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."