hoe. Row-to-hoe is a metaphor that could possibly be compared, or I should say, contrasted, to the Way of Taoism.

I consider row-to-hoe more of a servile reference, as is the predominant principle of Western culture, again based on meritorious material gain rather than communal spiritual enlightenment.

I wonder if you've picked up this theme in my blogs? Perhaps that is what you find curious or interesting in my pieces? I prefer to believe that. If we can influence the world in this way, we may be able to save our planet.

I understand Singapore has been called a City in a Garden and is considered a green city and financial center of Southeast Asia. We had a friend who was sent there in the Eighties as an employee of a company called Seagate, an early tech company based in Santa Cruz County. Her work schedule prevented her from exploring your culture. She might as well have stayed in the US.

I hear there are many expats in Singapore and that board surfing is popular on your island. The waves are small but fun. Maybe that's how you heard about my blog? It was originally called Talking Surf Stories.

Established in the 13th Century, the name Singapore, originally Singapura in Sanskrit, means Lion City.  That's cool. I understand that Singlish is a slang spoken there, a combination of languages including English. I'd like to hear it.

Mahalo (thank you in Hawaiian) for checking my blog. I would enjoy hearing from you.

About chewing gum being out lawed in your country: The only gum I ever liked was bubble gum when I was a kid. I'm over that. I go with the flow.

Changes in Latitude...

Jimmy Buffet early in his career, died Sept. 1 of a rare skin cancer Merkel cell carcinoma. PHOTO:GETTYIMAGES

The last thing I wanted to do was write another post about a friend who died. Then I heard that Jimmy Buffet had passed at age 76, one month older than I am. I hadn't heard of or thought about Jimmy in a while. I saw him perform live only once, and that was when he had become very popular. I wondered what's with all the Parrotheads.

There were no Parrotheads (Jimmy’s fans) when he recorded Let's Get Drunk or the Death of an Unpopular Poet, two songs on his first Dunhill studio album, A White Sports Coat and a Pink Crustacean. He knew how to turn a pun.

A year or so ago when Tina Turner passed, I mentioned to my late writer friend Rick Carroll that I had seen Tina at the Catalyst in Santa Cruz when she made her big comeback in 1982. Rick asked me if I had written about her. I hadn't. He said he would have liked to read what I had to say.

That's what friends who spend their time scribbling say to each other, which brings me back to Jimmy, who was, before all the tropical hoo-haw, first a writer.  Jimmy told stories with his songs. He had the gift of the pen. Before his music success, he wrote journalistic pieces for Billboard magazine. Jimmy ended up in Key West following a series of music rejections in Nashville. 

In the taverns of Key West, he discovered his muse while hanging and partying with writers including Truman Capote, Fred Neil, Jim Harrison and his brother-in-law novelist Tom McGuane, who wrote the liner notes for White Sports Coat… claiming the album fell somewhere “in the curious hinterland where Hank Williams and Xavier Cugat meet.”

Poet Kenneth Patchen was a favorite of Jimmy's who died with little fanfare. Jimmy's song Death of an Unpopular Poet was in honor of Patchen and fellow poet Richard Farina, both of whom were little known but dedicated to the craft.

It's a wistful tune. Jimmy saved it for a cool-down encore at the end of his shows. In the final verse, the poet gives his inheritance to his dog, leaving us with a wry smile.

I discovered Jimmy Buffet in the early Seventies when a new alternative radio station out of Gilroy, KFAT, introduced progressive country music to a local audience. Think Emilylou Harris and Rodney Crowell. Progressive country eventually morphed into a genre called Americana. 

KFAT worked a song into its regular playlist about getting drunk and screwing. It had a country flavor and ribald charm. Who is Jimmy Buffet? I thought when the singer’s name was announced.

It wasn’t exactly a Nashville voice. He was certainly drinking margaritas, but who knew, save for his Key West pals, much about the author and his environment of misfit wordsmiths.

Margaritaville changed that. It caught on like a raging kegger at a college frat party. It was fun yet self-deprecating. “Been here all season, don’t know the reason, nothing to show but this brand new tattoo…  stepped on a pop-top, blew out my flip-flop…

He could have been writing a jingle for a top-notch ad agency in New York, but it was a tad irreverent. The message was not to achieve status other than being a fun-loving bum in paradise. It was that simple.

The rest is history. With a winning smile and knack for clever phrasing, Jimmy created a deep brand worth nearly a billion dollars. Along the way he authored a series of popular sea-faring adventure novels. Granted, he needed a little sprucing up from his wife of 46 years, Jane Slagsvol. 

"He spun a billion dollar empire from a shaker of salt," according to columnist Maureen Dowd, another wordsmith pal of Jimmy's.

I bet his writer buddies were astounded by Jimmy's success. His go-ahead album that included Margaritaville says it all: Changes in Latitude, Changes in Attitude.

Thanks, Jimmy, for your uplifting spirit and wonderful stories.