Current distractions

I'm in the midst of finishing a few books, which is a fairly regular place for me to be ---

"Player Piano" by Kurt Vonnegut - One of my favorite writers, this book hasn't quite taken flight as quickly as some of his other works. But it still contains the same cynical, maniacal fantasies that he is best at creating. I sympathize with his skepticism of organized anything and his faith in the goodness of solitary man. (It's also difficult to dislike a guy who gave some of his own books "C-" ratings).

"The Catcher In the Rye" by J.D. Salinger - I reread this book every year or two. On this occasion, it hasn't read as smoothly as years before. Talking to a coworker of mine, I realized that maybe Salinger is a better short story writer (i.e. taken in small doses) than author of novels. This is not a knock on his talent - masters like Cheever and Chekhov are best known for their shorter works - but more a realization after a long love affair.

"From Hell" by Alan Moore - A Christmas gift from my younger sister, I always felt reluctant to gift this book myself. Jack the Ripper is a gory topic, but it's surprisingly deep in its subject matter. Moore explores the history of architecture - the movements, idols, and misogyny that once drove it - and the way it has shaped various cultures. It's as if we have no choice but to be influenced by the men and women who came before us. Heavy stuff.

"The Righteous Path"

I've been dwelling on a song by the Drive-By Truckers that I can't get out of my head. Is this one of those tunes you're not supposed to appreciate until you're older? In any case, it rings true to me.

"The Righteous Path"

I got a brand new car that drinks a bunch of gas
I got a house in a neighborhood that's fading fast
I got a dog and a cat that don't fight too much
I got a few hundred channels to keep me in touch
I got a beautiful wife and three tow-headed kids
I got a couple of big secrets I'd kill to keep hid
I don't know God but I fear his wrath
I'm trying to stay focused on the righteous path

I got a couple of opinions that I hold dear
A whole lot of debt and a whole lot of fear
I got an itch that needs scratching but it feels alright
I got the need to blow it out on Saturday night
I got a grill in the backyard and a case of beers
I got a boat that ain't seen the water in years
More bills than money, I can do the math
I'm trying to keep focused on the righteous path

I'm trying to keep focused as I drive down the road
On the ditches and the curves and the heavy load
Ain't bitching bout things that aren't in my grasp
Just trying to hold steady on the righteous path

There's this friend of mine I've known all my life
Who can't get it right no matter how hard he tries
He's got kids he don't see and several ex-wives
And a list of bad decisions bout eight miles wide
Trouble with the law and the IRS
And where he'll get the money's anybody's guess
He's a long way off but if you was to ask
He'd say he's trying to stay focused on the righteous path

Trying to keep focused as we drive down the road
Like we did back in High School before the world turned cold
Now the brakes are thin and the curves are fast
We're trying to hold steady on the righteous path

We're hanging out and we're hanging on
We're trying the best we can to keep keeping on
We got messed up minds for these messed up times
And it's a thin thin line separating his from mine

Trying to hold steady on the righteous path
80 miles and hour with a worn out map
No time for self-pity or self-righteous crap
Trying to stay focused on the righteous path

A few thoughts on Christmas

On Christmas music: Is there any good contemporary Christmas music and where can it be found? I realize that many musicians release albums of Christmas music that were probably recorded in an afternoon at the studio. The cost is close to zero and the expectations are so low that turning a profit cannot be difficult. I'm sure that talented, current Christmas music is out there, but besides Sufjan Stevens, who is creating it?

On Christmas gifts: How much should a person in a long-term relationship spend on gifts? Is it contingent upon the years spent together? Relative to the current state of the relationship? If it's the former, does the amount spent top out after two or three years? If it's the latter, should a couple stay together if they spent less than they spent the year before? As long as no one is keeping track, I'm sure I'll be fine.

On bad Christmas sweater parties: How original. Seriously, no one has thought of that before. Also, why wasn't I invited?

("Put the Lights on the Tree" by Sufjan Stevens)

Snow days in the big city

I was talking with a coworker recently about big cities vs. small cities. Due to my background and experience, Portland - my current home - feels like a huge city. Cecily, haling from New York, finds Portland fairly quaint. I then explained that I grew up in Eastern Oregon and the conversation went something like this:

Me: Well, my hometown has about 17,000 people in it. So Portland...
Cecily: Wow. So, that's a tiny town.
Me: Well, not really. It's actually the largest town in Eastern Oregon. My girlfriend, she's from a farming town outside of mine. Probably a thousand people or so.
Cecily: Okay, so that's a small town.

After this conversation, I got to thinking about how small town folk are not necessarily prepared to live in larger cities (and maybe vice versa). It seems that, more and more every year, I keep hearing about old classmates moving back to our hometown or surrounding communities. I know I shouldn't be surprised at their return - I've certainly been tempted to do the same in the past. It's a comfortable move, even if I find the thought of it a little depressing.

In other news, it's been snowing off and on for a week in Portland, and the place nearly shuts down while city drivers drive too fast, too slow, or buy ill-fitting chains and put them on the wrong tires. Meanwhile, in my hometown, my dad is telling me a foot of snow is on the ground, "but people seem to be getting around fine." Hilarious.

The Old Corp Speak

It occurred to me today that I hadn't touched upon the "corp speak" phrase that most annoys me. (I was reminded of it while talking with another coworker who shares my sentiment) :

"Job security"

Ugh.

It's most often used by a supervisor when you, as a low-level, corporate lackey, are undertaking a menial task that has either no purpose or has been conceived solely as a means of time-wasting (or "minesweeping"). But the problem is, the only people who say "well, I guess it's job security" are people who A) don't have to worry about their own job security and B) don't have to do whatever task is supposedly providing this job security.

Surprise! You have a cavity!

A lot of people say they like surprises. What they really mean is that they enjoy pleasant surprises. It is usually a surprise when someone knocks on your door to inform you they ran over your cat, or when you return home from vacation to find your basement flooded (as my parents did a few years ago). I know of very few people who enjoy the surprise of a parking ticket or cavity.

On the flipside, you have people who hate surprises and often cry when something catches them off guard. (You criers know who you are). It starts with an innocent "boo" and ends with a sob. And, strangely enough, for every person who likes to hide behind doors or under beds there is a person who is ready to cry when they jump out. These two camps should form their own nations, the criers and the boo-ers, so that no more unpleasant surprises can occur between friends, family, and lovers.

The New Corp Speak

My coworker, Eli, and I were talking about corporate speak, the business savvy jargon that relies heavily on mixed metaphors. Outside the box, up-selling, kicking the tires - these are all repeated ad nauseum, despite the fact that some people have no idea what they mean. So we spent the day inventing a few phrases of our own. My favorites appear below:

Bikini wax the sun v. - to expect the impossible.
Minesweeper n. - a time-waster (person or thing).
Ooby dooby v. or n. - to make a mistake. An error.
Lift the skirt (or poke the bulge) v. - to investigate or test.
Peanuts and Coke n. - a period of lean economic policies.
Reduce the boob v. - to cut benefits.

An example:

"Listen up, people. I know there have been some rumblings in the office lately about layoffs and cutting costs and all that. But I wanna reassure you - the last thing we wanna do is reduce the boob around here. Honestly. We're family. That being said, there isn't a lot coming in or going out. You know that. So we need to run tight - it's gonna be peanuts and Coke around here for a while. We're not asking you guys to bikini wax the sun, but it's important we pound the pavement and do our homework on this Holmstead deal. I know you folks in accounting are really lifting the skirt on that project and I thank you. The rest of you: no minesweepers. We have our work cut out for us and we're an ooby dooby away from being another Pete Best. So get out there, fight the good fight, use your bootstraps, and try not to pet the rabbits along the way."

A completed beginning

I recently finished a story that I'll be including with my MFA applications. It's called "The Vessel" and this is the beginning:

"Here is how it is: My name is Roebuck and they call me a monster. I live in a humble shack on the very edge of town, farthest from the river but near the railroad, a few miles south of the little train station. Infrequently, people come out to catch a glimpse of me, tending the garden or returning from the general store, but they never stop to visit. Last November, someone hurled a broken handle from a cast iron pan through my bedroom window. They disappeared before I stepped outside so I put the handle on a shelf above the bed, beside the iron spikes I collect from the tracks."

(Maybe I'll post the ending when I've gotten it right).

Grad Application drudgery

I'm applying to grad schools. Despite the deadlines - which are helpful motivators for a writer like myself - nothing else about the process is enjoyable. In addition to each application, I need to complete statements of intent, personal statements, statements for the teaching of creative writing, a curriculum vitae, and writing samples. Additionally, letters of recommendation, transcripts, and GRE scores must be requested and sent. It's a confusing, expensive, time-consuming procedure that probably weeds out a number of people who also once said, "I'm applying to grad schools." The thing that torments me is the idea that after taking time off from work, fretting, sweating, and tearing my hair out to complete all these applications (which feels like a success in and of itself), there is a fair chance that I won't be accepted into any of the programs. (Statistically, the odds are always stacked against the person applying). A fortune cookie that came with my lunch the other day read, "You will soon witness a miracle." Maybe that miracle will be me completing all of my grad school applications.

Vivid dreams

Lately, I've been having vivid dreams. Particularly, I have had a recurring dream where I keep running into one of my best childhood friends, a person I haven't talked to in over a year. In the first two dreams, I come upon him in different places and I am surprised that he seems upset with me. In the last two dreams, I get a hold of him on the phone - something I have been trying to do in waking life - and he still seems upset. I desperately want to reach him somehow, outside of my dreams, but the phone just rings and goes to voicemail.

Yet the dream that has stayed with me played out a few nights ago: I am the father of three young sons and I work in a small office in the middle of a city. In the basement of the office, a secret panel slides away to reveal a hidden chamber, which in turn acts as the doorway to an escape tunnel. One evening, I ride my motorbike home only to find a police car outside of my house. But the police car is not a typical one - it is sky blue in color, the shape of a Twinkie, and the size of a single-wide mobile home. I watch my sons talk to the policeman and he leaves, suspecting nothing. The next morning, my sons accompany me into work and we sneak into the secret room under the office. The tunnel leads us out of the city, into a suburban park that features stone archways at both entrances. In the park, dozens of other people join us and it is then that I realize that we are Jews, escaping persecution. We set up a table and exchange red boxes that look like wrapped gifts. In the boxes, I understand that we have given one another information about everyone in the group - family names, addresses of relatives outside of the country - in the hopes of finding one another after the purge ends. Suddenly, a police car screeches by and stops down the street. The group disperses in different directions, red packages in hand, trying not to look suspicious. I am scared but I think up an excuse if am questioned - we are an extended family having a reunion in the park. We walk away from the park and frequently glance behind us to see if we are being followed.

A short beginning with no end

I often write short, five sentence paragraphs to kick-start different pieces of fiction. Sometimes I never finish the story. The following is one of the works I never completed:

"Margaret had felt the urge to nuzzle Bobby when he finally rolled into bed – she wanted to crush her face into his neck or his arm and allow him, if he reached out, to touch her. But he crawled into the sheets reeking of smoke, the kind that marinated his skin, and it was too strong for her to pick out his natural scent, hidden underneath. And why would he leave his shirt on anyway? She rolled over and thought about her portrait of Danny Birkus, unfinished in the basement, which had since been pushed back against the bookshelf so Bobby could reach the drain access and get the roots out. She asked Bobby to take his shirt off, he complied and he put his hand on her hip, but she continued to stare at the wall."

Them Weekly and other impulse items

Thoughts upon standing in line at the grocery store:

The whole reasoning behind giving celebrity magazines names like Us Weekly or People is so the average reader of these rags will feel less guilty about buying them. It’s easier to justify purchasing a magazine that's simply about “us” or “people” than it would be to buy a journal called Them Weekly or People More Famous Than You Magazine.

Different Names for the Same Thing

I went through a period at university where I named all of my stories after song titles - "The Last Time I Saw Richard", "Blue Valentines", etc. It was simpler to piggy-back some of Joni Mitchell or Tom Waits' ideas, as opposed to coming up with titles that inevitably wound up dramatic (The Death of Man) verbose (The Collected Journals of Guy Larson: Philosopher, Age Nineteen) or dull (Essays, etc.). Now, I devote a section in a journal to composing all the award-winning titles that still lack a story.

I thought of these trivialities as I was trying to produce a handle for this, my first blog. There is something empowering - and probably a little prideful - about choosing names for your creations. I can't imagine it stands on par with going through baby books (or the demented pleasure my girlfriend and I get upon naming our houseplants) but there is intense gratification upon finding a good name for a piece of work. It's like starting a trip with a full tank of gas.

Then again, if "Poster of a Boy" is a flop, I'll just start over and borrow something from Joni Mitchell.