On writing

I came to a realization the other night about writing, an epiphany which probably seems obvious to writers who've been in the game for a while. Lately, I've been searching for places to submit some of my short, prose fiction. I was about to take down a list of publications when it struck me: What will getting a short story published do for me? What do I hope to parlay out of that experience? Truly, I don't mean to bash short stories, short story publications, or short story writers - "Stories" by John Cheever is one of my favorite books. Forgetting the fact that the competition in the short fiction market is supremely daunting, publication in a small press does not typically equal further accolades, a book deal, or even a relationship with a publisher. So unless I singularly desire to write short stories for a living or see myself as the next Tobias Wolff, it's ridiculous to focus on this form of writing. I would (and hopefully will) be better served focusing on my interest in young adult fiction, screenwriting, satire, comics, and non-fiction prose.

All of this lead me back to an age-old pondering of what it means to be a writer. I used to place a lot of stipulations on this label - before calling myself a "writer," I had to earn some money doing it or, at the very least, see some of my work published. Now, I look at writing similarly to the way I view running, one of my other pastimes. Entering a marathon or half-marathon or 10K - or somehow, miraculously, winning any of these races - is not the sole defining characteristic of being a runner. That reeks of elitism. A runner is a runner because of the simple, arduous task of hitting the pavement, counting the miles, weathering the aches, and doing it again the next day. It's a little hokey, I know, but I've discovered a positive outlook is essential in both running and writing.

Where The Wild Things Are

Rarely have I found myself so excited over an upcoming movie, let alone one adapted from a picture book I loved when I was young, but after seeing the just-released trailer for "Where the Wild Things Are" and discovering that it was directed by Spike Jonze and co-written by Dave Eggers, I'm almost totally won over.

I'm not sure why - maybe it's recent stress - but the trailer kinda makes me wanna bawl ---


And here's the splendid movie poster ---

For the time being...

Hello readers. I realize I gave forewarning about this about two weeks ago, but for the time being P.O.A.B. will be put on hold while I'm waiting to hear back from grad programs. I sincerely hope to continue this little project, even while I'm in the midst of some other ventures (e.g. "The Modest Knight", "The Pith Report", etc.). I'll still try to post as often as I can, but I can't promise any regularity.

Thank you for reading.

I love you all.

New website

Hey all. With the help of a good friend - one who actually knows what he's doing - I am in the process of moving my satire blog from Blogspot to its own site. This way, I'm hoping to gain more net traffic (and maybe parlay it into some sort of part-time job). For those interested in seeing the new setup, it's http://www.pithreport.com/. Eventually, I'd also like to move the P.O.A.B. blog to a more personalized site but until further notice I'll be here (when I find the time).

Sometimes I wish I were a hot dog...

(photo by D. Shrigley)

...or a balloon...

(photo by D. Shrigley)

...because then I could stay in bed all day.

The tables have turned, buckle your seat belts, fear the reaper, checkmate...

I'm not a fan of "CSI" in any of its geographic incarnations (e.g. Miami, New York, Las Vegas, Akron, etc). It's poorly written, totally unbelievable, and ambiently lit for no good reason. (Without fail, the crime scene labs look like night clubs and the lab techs are all dressed like they're searching for someone to take them home). Even so, "CSI: Miami" reaches a terrible depth unmatched by its counterparts solely due to David Caruso's presence. Does anyone actually, honestly, unironically enjoy his act? He seems to have come to us straight from the William Shatner School of Acting, sans a needed dose of humor or self-deprecation. (I still hope his character is supposed to be so over-the-top). Don't believe me? Just give this a quick view ---

(David Caruso one-liners on "CSI: Miami")

List of the Week: Eight Words or Phrases Forever Ruined By Pop Culture

There is a definite baggage that hangs over the English language anymore. To borrow a tired phrase, "loaded words" populate much of our discourse anymore. And even though I enjoy quoting movies and songs as much as the next person (and usually more so), I can't help but think we've lost something (however minor) by not being able to say certain words or phrases.

Eight Words or Phrases Forever Ruined By Pop Culture:

1. "I just called to say I love you" - This 1980's Stevie Wonder hit is, let's be honest, god-awful in comparison to his earlier work. Even so, it's impossible to deny the wonderful sentiment that it conveys. But try saying this to someone without the awful song sticking in your head for the next few days.

2. "Just do it" - It may be the best ad slogan ever penned. And this is not because it represents the height of language, but because whenever anyone says it, outside of a Nike framework, it draws everyone back to that specific brand.

3. "Stop" - Question: How does a word like "stop" become ruined? Answer: M.C. Hammer, Vanilla Ice, and Diana Ross.

4. "I want the truth" - I challenge anyone to say this (even in the highest height of seriousness) and not silently hear the rejoinder: "You can't handle the truth!"

5. "Elementary" - It's totally demeaning and it has no correlative in the classic novels by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle but, my dear Watson, we're stuck with it.

6. "Domo arigato" - Mr. Roboto. STYX. 'Nuf said.

7. "Tastes great" - ...less filling," said all the dorks in the room.

8. "Gimme a break" - Kit Kat gave us not only one of the tastiest candy bars in history, but also one of the catchiest jingles ever written. Don't believe me? Gimme a break...

Retiring a character

For those of you haven't heard this newsbit ---

CNN, MTV, the Associate Press, and other interested news sources recently reported on a certain website's goal to retire the Joker character from any future Batman productions. In deference to Heath Ledger's now Academy Award winning performance, "The Ultimate Joker" seeks to forever "withdraw" the character, rather ungrammatically stating: "It’s impossible to imagine, impossible to draw or dub much less repeat the performance." As a result, over 30,000 supporters have signed a petition which the site proprietors hope to submit to the production company in control of the Batman franchise.

Though I find the idea mildly amusing - treating Ledger's Joker like Wayne Gretzky's retired #99 jersey - I can't quite get on board with it. Interpretation is a large part of what makes any film, play, or production great. It's what transformed "The Godfather" from a rambling, cliche novel into an epic film about family, power, and the American dream. It gave us Sean Connery and Daniel Craig as James Bond. Finally, interpretation, at the direction of Christopher Nolan, is what rescued us film-lovers from the terribly campy Batman franchise. (It's also worthwhile to recall the initial skepticism Batman fans expressed at the casting of Ledger, particularly following Jack Nicholson's iconic performance in the '89 version helmed by Tim Burton). So while I agree that there may never be a Joker quite like Ledger's, it does a disservice to the author, director, and the story itself to say an actor should be the last incarnation of a character. Besides, who wouldn't be a little curious to see Crispin Glover or Daniel Day Lewis' version of the Joker?

(Heath Ledger as the Joker)

Personal Art Movements

Yesterday, a BBC article on the 100-year anniversary of "Futurism" caught my attention. Futurism, as a personal art project first outlined by wealthy Italian poet Tommaso Marinetti, lauded the glories of war, thrill seeking, and a world without libraries (while also placing an emphasis on the scorn of women). It's grand, aggressive, largely revolting stuff and I won't go into more detail, though the full article can be found here. Anyway, due to my own ignorance, I had originally listed futurism as one of my interests on a few profiles (including POAB's). This was a case of total cluelessness. You see, in the beginning, I had mentioned "escapism" as one of my hobbies and only recently had begun to replace it with the alternate, aforementioned -ism. This was solely due to my (false) impression that a "futurist" (which I identify as) practices "futurism" when, in fact, he/she actually practices "futurology", a far less odious art form. I apologize if I offended any pacifist, female librarians in the mix-up.

In any case, per the BBC's urging, I wrote out my own art manifesto ---

Values of Dodoism:

1. Wit is overrated.

2. The over-consumption of wine is entirely original.

3. Distrust anyone who calls themselves "eclectic".

4. The phallus is overused as an object of art. (I mean, look at it for god's sake)

5. 1 is white, 2 is green, 3 is red, 4 is brown, 5 is black, 6 is green, 7 is yellow, 8 is red, 9 is black, 10 is white...

6. No one, not even you, ever knows what you're talking about.

7. Slow down. Geez.

8. Trust your friends and family, save for the "eclectic" ones. (See #3)

9. While action is admirable, sleep is king.

10. What's the name of that movie with Bo Derek and Dudley Moore? I can never remember the name of it...

11. God has a sense of humor. (Just look at the dodo or the penis)

List of the Week: Five Commandments For Hosting a Film Marathon

Last week, my coworker, Eli, and I were chatting over a beer about movie marathons. In the midst of our sheer geekery, we actually began to create a workable set of rules for setting up a movie marathon. Excluding food, environment, time, and other components of a typical movie marathon, the commandments focus solely on film selection.

1. A movie marathon shall consist of at least four films - Besides trilogies (which obviously cannot be extended to four films, no matter how much George Lucas hates the movie-going public) a movie-thon, by its nature, is a way to view a fair cross-section of a particular genre, director, or medium. And watching two films about zombies, on a lark, does not a movie marathon make.

2. Unless the marathon is writer and/or director-centric, no one writer and/or director shall be represented twice - Obviously, having a Woody Allen fest requires four of his films (Hannah and Her Sisters, Crimes and Misdemeanors, Sleeper, and Annie Hall would be my picks, at the very least). But if one is hosting a sci-fi movie marathon, David Cronenberg or John Carpenter cannot appear on the list twice, no matter how much they dominate the genre.

3. Film marathons shall represent a span of at least twenty-five years of cinema - Cinema is hardly long in the tooth, but there is still plenty material to draw from in the hundred or so years since its inception. Twenty-five years is the bare minimum for attaining an adequate cross-section. Again, this stipulation leaves room for writer and/or director marathons when writers and/or directors have not worked in the industry for the "minimum" time frame.

4. A marathon host shall exert sole control over the film picks - Half of the marathon experience is making a list of films that you feel best represent the topic or theme. And much of the joy in compiling this list is knowing that some of your selections will test your friends' patience, endurance, or good nature. If one of your friends can't stomach Burt Reynolds, you should probably choose Deliverance or Stroker Ace (depending on the theme). But be prepared to have the ill favor returned next time that friend picks the flicks.

5. At least one of the films shall have agreed-upon artistic merit - Just as marathon attendees must respect the selections of the host, the host must respect the integrity of the marathon. Even if you are hosting a "bad movie marathon", one of the films must be agreed-upon to represent that theme with some authority, thereby giving it the most basic artistic merit (i.e. On Deadly Ground is a perfect example of exactly how not to make a movie).

Apologies all around

To: My loyal readers (all two of them, including you, Mom).

What: I apologize for my recent lack of posts.

Why: I haven't had as much time or energy lately, due to anxiousness about forthcoming acceptance/rejection letters from grad schools . Additionally, the government is now telling me I owe the IRS $1800 for my 2008 taxes. This is (almost) laughable because A) I've never owed anything for taxes in years past and B) I don't have $1800.

When: I'll return to my (sorta) regularly scheduled posting when/if these issues are resolved. Until that time, please include me in your prayers, thoughts, and meditations.

How: If you're wondering how you can cope in the meantime, please feel free to visit my alternate blog, The Pith Report, which I find easier to update on a more frequent basis (possibly because it's total drivel). If that's not your thing you can always watch a chimpanzee ride a Segway.

(from http://www.japanprobe.com/?p=6762)

Five Things Everyone Should Thank Portland, Oregon For

Because I enjoy lists, and because it's perfectly legal to borrow the idea from "Paste Magazine", from now until whenever POAB feature a "List of the Week" every Wednesday. Week to week, the content will inevitably vary (both in quality and content) but the senseless, merit-less joy of list-making will always (no promises) shine through. So without any further fanfare, I present my first entry ---

Five Things Everyone Should Thank Portland, Oregon For:

In a certain sense, this is an easy first subject on which to build a series of lists. I live in Portland, work in Portland, and I genuinely enjoy Portland. Beyond that, Portland is home to a number of lauded musicians, writers, artists, features and events. But, being a fairly recent transplant to the Willamette Valley - I originally hale from the much dryer, much sparser, and much conservative-er Eastern Oregon - I have been forced to frequently "hit the town" in order to familiarize myself with the City of Roses.

1. "Rose Parade" - The simple, striking song by Elliott Smith is a safe pick, I'll admit. But the influence that Smith eventually exerted over other artists (think Ben Folds, Sufjan Stevens, Glen Hansard, Wes Anderson, etc.) allows anyone the right to list Smith among the best songwriters of the last fifteen years before his early exit in '03. "Rose Parade" is vintage Smith, with few frills and a heavy dose of cynicism.

Rose Parade - Elliott Smith

2. Widmer Brothers Hefeweizen - It may not be the finest of the fine beer produced by Portland-area brewers - arguments are best made at the huge Oregon Brewers Festival - but after its introduction in 1986, it has become one the most widely known and loved wheat beers in the states. I like to think it's a gateway beer, which eases reluctant drinkers into other microbrew explorations.

3. Matt Groening - The man not only gave us "The Simpsons" but also the cult-favorite "Futurama" and the irreverent "Life in Hell" comic. And Groening didn't forget his roots; many Simpsons' character names - Flanders, Lovejoy, Kearney, Quimby, Powell - are named after Portland streets.



4. Beverly Cleary - The author of The Mouse & the Motorcycle, Otis Spofford, Dear Mr. Henshaw, Henry Huggins, Ramona the Brave, and Strider, among many, many others. If at least one of these books didn't make an appearance at some point in your childhood, it's not too late to pick one up.

5. "The Hands On Cafe" - Though few Portlanders even know about it, the odd-hours eatery that's hidden in the middle of the Oregon College of Arts & Crafts has as fine a menu as any place that would charge twice the amount. For brunch, a neatly braised lamb chop with fresh tabouleh or Peruvian pork stew with poached eggs is typical fare. And at around $12 a plate, along with a complimentary offering of fruit and homemade breads, the place is rare find. So why should people thank Portland for a hole-in-the-wall cafe? If you visit Portland and can successfully find the HOC, you'll understand.

Blue Valentines: A Musical List of Love & Murder

A few years ago, a close friend of mine held a "love-murder masquerade" for Valentine's Day. Everyone decorated masks, played games, and a small band performed murderous love odes throughout the evening. Most exciting, before the party I was asked to compose a list of songs fit for the occasion. Seeing as the twitterpated holiday is again fast approaching, I thought I'd share a shortened version of that list, which gives a tiny glimpse into that world of cuddling and killing ---

A New Jerseyian with great plains departures, Bruce Springsteen returns to his Midwestern folk influences every few albums. On his Nebraska record he tells stories of drifting loners and men born to kill (but ever faithful to their women). The eponymous song meanders through the story of Charlie Starkweather and his girlfriend, real life spree killers who inspired dozens of other copycats both fictional and non.

Nebraska - Bruce Springsteen

The spokesman of the lonesome, lovestruck prisoner, Johnny Cash is a staple on any such list. (It should also be noted that "The Man in Black" created his own Love and Murder compilations). Cash spends many a song grumbling about young men haunted by their guilt-ridden past, but perhaps his best is “Delia’s Gone”, whereupon a man laments his killing of the only woman he ever loved.

Delias Gone - Johnny Cash

It could be argued that Sufjan Stevens' subject matter in "John Wayne Gacy Jr." represents a love antithesis. But, nevertheless, Stevens Illinois ballad trips strangely into the territory of love, offering us a gentle and horrifying view into the passionate murders of the infamous killer. The result is a gorgeous three minutes of music, no matter how brutal the content.

john wayne gacy jr - sufjan stevens

Departing from the softer, folk-inspired side, Pedro the Lion ushers us soberly into the world of visceral rock 'n roll. In the middle of his novel-esque Winners Never Quit album, David Bazan moans about a dirty politician ridding the house of evidence after bludgeoning his wife in “Never Leave a Job Half Done.” In this instance, it's almost too dark without his typical humor to lesson the blow but it fits perfectly into the context of the record.

Never Leave A Job Half Done - Pedro The Lion

Perhaps the most quintessential love/murder ode is Tom Waits’ title song off his Blue Valentine record. In his gruff, wailing voice, (over a lonely guitar) Waits plays a haunted loner who can’t stop looking over his shoulder for the woman he murdered long ago. “She sends me blue Valentines,” he cries, “to remind me of my Cardinal sin, I can never wash the guilt or get these bloodstains off my hands…”

Blue Valentines - Tom Waits

And this 'blue' note is a good place to end any such list.

Happy Valentine's Day everyone.

A memory

For some reason or another, I once jotted down an incident from my younger years, when we had car trouble upon returning from the Oregon Coast, our annual summer haunt. I was probably about nine at the time. Anyway ---

Returning home from Fort Stevens State Park one year, our truck broke down as we climbed a bumpy section of Highway 26. We barely made it to the side of the road and out of traffic, but we were saved by a tow truck driver who seemed to appear as if summoned (though he hadn't been). He told us it was technically illegal to tow a truck that was, in turn, pulling a trailer but he did it anyway. The truck was tugged up into a gravel turnout, near the driveway to the tow-man's meager machine shop. At some point, he piled the rest of us into a little red Toyota or Nissan, which I remember had speakers covering the floor in the back. (Our chins rested on our knees). He explained the car had been abandoned, so he had nabbed it up and tricked it out. While he took a peek under the truck's hood, we all crossed the highway and commandeered a booth in the restaurant attached to a drab motel - the "Elderberry Inn." We shared a few bowls of clam chowder and I worried that we were almost out of money. It became dark and everyone, except for Dad, sacked out in the trailer, which was now unattached from the lame pickup. Sometime in the night, Dad, the tow-man, and a family friend (who had driven down to meet us) got the truck running again. So we piled back in and set off towards Pendleton in the early morning hours. To stay awake, Mom taught us a Japanese folk song she recalled from her childhood:

Sho sho sho-jo-ji, sho-jo-ji is a racoon.

He is always hungry so he dreams of koi, koi, koi.
Always hungry, very hungry,
That’s why he dreams of koi.

Later, us kids napped in the backseat as my parents watched the sun come up. Cruising down Reith Ridge into Pendleton in the early morning, we stopped and took pictures of a wagon train slowly trudging up the hill – a reenactment of the Oregon Trail. Then onto home, where I finally crawled into bed. But my brother stayed up and went to church.

Happenstance poetry, 1999 - 2007

A stanza I saw on a public bus in Portland, circa 2007:

Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.

` "Separation" by W.S. Merwin

Two stanzas I saw stenciled on a sidewalk in Missoula, circa 2004:

Dear dust-ghost, the instructions don’t make
sense unless I sing them.

(and...)

I push the rubble out of the second-storey window.
I put the money in an envelope & it’s sucked up
a transparent tube.

` both from "(almost anything)" by Matthea Harvey

A stanza I saw typed on a picture in Pendleton, circa 1999:

This is the way it was
while I was waiting for your eyes
to find me.

` from "One" by Rod McKuen

"Love, Salvation, the Fear of Death"

When I was younger, I don't remember ever fearing death. I certainly feared other things - for a time, I distinctly recall praying that no killers would break into our house at night, that no burglars would rob us, and that no fires would ignite while we slept. Yet when it came to the subject of dying, I think I most often regarded it as a natural act, lying at the opposite end of birth. Call it the influence of having a pastor for a father and attending dozens of funerals while I grew up.

But the other day, while sitting in a dentist's waiting room (of all places), I was suddenly gripped with a terrible, paralyzing fear of death. I was reminded of my fears about heaven when I was a kid. "How could something that doesn't end," I used to think, "no matter how heavenly, be forever satisfying?" Sitting in that office, I had to work my mind through all these thoughts of darkness and never-ending...something. And then I had reassure myself about my life, my faith, and my future.

It made me think of an older song by Sixpence None the Richer which used to really resonate with me. (I always connected with the part where she sings "And I'm not afraid to admit / how much I hate myself") ---

"Love, Salvation, the Fear of Death"

Excellent wastes of time

If you're anything like me, you probably spend too much time at work not doing any work at all. (If any of my bosses happen to be reading this, I'm obviously talking about my other job). And if you're anything like me, you've probably felt (at least once or twice a week) that you've exhausted all the internet has to offer. You've visited all of your favorite bookmarks, you've snooped through old friends' Facebook profiles, and you've read every snippet of interesting news posted in the last twelve hours. If any of that resonates with you, please visit a few of these minesweepers ---

"The Perry Bible Fellowship"

True to its ironic name, the PBF is a dark, Eisner-winning comic strip drawn by New York artist Nicholas Gurewitch. The strip sees hardly any new additions, as Gurewitch stopped posting in February '08 to "do other things." But the archive is well worth a look if you share a black sense of humor.

("Suicide Train" by Nicholas Gurewitch)


"Someecards.com"

Someecards should be everyone's first stop for funny, inappropriate e-cards. Birthdays, holidays, workplace humor - all topics receive democratic treatment. "When you care enough to hit send" is their tagline but even if you particularly don't, the site is wonderfully amusing.

(from someecards.com)


"The New Yorker Caption Contest"

A weekly contest gives readers a chance to submit their own captions to pre-drawn comics and vote on the top three. (For those of you interested in actually winning, check out Slate's how-to penned by a former champion).

(from contest #178, drawing by Tom Cheney)

"Protecting my investment" and other pet peeves

As a part-time salesperson in a computer store, I have a few pet peeves about dealing with customers and consumer electronics. Just allow me to vent:

1. Customers looking for the perfect product - No matter how long or arduous your search, the perfect product is never to be found. It is amazing how many people pop in to the store with their iPhone or iPod, searching for the perfect case, who subsequently explain to me: "I just want to protect my investment." I desperately want to respond: "I'm sure you'll see a return on that 'investment' very soon." I have opened hundreds of cases for hundreds of finicky customers and none of them are ever totally satisfied with what they inevitably buy. It's a waste of time and energy for them and I.

2. Customers complaining about the cost of iPhone accessories - At the forefront, I am always surprised by people willing to spend $300 on a cell phone (no matter how many functions it has). And yet, after spending half a month's rent on such a device, these are the people who complain about a $15 wall charger. iPhones are expensive. Apple products are expensive. If you aren't prepared to spend liberally, don't buy a consumer product that demands just that.

3. Customers merely looking to spend money - It is absolutely astonishing how many people waltz in and say to me: "What's cool? What can I buy?" I understand that I, as a salesperson, should feel incredibly lucky to have customers like this - and if worked on commission, maybe I would - but it only serves to annoy me. What should you do with your extra money? Buy your wife flowers. Donate to a local charity. It's an entirely judgmental statement, but almost anything would be a better use of money than buying a faster router so that you can watch youtube with less lag time.

There, I've complained enough. Now I feel a little like Peter Griffin from "Family Guy" doing his 'What Grinds My Gears' bit ---

A few other cents on sports & sportsmanship

By now, most of you have probably read the recent news story of the Dallas, Texas high school (Covenant) which beat another crosstown rival (Dallas Academy) 100-0 in a horribly mismatched basketball game. The game was 59-0 at the end of the first half and the girls on the Covenant side seemed particularly eager to reach the 100-point mark by the end of the game. Since the story broke, Covenant apologized for their team's conduct and sought to forfeit the game, calling the win "shameful." Now, the coach of the Covenant girls' basketball team has been fired after disagreeing with the administration's statement.

There may be no right answer to the moral puzzle presented here. In a fairer world, Dallas Academy (which has not won a game in the past four years) would not have played a state-championship contender like Covenant. In fairer world, the Dallas coach would have forfeit the game at halftime and praised his girls for their tenacity. Finally, in a fairer world the Covenant squad would have scored a handful of points and, subsequently, no one would have talked about this game after it ended.

But none of these things happened. One team won and one team lost. Badly. As such, it's raised a multitude of ethical questions (most of which can be applied to any sport, regardless of the school or league): Should a winning team stop their scoring attempts once they've built an insurmountable lead? In such a situation, should one of the coaches make an attempt to stop the game? Is it right to forfeit a contest with so lopsided a conclusion?

Personally, I think all these questions return to the problem of pity, which is why I would answer (respectively) no, not necessarily, and no to the questions posed above. As a person who has played on many a losing team, I would argue that the last thing a failing team wants is pity. It's demeaning and it shouldn't be mistaken for mercy (which is an act of love). And for those Covenant girls to practice passing drills for forty-eight minutes or to dribble circles around the Dallas team without scoring, that's exactly what it would have been - demeaning. Additionally, the Covenant administration's move to forfeit the game is demeaning. I will be the first to praise the Dallas team for their fortitude in the face of such adversity - consider how few of us would willingly have played the entire game - but it insults the players to say they "won" in any conventional sense. It's unrealistic and it attempts to refute the valuable lesson learned here. Dallas Academy lost but they lost after playing with incredible vigor and tenacity. Very few competitors could say they would have done the same.

My two cents on an embattled mayor

In terms of Portland-area news, I may be weighing in on this debate a tad late but for those of you who aren't aware of our current political "scandal", here's a rundown: Sam Adams, Portland's newly elected mayor, has recently come under fire for his short-lived relationship with an eighteen-year-old legislative intern in the summer of 2007. Until two weeks ago, Adams had repeatedly stated that his relationship with the intern was only one of friendship and professional mentoring. But after a particularly in-depth report by a local alternative newspaper, Adams admitted that he had lied about the nature of the relationship. It had been, he admitted, consensually sexual and he first lied about it because he thought it would create an unwelcome focal point in the mayoral race. Some Portland residents have been outspoken about their desire to see Adams resign, while others have staunchly supported his decision to remain in office. The most prevalent ammunition hurled by detractors is not the relationship itself but Adams' act of lying.

I may be stealing a response from incoming U.S. Attorney General Eric Holder, but in regards to the query of whether or not it's wrong that Adams lied, I believe it's impossible to answer the question without questioning the premise. Adams relationship with the intern may have not have been commendable but, nevertheless, it was perfectly legal. Their contact was consensual and the intern was over eighteen and did not work for him. So, it must be asked, why the initial questions about the relationship? Couldn't Adams simply have said that the matter was personal and, thus, not open for discussion? I understand that there are other issues at play here (e.g. questions of unethical reciprocity) but in terms of the first lie, I can't condemn Adams any more than I can someone who lies about a past infidelity to a nosy neighbor. If we demand more government transparency, and expect politicians to answer increasingly personal questions, we shouldn't be surprised to discover very typical, very human flaws.

Another bit of Vonnegut

I don't mean to discuss him ad nauseam, but I rediscovered a great article on the A.V Club today that I thought worth sharing: "15 Things Kurt Vonnegut Said Better Than Anyone Else Ever Has Or Will". I think I enjoy lists like this because they acknowledge the splendid things I fail to mention or, at the very least, commit to memory. My favorite quotes appear below (with their respective novels):

"I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is.'"

`from A Man Without A Country. I talked about this sentiment in an earlier post but I figured I'd at least identify the novel - plus it's one of the few hopeful moments in Vonnegut's otherwise bitter swan song.

"There are plenty of good reasons for fighting, but no good reason ever to hate without reservation, to imagine that God Almighty Himself hates with you, too. Where’s evil? It’s that large part of every man that wants to hate without limit, that wants to hate with God on his side. It’s that part of every man that finds all kinds of ugliness so attractive...It’s that part of an imbecile...that punishes and vilifies and makes war gladly."

`from Mother Night. Possibly my second favorite novel of his, it has a wonderfully dark sense of humor and more than a few pearls of wisdom. Darker still, these judgments are most often presented by an exiled American accused of disseminating Nazi propaganda.

"Hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of, babies — God damn it, you've got to be kind."

`from God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater. Probably Vonnegut's shortest summation of his personal ethos, this quote comes from my all-time favorite KV novel. Though I don't consider myself a secular humanist, nor do I think this little book provides his best quotes, I dearly love the story. Eliot Rosewater is a character for the ages. He’s Christ-like, but much more human than Christ. A drunk with an intense interest in local fire-protection, a dreamer, a giver, a slob, and possibly a madman (at least, part of the time). Maybe Mr. Rosewater doesn’t reflect Jesus as much as he does John the Baptist – a recluse nearly alone in the wilderness, save for the hordes of pathetic, repenting souls who come to him for help and healing.

From the Desk of the Editor ---

At the risk of being labeled prolific or arrogant (or not being labeled at all), I have started a second blog, The Pith Report. I conceived of the idea after a failed attempt to write for a popular, satirical news website. (Though any current similarities to that site are almost purely coincidental). The Report provides daily updates on all things pithy and inconsequential. (Making it almost entirely different from this blog). Please give it a read and remember that you can always sign up and follow my blog(s), subscribe to the RSS feed(s), and comment upon any/all posts.

Thank you,

The Editor

Two hands, two feet, ten tasks

Over the past few days (or years, if I'm honest) I have been fighting with my ability and/or willingness to multi-task. It's an area where I frequently fail. But my allegiance is torn between wanting to improve and my desire to go against the grain. In most respects I think our society moves too quickly, enjoys too little, and tries to extract too many tasks out of our waking life. Beyond this belief I find it maddening that we, as a nation, are flying around more quickly than ever and, statistically, getting less done. I don't believe anything worthwhile can be accomplished with satisfactory results while ten other things are being attended at the same time. Mark Twain, as usual, said it best: "The bane of Americans is overwork--and the ruin of any work is a divided interest. Concentrate - concentrate. One thing at a time." I am not innocent of this lack of concentration - I frequently compose intimidating lists of tasks I need to accomplish and, in the scant time over lunch break I devote to them, I often fail miserably. (I'm currently writing this post while devouring leftover enchiladas from last night).

However, once upon a time, I did have a personal system to deal with all this pressure. Instead of going off a fifteen-item list of things I "should" get done that day, every morning I sat down and wrote one tiny list. The absolute limit was three tasks, but if they were larger jobs (e.g. writing a paper for class, catching up on "Lost") I could cut the list down to one or two items. In this way, I finished two or three important things each day and found myself less overwhelmed and more satisfied at the end of the week. Though it's been a proven system for me, I frequently fall out of the habit and find myself stuck with a massive to do list and a body too stressed to finish it. It's probably time to retake the antidote.

(cartoon by Bruce Eric Kaplan)

The Happiness Project

For those you who, like me, suffer from frequent bouts of melancholy, who sometimes have difficulty finding purpose, and who generally feel unhappy more often than you feel content, I encourage you to read Gretchen Rubin's recently launched blog, "The Happiness Project", which is being hosted by the kind folks at Slate. (I say that with slight reservations as Christopher Hitchens, the perpetual curmudgeon, is a frequent Slate contributor). And for those of you who, like me, are skeptical of anything that reeks of neo-self-help-individualism and/or just dislike sappy titles like "The Happiness Project", I'd still urge to you give her first post a read, where she lays out her reasoning behind such a project. "Some people think that wanting to be happier is a selfish, self-absorbed goal — but I disagree..." she writes. "Research shows that happy people are more altruistic, more productive, more helpful, more likeable, more creative, more resilient, more interested in the problems of others, friendlier, and healthier. Happy people make better friends, colleagues, and citizens."

(photo by David Shrigley)


(another photo by Shrigley)

Solving the scrolling problem

Today at work, one of our older customers - we'll call her Rose - arrived at the store with her computer and a list of problems she'd been experiencing. So we turned on her machine and traveled, line by line, through the list ---

1. "My emails keep getting cut off" - This was a misunderstanding. Rose did not know how to scroll, so her longer emails kept getting 'cut off' by the bottom of the screen. She swore that a 'tech savvy' friend couldn't figure it out either.

Solved: Yes, after a ten minute lesson.

2. "My pictures in my emails keep getting cut off" - Same problem as above (with similar stupefation by her 'tech savvy' friend).

Solved: Yes, rolled into the same lesson as problem one.

3. "I can't close any of my windows" - Much like the first two issues, Rose didn't know how to move a dialog window. As such, she had accidentally slid them partway off the screen and was unable to close any of her windows or programs.

Solved: Yes, after another shorter lesson.

4. "My computer keeps asking for my password" - This problem was a little more complicated. I had a heck of a time trying to figure out whether Rose was talking about her master password or her email password. To solve this issue she had been turning off her computer and unplugging everything each time it asked for a password. This apparently solved the problem, at least, until it asked for the password again.

Solved: Yes, after I realized that she had not installed updates for over a year.

5. "Can't look at anything on the 'u-tube'" - After being forwarded a few youtube links from friends, Rose was interested in checking out the site for herself. But 'the u-tube' just wasn't cooperating. I quickly discerned that it was related to her lack of updates.

Solved: Yes.

6. "Can't set up a Hallmark Online account" (My personal favorite) - Rose had received numerous e-cards from friends and she was anxious to send a few of her own. But, due to her lack of updates, she was unable to log into the account she had set up.

Solved: Not yet.

She had three more problems on her list, but they were fairly similar to the first six. Situations like this used to irk me when I started my job. Now, I get a kick out of them - I figure I'd rather spend an hour with a polite, yet clueless customer like Rose than a handful of hurried shoppers with Bluetooth headsets and short fuses. And it helped that she was a good sport about the ordeal. Throughout our conversation, she kept shaking her head, smiling, and mumbling: "They keep changing everything - I never had to do that before..." I just smiled and nodded.

FYI: Rose is returning tomorrow so we can finish setting up her Hallmark account and send out a few e-cards.

The selling of an inauguration

For those of you paying attention to anything media-based, we're in full inauguration mode in America, as many news outlets are now featuring round-the-clock coverage of "inauguration week." Was the event always this crazed? When did it turn into a weeklong party? In any case, I've enjoyed reading a few critics dissect the madness of it all.

Over at the XX Blog on Slate, Sara Mosle briefly discusses the sudden flood of Obama/Inauguration/Hope kitsch. Upon finding the merchandise stacked in a shrine at her local Bed, Bath & Beyond, she ponders if "such trinkets may inadvertently turn out to be the first installment of Obama's stimulus package." (It suddenly feels like my duty to go out and buy such junk...but I'll still refrain).

On The Onion's A.V Club page, Amelie Gillette lambasts the more overt attempts to capitalize on tomorrow's historical event by showcasing an $1,800 "Hope" handbag that is available in python, lizard, or ostrich leg (!?) skin. (In this case, I'm less tempted to invest).

Another short beginning

Another beginning to a piece I have yet to finish ---

"For reasons I only partly understand, my father bought a little red sports car the day after he discovered my mother’s infidelities. While she attended fire-dancing classes and arrived home late in the evenings, he desperately called auto shops to compare the cost of racing stripes and vintage hood ornaments. He entered his new ride into the fall harvest parade – alongside the other fifty and sixty-somethings and all those attempting to recapture some spirit of youth, danger, and virility – and was ignorant of the fact that my mother didn’t even attend this farce, as she was busy having a lavish oyster dinner with a man she had met in one of her adult ed classes. Meanwhile, across town, I hid out in my studio apartment and took very few calls. But it was only a matter of weeks, or days, before my father would crack and race over to my house and we would become two, aging bachelor losers, leaning on one another for support."

So this is the new year...

A few things I am excited about in the new year ---

- The February 17th release of Dark Was the Night: The AIDS benefit album will feature a few funky collaborations (e.g. Feist + Ben Gibbard, Conor Oberst + Gillian Welch, etc.) and new songs by Sufjan Stevens, My Morning Jacket, Bon Iver, The Arcade Fire, Iron & Wine, Spoon, The Decemberists, and Beirut. In lieu of new albums by most of those artists, this is the next best thing. Get more info about the release here.

- A new presidency: I'm a moderate in most ways. (Actually, I recently decided that I'm a social libertarian and an economic socialist, if that's a possible marriage). And, unlike many others, I don't have a laundry list of grievances about the Bush administration. But the one thing I missed most throughout the eight years of this presidency was an adept public speaker. Bush just didn't have the skills. Obama does. I'm excited.

- Going back to school: I know, it's a bit egghead but the prospect of moving to a new place and earning a degree while doing something I actually enjoy sounds like gravy. I have nine graduate applications submitted to nine schools in eight different states - one less now, regards to Indiana - and I'll be getting my rejection/acceptance letters any day. (And in case I solely receive rejection letters from all nine schools, my "Plan B" is to locate a good Masters in Teaching program here in the Pacific Northwest).

- The re-release of Once a Runner: The rare, out-of-print John L. Parker novel is finally getting a second printing and is due out in April. (For those interested, see my January 2nd post about the book).

- Finally getting a cat: Some of you have been hearing Adie and I whine about wanting a cat since we both moved to Portland. Well we haven't visited the shelter yet and we may not be able to afford any of those fancy collars or scratching posts, but we do have a name picked out. So, Steve Knutson, wherever you are, I promise this is the year you come home.

For the love of socks

It may sound strange, but I always thought if I won the lottery, the first thing I would buy is a whole new set of socks. Not the kind that are sold in white or gray ten packs, but the kind that describes what you do during the day (e.g. walking, hiking, wind surfing) and individually sell for $16 a pair. Granted, this fantasy started when I didn't take care of my sock-wear - I frequently kept socks with holes in the toe and heel and didn't replace them until I my shoes had, essentially, become my socks. (Much like those who go "commando" essentially turn their pants into underpants). Now, after owning a few pairs of comfortable socks I have come to understand their value. When starting out the day with a good pair, the whole world seems brighter, softer, and more promising. You don't mind getting up from your chair, you're quick to fetch a printout for a colleague, and you sometimes find interest in seemingly non-interesting things. In high school, I clearly remember attending a choir concert while wearing new, active-lifestyle, expensive socks and I nearly felt drunk with pleasure. It was heaven. It felt like good meatloaf, like having a loved one lay beside you while you're perfectly content, like drinking a cold beer in the shower (which is also one of life's unheralded joys). Maybe, someday, I'll write a book about the small, overlooked gratifications in life. Kurt Vonnegut said, in some novel, that people don't stop often enough and identify the things that make them happy. I, for one, hope to always stop and dissect those moments, no matter how absurd or wee.

The "Blog" of "Unnecessary" Quotation Marks

For my "friends" interested in grammar (or just bothered by the abuse of it), please visit this link which gives a frequently updated report on the improper use of quotation marks.

The Modest Knight

I completed the first draft of my young adult novel, The Modest Knight, this last month. (I'm proud, and surprised, to say I fulfilled my goal of finishing before the year's end - I had been working on it, whenever I had the time, for over two years). Now, I am entering into the arduous stage of editing. With any luck, I'll have an adequate version of it finished by summer, possibly in time for the Willamette Writers' yearly conference. Here is the very beginning, for those who are interested ---

Chapter One

Back in time when everything seemed to be painted in blacks, whites, and grays – and the most vivid colors were found in the trappings of nature, in blood and wildflowers – there was a boy named Daniel Pinkus. Daniel lived in a hard age, in a beautiful but difficult land where people scraped everything from the earth to survive. They built houses out of mud, planted crops in rocky soil. and burned sod for heat. As it happened, Daniel lived in one of these houses of mud with his mother, father, and younger sister, Naomi. Within the small village where they lived their house was the smallest, the very last of the huts on a dead end road. Daniel’s father was a rock driver, and for twelve hours a day he carted and carried stones from the quarry to the local mason who in turn built houses and property walls for wealthy landowners all around the surrounding valleys. While his father toiled in the quarry during the day, his mother tended herbs and vegetables in the garden and what they didn’t eat at home she sold at the local market. After Daniel would finish helping his mother in the morning and early afternoon, he and Naomi would make off into the fields behind their house. They made bows and arrows out of saplings and fallen twigs, and held target practice by a small stream. They climbed trees high, high into the tops and spied on the people in the village, going to and from work. Sometimes they ventured into the forest, though not far, and when they returned home before dinner – clothes often ripped, dirty, and muddy – their mother scolded them, fed them a quick dinner, and put them to bed early. They were regularly bedded down before dark. But their father went to bed early as well, exhausted from his day of hauling rocks. This simple, hard life was the way it had been for a long, long time – as long as Daniel could remember, in fact...

"Dancehall Places"

I discovered this song and video about a year ago and I've been listening to it ever since. Damien Jurado is one of those artists I'm always surprised more music lovers aren't aware of. He combines a lot of that folk-inspired Nebraska-era Springsteen with more experimental "found sound" and storytelling. (He actually draws a lot of critical comparisons - see my last post - to Raymond Carver). This song isn't necessarily his typical fare but I think it would be challenge for most people not to enjoy it ---

"Dancehall Places" - Mint Royale w/ Damien Jurado

"A perfect balance of Chesterton, Hitchens, and Shel Silverstein..."

A friend sent me a link to an article about author comparisons and how every emerging writer is forcefully pigeonholed into one of ten categories. Funny article, well worth the quick read. Obviously, it made me ponder that whole phenomenon - the basic human urge to categorize or quantify anything new. In the case of books, I often find myself attracted to something with an original plot, slick cover, or witty title. But then I wonder: "Will I even like this? Don't I have other books I still need to read? Is it worth the $12?" Maybe not, but interested folks are betting I'm more likely to buy it if it's compared to Augusten Burroughs or Amy Sedaris. (Which has certainly sold me a number of times).

Anyway, I'd like to write my own comparisons some day ---

"Reminiscent of an older John Kennedy Toole..."

"The funniest bits of James Watson, E.O. Wilson, and Howard Zinn, all rolled into one side-splitting story."

"As life affirming...and spiritually relevant as anything by Twain or Vonnegut."

"The next James Frey."

A short post on the master of -ics

I just finished re-watching "Hannah and Her Sisters", one of Woody Allen's mid-period, dramatic films. Though I sometimes forget, whenever I revisit his work I find myself asking the same question: Neurotic, romantic, dramatic, comedic, tragic - Is there a better maven of the -ics? No other film-maker has so consistently given us such an enjoyable balance between these states of being. If you haven't watched them recently (or ever), please view the following movies for their dramatic excellence:

"Hannah and Her Sisters"
"Crimes and Misdemeanors"
"Manhattan"

...and these for their comedic timelessness:

"Annie Hall"
"Sleeper"
"Zelig"

(From "Hannah and Her Sisters")


(From "Sleeper")

The perfect job

One summer in high school, I worked for the Forest Service with someone who would later become a very close friend. After waking at 4:30 and driving the hour to work each morning, we stole pens from the supply closet, studied satellite maps, and chose a sunny spot to spend the day performing surveys on replanted forestry plots. And then we drove, burned one forearm apiece, and talked. We spit sunflower seeds, napped in the shade over our lunch break, and played home run derby with rocks and broken sticks. And we talked, about anything and everything. (In retrospect, it was easily the best summer out of those high school summers).

One of the things I remember us discussing was the idea of our "perfect job". At that point, I decided my ideal career would be to sleep for a living. I would go to work, sleep for eight hours, and then return home. If I had a family, I would spend time with them in the evening (after my job) and then have the night to myself. I could write, exercise, watch movies, and (if I wanted to) sleep a little more. It seemed, well, perfect.

Now, I try to nail down the idea of the ideal job and I feel a little lost. A film critic, an author, a screenwriter, a lobbyist...anything that involves imagination, creation, and people. But this is a place I suppose most people find themselves - dissatisfied with their first few jobs and hunting for something that fits. My hope is that this hope does not go too often unfulfilled.

A extra-whiny personal essay blurb

Whilst cleaning out some old things, I came across a personal essay I wrote recently, which was inspired after hearing an episode of "This American Life" and reading David Sedaris' Holidays On Ice. Here is a short piece of it ---

"In the period between Christmas and my birthday in March, I apply for thirty-seven different jobs. In addition, I send various pieces of my writing to thirteen publications, e-zines, and editors. My extensive application for a Fulbright grant (ten months in the works) and my graduate school submission to the University of British Columbia are both rejected. My long shot goals of writing for “The Onion”, finishing my young adult novel, and pitching story ideas to numerous publishing agents at an annual writing conference go, unceremoniously, unfulfilled. I continue my drudging at the computer store, learning the inventory department in addition to my sales duties. For my own amusement, I write to our company’s president one Friday. “Dear Craig,” I write, “We have not met but I work the inventory department at your Beaverton store. I am writing because certain thoughts have weighed heavily on my mind as of late.” I go on to discuss Capitalism and it’s flaws and the idea of consumer “buying power.” My three and a half page manifesto concludes thusly: “In the end, people buy products they do not need and people work harder, longer hours for less pay with fewer benefits. Ideally, we would see this Capitalistic model fail, as neither the customer nor the employee is treated well. Yet only a massive displacement of buying power or working manpower would have a lasting effect on the system.” Much to my surprise, Craig sends me a reply the very next Sunday. “I am always open to such interesting and intelligent conversation,” he begins, “and I applaud you for asking these difficult questions.” He follows this introduction with his own rousing, three and a half page defense of Capitalism, assuring me that “while it’s not a perfect system, it’s the best we’ve got.” And so my unspoken aim behind writing this treatise, of being plucked from the minutiae of sales and inventory – being thrust into a position of writing, expounding, creating – is lost."

Playoff season and the fear of being a traitor

I realized today that I have yet to write anything about sports, which is odd as many of my weekends during football season are devoted to the watching of at least one or two good games. And it's not as if I'm a neutral viewer who has no opinions on the game(s). (For instance, I disagree with the way overtime is played in the NFL and I find it laughable that Division I-A college ball has no playoff system (particularly when a perfectly workable playoff system exists in Division I-AA)). In particular, I've been most concerned with college football rivalries and the fans that perpetuate them. Bill Simmons, ESPN's "Page 2" correspondent, has a good list of general sports rules for fans, but here are my few college-football-centric additions (some of which run contrary to his):

1. It is okay* to root for another team that is in your school's conference.

*Recently, I've had run-ins with "loyal" college football fans who feel utter disdain for the other teams in their conference. While I think this is normally acceptable during the regular season, the playoffs - or bowl seasons - are a different story. For example, if my UM Grizzlies are out of the hunt for a national title and our rival (the Montana State Bobcats) are still in the picture, I will gladly root for them. This is not only because they are in the same conference but because they have yet to win a national title. In addition, if your team is from a conference that doesn't get much respect (e.g. Mountain West, WAC, etc.) then it is almost obligatory to cheer for the team that is generating said respect (provided your own team is done for the season). The good buzz that appears around a winning team is only good for the conference as a whole.

2. An understanding* of the game must precede any rivalry.

*I can't tell you how many times I've had conversations where I present my side of the rivalry debate (see Rule #1) only to discover that the other person doesn't know how many downs there are in a series. Now, I never played football and I personally know it takes some time and energy to understand it - and some misconceptions about overtime rules, names and positions are forgivable - but it is totally asinine for a "fan" to froth at the mouth about their loyalty to team when they don't know how the game is played.

3. Keep your rivalries in perspective*.

*Plain and simple, we are fans of the schools we attended due to the happenstance, fate, or God that put us there. As such, it's good to remember that most of us were a scholarship or acceptance letter away from being fans of a different school. So remember that rivalries are a means for enjoying the game more and not a foundation on which to build your ego.

One of those...huh...days

I'm having one of those days where I feel incredibly spacey. Whether it's for lack of sleep, stress, or just synapses failing to fire, I feel as if I can't concentrate on anything. (Seems like a good time to post to my blog, eh?) These are the days where you drive home and then cannot remember the last five minutes of your trip. The days where you forget why you walked into the kitchen and then forget what you were doing before you decided to walk into the kitchen. The days where you misplace the TV remote and find it in the fridge a few hours later. I chalk it up to a physical phenomenon I once read about called derealization or jamais vu, where the normal world suddenly appears abnormal to you. (I believe Vonnegut discusses this idea in Slaughterhouse Five). It's as if you look down, see your shoelaces are untied and when you stoop down to tie them, your mind suddenly goes blank. Your fingers freeze on the laces and you realize that you have no idea what to do. And someone could pay you a million dollars to finish but you still wouldn't be able to tie your shoes for the next ten seconds. It forces you to think about perception and remember that who we are depends on what day, hour, or minute you come upon us.

Once a runner...

There's an article in Slate today about John L. Parker's previously out-of-print book on long distance running, Once A Runner. (After reading it, I am tempted to hunt for the novel - which is apparently a task in itself). Anyway, as a sometimes-long-distance-runner, I think the description of the book's eponymous subject is spot on ---

"Like many cults, distance running has its mysteries, and The Secret — how you become a real runner — is Once a Runner's chief concern...But it turns out that The Secret is that there is no secret. The runner must pound the mileage, as we say. It's a grueling, tedious, insane lifestyle. So why do we keep doing it? To understand the answer, you have to understand a bit about distance running. For one thing, it helps to know that only non-runners talk about a "runner's high." It's not that it doesn't exist, that weird feeling of euphoria you sometimes get briefly after a tough day at the track or a superlong run. But no one could possibly be a runner just for the highs, whether brought on by natural chemicals or by winning a race. The running life is mostly just lots and lots and lots of miles. Only a few competitions punctuate the grind of thankless workouts on anonymous tracks, and you literally need a very loud gun to snap you out of the training existence and tell you it's time to save nothing for later. There simply isn't enough in the way of traditional rewards as compared with hard labor to make it worthwhile—that is, if you're only after the traditional rewards."