It was Gertrude Stein, supposedly, who coined the phrase "Lost Generation" to describe those men and women of the world who came of age and fought through The Great War. Of course, they're also known for living through the Great Depression and then the Second World War, some of them even making it all the way to the moon landing.
And then it was the character Tyler Durden who said of Generation X (and I'm using the movie as the quote source), "We're the middle children of history, man. No purpose or place. We have no Great War. No Great Depression. Our Great War's a spiritual war... our Great Depression is our lives. We've all been raised on television to believe that one day we'd all be millionaires, and movie gods, and rock stars. But we won't. And we're slowly learning that fact. And we're very, very pissed off." And he was right about them. They came of age after the tumult of the 60's, after the disaster of Vietnam. They came of age during the Cold War, during the 80's when music was either overproduced or totally raw, when yuppies were using cocaine and Reagonomics reigned.
So who are we? Are we lost?
We don't have a great war, either. Only the war on terror. In a way, I guess it's more like the Cold War than either World War; it creates global tensions and is a fight over ideologies, though not exactly political ideologies on both sides. Except it's dragging on, like Vietnam (which is a hot part of the Cold War). But whatever.
We also don't exactly have a great depression. Except, what are we in?
Like Generation X, we were made promises. But our promises seemed more realistic on the surface; we didn't all expect to become rock stars (although with reality TV and youtube it's easier than ever for some unknown to become known), but we were given a very simple recipe for success.
"Go to college, get a bachelor's degree, and when you graduate you can get a nice office job at the very least and have the life you want." Then when we started graduating, that happened. And we very easily bought houses, nice cars, giant televisions and Playstations and laptops and iPods.
But now what?
Ten per cent unemployment? I know they keep saying that we're going to hit that soon. But I have news; we're well beyond it. That unemployment rate you hear them talk about on the news, that's a number that is arrived at very carefully. Nine and a half per cent of the employable population currently receives unemployment insurance. That doesn't count the unemployed who never filed for benefits. It doesn't count the people who were laid off and applied for benefits and didn't receive them. It doesn't count the people who applied, received, and then ran out of benefits without finding a job (many of whom are in such despair they have stopped searching for jobs).
And it doesn't count the millions of college graduates who followed that simple advice of going to college, getting their bachelor's degree with the ultimate goal of gainful employment, and then were unable to get hired. You can't apply for unemployment benefits if you never had a job.
A friend of mine who graduated in May 2008 has been looking for a job since then. Last week, I went to the Whitaker Music Festival at the Missouri Botanical Gardens with a group of eight people, all of whom are either in college now or have graduated in the last five years. Only two of us had jobs. Two are still in school, three graduated and haven't been able to find jobs, and one was laid off five months ago and hasn't had so much as an interview in all that time.
Each time I think of the Lost Generation, I think of them gathering at cafes in Paris, drinking heavily, maybe to forget their reason for being lost. Perhaps that is what sets our generation apart from theirs; when we drink, we're hopeful. We toast, to the future. To what it may hold. We're waiting to be handed the reins, to shoulder the responsibility of running the world. Maybe we are drinking to forget. We're trying to forget the fact that while we hope someday to inherit stewartship of this planet, so few of us are in a position to even get a glimpse of what that may be like. They keep shutting us out.
I guess we'll all run to grad school, get our PhDs, and wait for the current leaders to fix things up for us. But let's not do that. We want a shot at helping. Somebody give us a chance. Otherwise, we'll be woefully underprepared to take over when those of us who have been where we want to go start leaving.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Dear Readers,
I was going to blog tonight. I had every intention to do so. But I've got a terrible sinus headache and am extremely tired. So you'll have to wait.
In the meantime, please watch this helpful video.
Thanks,
Elliot.
In the meantime, please watch this helpful video.
Thanks,
Elliot.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Whitaker Music Festival
Well, it's summer in St. Louis, which only means a deluge of many different things.
First off, there's the actual deluge of rain, which seems to appear once or twice every two weeks. Now I'm a man who loves rain, but unfortunately since I have become a homeowner rain has lost some of its charm and replaced it with uneasy woe. For instance, last summer our air conditioner was in jeopardy. Another for instance is that the original builders of our house made a slight shortcut when they built in 1958, which has resulted in a problem for us in 2009. You see, all the houses on our street were built almost identical. I say almost because certainly there are slight variations; some have two car garages while others (like our house) has what by today's standards could be considered half car garages. There are a few distinctly different rooflines, some have the floorplan that is a mirror image of ours (so that when you stand at the front door, looking in, the kitchen is on the right and the bedrooms on the left as opposed to ours, which is kitchen-left bedrooms-right), and some have the door in a slightly different spot or a square glass block front window into the entry way closet as opposed to our circular one (which is a square window on the inside but framed on the outside to be circular). But the one thing every house had in common was the stairs to the basement are in the garage.
Yes, that's right; to get to the basement of any house on my street, you have to first enter the garage, either from the garage door, the kitchen, or the doorway to the side yard. Of course, since 1958, a few of these houses have since been upgraded so that now there are stairs inside the actual house that go down in the basement, though most houses still only have the original staircase. The previous owners of our house did a slipshod remodel (and we'll leave it at that for now) that included a staircase from the living room down to the basement, which they had partially furnished into a media center/office/exercise room by putting up some drywall (which also created another pointless, unused room, a laundry room and a gross ventless 1/2 bath). But the previous owners' misguided attempts at remodelling aside, as I said the original owners made a mistake. That mistake was not putting stairs from the garage to the basement (although really guys?), but instead was in not backfilling gravel under the garage's foundation. When they then put the stairs in, they just cut a stairwell into the ground and poured cement. The upshot of this is that this summer, since we no longer have to be concerned about our air conditioning unit sliding down a hill, we can focus on the fact that water comes in along those stairs, since there is really nothing underneath them but hard clay soil.
But that's just one deluge the summer brings in St. Louis, and that is all I have to say about it now. Another deluge is the deluge of days of ninety-plus degree weather. We're nowhere near the equator or an ocean, yet our days in St. Louis are full of sweltering heat, near total humidity and heat indexes in the 110+ range. When it's 8:40 in the morning and you walk the nine yards from your front door to your car, in St. Louis it's perfectly reasonable to expect that all of that good clean feeling your cool shower gave you has been replaced by stinky, sweaty grossness. Which is a third deluge: the deluge of sweat you produce yourself simply by stepping out the door while the sun is up.
But the most promising and enjoyable deluge is the free concerts. The summer usually kicks off with the RFT Music Showcase, which isn't all free but mostly free (some places do make you pay a cover, but for the most part you're clear to enjoy some free local tunes). Then of course with Fair St. Louis (the 4th of July festival downtown) there are usually a fair number of acts that perform for free (The Oakridge Boys in 2005, perennial favorites include Cowboy Mouth of course). Several years ago, they expanded this idea into Live on the Levee, which this year includes Sonic Youth (on my wedding anniversary, no less). Last year, due to the first kind of deluge I talked about, the riverfront area was slightly less hospitable than normal (and slightly more flooded) so they moved it to Soldier's Memorial in front of City Hall and called it Live Off the Levee, but this year's looking a bit more promising.
And then, of course, there's the Whitaker Music Festival at the Missouri Botanical Gardens (see link below). This is a great opportunity to see the Botanical Gardens for free (usually a $5 entrance fee for residents of St. Louis City and County, $8 for out-of-towners unless you're a member) and hear some music.
Except that each time I attend the Whitaker Music Festival, I am reminded that the event is not so much about the music as it is about being in the garden and spending time with friends. All one has to do to seek confirmation is to check attendance records for the 2007 Whitaker Music Festival, which was held in the parking lot of MoBot as opposed to inside the actual garden due to construction and maintenance on the usual site. Attendance that year fell dramatically over previous years; sure, you were still free to roam the garden, but if you wanted to listen to the music you had to sit on the hot pavement. Not ideal when it already feels like your skin is boiling in the shade.
Of course, as I said above, the music isn't the reason people come to the Whitaker Festival (I am, of course, generalizing here; there are those, I am sure, who attend specifically to listen to great artists play, but as you get further from the stage the excitement level in relation to the music takes a dive). The year the festival took place in the parking lot, it made no sense to park yourself under a tree near the English Garden and consume massive amounts of wine, cheese, pita chips, hummus and grapes. If the music is happening in the parking lot, you just look like you're on a picnic and freeloading in the Garden's lush acreage. But now that it's back inside the garden, there is no reason not to put your blanket down on the ground a quarter mile away from the stage. There are speakers so you can still sort of hear the music, and you won't look silly because most of the people at the garden for the concert won't be able to see the stage.
So I have come to the conclusion that, for the average attendee, the Whitaker Music Festival isn't so much about Whitaker (full disclosure, the festival is supported by The Whitaker Foundation which was established to encourage the appreciation culture and heritage by putting art and music in parks) or even music, but about the Festival Atmosphere.
In all honesty, even after attending the July 8th performance, I had to double-check the website to know that it was the Tony Simmons Band that provided background music for my evening. But judging by appearances, most of the people who come view the music as just that; something as a background to their night out with friends. I, myself, made new friends, which is part of the festival's draw; you set your blanket (or, in my case, just your stuff as we forgot our blanket at home) down on the ground, and as strangers walk by somebody in your group recognizes a passing face or is recognized by a passing face, and suddenly your group of 3-4 has grown to 8-10. This is part of what makes Whitaker such a great event for the St. Louis summer days (not to mention its midweek placement makes it a great way to unwind and get ready for those last two days before the weekend).
The Whitaker Music Festival takes place Wednesday Nights at the Missouri Botanical Garden in St. Louis, MO. This year's events began June 3 and will continue through August 5. Please consult website for schedule of artists, directions, parking and any other questions.
The Missouri Botanical Garden presents the Whitaker Music Festival
First off, there's the actual deluge of rain, which seems to appear once or twice every two weeks. Now I'm a man who loves rain, but unfortunately since I have become a homeowner rain has lost some of its charm and replaced it with uneasy woe. For instance, last summer our air conditioner was in jeopardy. Another for instance is that the original builders of our house made a slight shortcut when they built in 1958, which has resulted in a problem for us in 2009. You see, all the houses on our street were built almost identical. I say almost because certainly there are slight variations; some have two car garages while others (like our house) has what by today's standards could be considered half car garages. There are a few distinctly different rooflines, some have the floorplan that is a mirror image of ours (so that when you stand at the front door, looking in, the kitchen is on the right and the bedrooms on the left as opposed to ours, which is kitchen-left bedrooms-right), and some have the door in a slightly different spot or a square glass block front window into the entry way closet as opposed to our circular one (which is a square window on the inside but framed on the outside to be circular). But the one thing every house had in common was the stairs to the basement are in the garage.
Yes, that's right; to get to the basement of any house on my street, you have to first enter the garage, either from the garage door, the kitchen, or the doorway to the side yard. Of course, since 1958, a few of these houses have since been upgraded so that now there are stairs inside the actual house that go down in the basement, though most houses still only have the original staircase. The previous owners of our house did a slipshod remodel (and we'll leave it at that for now) that included a staircase from the living room down to the basement, which they had partially furnished into a media center/office/exercise room by putting up some drywall (which also created another pointless, unused room, a laundry room and a gross ventless 1/2 bath). But the previous owners' misguided attempts at remodelling aside, as I said the original owners made a mistake. That mistake was not putting stairs from the garage to the basement (although really guys?), but instead was in not backfilling gravel under the garage's foundation. When they then put the stairs in, they just cut a stairwell into the ground and poured cement. The upshot of this is that this summer, since we no longer have to be concerned about our air conditioning unit sliding down a hill, we can focus on the fact that water comes in along those stairs, since there is really nothing underneath them but hard clay soil.
But that's just one deluge the summer brings in St. Louis, and that is all I have to say about it now. Another deluge is the deluge of days of ninety-plus degree weather. We're nowhere near the equator or an ocean, yet our days in St. Louis are full of sweltering heat, near total humidity and heat indexes in the 110+ range. When it's 8:40 in the morning and you walk the nine yards from your front door to your car, in St. Louis it's perfectly reasonable to expect that all of that good clean feeling your cool shower gave you has been replaced by stinky, sweaty grossness. Which is a third deluge: the deluge of sweat you produce yourself simply by stepping out the door while the sun is up.
But the most promising and enjoyable deluge is the free concerts. The summer usually kicks off with the RFT Music Showcase, which isn't all free but mostly free (some places do make you pay a cover, but for the most part you're clear to enjoy some free local tunes). Then of course with Fair St. Louis (the 4th of July festival downtown) there are usually a fair number of acts that perform for free (The Oakridge Boys in 2005, perennial favorites include Cowboy Mouth of course). Several years ago, they expanded this idea into Live on the Levee, which this year includes Sonic Youth (on my wedding anniversary, no less). Last year, due to the first kind of deluge I talked about, the riverfront area was slightly less hospitable than normal (and slightly more flooded) so they moved it to Soldier's Memorial in front of City Hall and called it Live Off the Levee, but this year's looking a bit more promising.
And then, of course, there's the Whitaker Music Festival at the Missouri Botanical Gardens (see link below). This is a great opportunity to see the Botanical Gardens for free (usually a $5 entrance fee for residents of St. Louis City and County, $8 for out-of-towners unless you're a member) and hear some music.
Except that each time I attend the Whitaker Music Festival, I am reminded that the event is not so much about the music as it is about being in the garden and spending time with friends. All one has to do to seek confirmation is to check attendance records for the 2007 Whitaker Music Festival, which was held in the parking lot of MoBot as opposed to inside the actual garden due to construction and maintenance on the usual site. Attendance that year fell dramatically over previous years; sure, you were still free to roam the garden, but if you wanted to listen to the music you had to sit on the hot pavement. Not ideal when it already feels like your skin is boiling in the shade.
Of course, as I said above, the music isn't the reason people come to the Whitaker Festival (I am, of course, generalizing here; there are those, I am sure, who attend specifically to listen to great artists play, but as you get further from the stage the excitement level in relation to the music takes a dive). The year the festival took place in the parking lot, it made no sense to park yourself under a tree near the English Garden and consume massive amounts of wine, cheese, pita chips, hummus and grapes. If the music is happening in the parking lot, you just look like you're on a picnic and freeloading in the Garden's lush acreage. But now that it's back inside the garden, there is no reason not to put your blanket down on the ground a quarter mile away from the stage. There are speakers so you can still sort of hear the music, and you won't look silly because most of the people at the garden for the concert won't be able to see the stage.
So I have come to the conclusion that, for the average attendee, the Whitaker Music Festival isn't so much about Whitaker (full disclosure, the festival is supported by The Whitaker Foundation which was established to encourage the appreciation culture and heritage by putting art and music in parks) or even music, but about the Festival Atmosphere.
In all honesty, even after attending the July 8th performance, I had to double-check the website to know that it was the Tony Simmons Band that provided background music for my evening. But judging by appearances, most of the people who come view the music as just that; something as a background to their night out with friends. I, myself, made new friends, which is part of the festival's draw; you set your blanket (or, in my case, just your stuff as we forgot our blanket at home) down on the ground, and as strangers walk by somebody in your group recognizes a passing face or is recognized by a passing face, and suddenly your group of 3-4 has grown to 8-10. This is part of what makes Whitaker such a great event for the St. Louis summer days (not to mention its midweek placement makes it a great way to unwind and get ready for those last two days before the weekend).
The Whitaker Music Festival takes place Wednesday Nights at the Missouri Botanical Garden in St. Louis, MO. This year's events began June 3 and will continue through August 5. Please consult website for schedule of artists, directions, parking and any other questions.
The Missouri Botanical Garden presents the Whitaker Music Festival
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Your Questions Answered, Volume 7
It has been a long long while. We've got a lot of work to do. No time for lolly-gagging.
From Your Questions Answered, Volume 6, September 27 2008:
Lisa asked:
How is future Elliot doing?
Oh how I wish I had a better answer. Wait, I do have a better answer. Future Elliot is doing amazingly well in all aspects of his life.
From Video Blog - Semester Reading, September 28 2008:
Becca asked:
How many credits are you taking this semester?
I think it was...18? Yes, 18 fall semester.
Becca also asked:
Was that left stack just for one class?
Confession time: Those were all the books that I had ever purchased for college courses that I hadn't returned (and I kept a lot of the novels and anthologies), plus a copy of Origin of Species I had on hand and a copy of Green Eggs and Ham.
Bridget asked:
How about blogging book reports?
Book reports? I wish. Book reports would have been way easier than critical essays about Emily Bronte. Ew.
Lisa asked:
How come you get [Green Eggs and Ham] and I get The Great Gatsby?
If you look closely, you'll see Gatsby is in one of those stacks. I had to read it in high school and then again at two out of the three colleges I attended. I'm damn near sick of it.
From Coming Soon: Blogapalooza 2, October 18 2008:
Molly asked:
Why don't you just relax?
Relax? During the school year? Then I might have shut down altogether!
Bridget asked:
Did you finish reading all those books?
Don't tell my teacher, but I didn't actually finish House of Mirth. But mostly, yes, I read them all and then some.
From Tuesday Excerpt Blogapalooza 2, October 21 2008:
notawritersfather asked:
You had beer in the fridge and didn't invite me over?
Probably not, dad. Seeing as how that was a story.
From Never Mind That Blogapalooza List, October 22 2008:
Christopher G asked:
So who was the poor team that you defeated for your only win in each of the last two seasons?
It was a different team, I think, each year. But now I don't remember. Plus, I think the team has been disbanded. We were tired of losing.
From Secret Blogging, November 2 2008:
Becky (your writing teacher) asked:
And does this count as a post?
Well...I guess this proves my html skills worked. So yes, yes it does.
Molly asked:
Do you get graded on this?
Not on the blog, no. But on the fake webpage, yes. I got an A in that class, so I guess I did all right.
From Getting Older, November 16 2008:
Molly asked:
Maybe you don't remember that...eh?
I learned from the best, mom. Don't tell the good parts when you're trying to guilt people. Just let them know how tragic your life has been, and they'll want to do whatever they can for you. Let them know you were ever happy before they came into your life, and they won't come to your Blues City Deli birthday party. Ever.
From Best Thing I Learned This Semester, December 4 2008:
Abalama asked:
Isn't that the greatest movie evar?
Evar isn't a word. And it is a very fantastic film.
Abalama also asked:
You JUST NOW saw it?
Yes. I had been busy with school, you know. Most of the movies I saw from fall of 2006 to spring of 2009 were films I watched specifically for class.
Molly asked:
Does anyone listen?
What was that, mom?
From And now, More Things I Learned This Semester, December 21 2008:
Bridget asked:
What's next?
Kathy gets to find a job to support me while I write the next great American novel. Or something.
Molly asked:
Has your mother told you she's proud of you?
Yes. Thanks, mom.
From It's Coming... December 30, 2008:
Molly asked:
What's wrong with that.
I am not calling our cat "Methy." It just won't happen.
Kathy asked:
How will I ever know what Amethyst looks like?
Um...you live here. And so does she. She was just cuddling with you not half an hour ago.
From The Long Awaited (and delayed) Post, January 26 2009:
Molly asked:
What's up with that?
Database object query search not found. Error. Delete search criteria. You'll have to be more specific in future queries.
From Way Overdue, April 19 2009:
Bridget asked:
Could this play have felt different because you know you'll be graduating in a few weeks?
Maybe, although I think the main reason it felt different was that it was directed by somebody else this year, rather than by me, and so it was more humbling to be a singular part of the process, rather than a very large part. I liked being the writer more than being the writer/director.
From Something Big... May 27 2009:
Bridget asked:
What will I be reading?
Yes, that is what I asked.
Molly asked:
You wanna know what I'm reading?
Yes. That's why I asked.
From A Free Write Friday of Sorts, July 3 2009:
Becca asked:
What is this anger you speak of?
Ha. Ha. Ha.
Molly asked:
Where are the women?
Well, first off, it's mainly a story about a young man and his relationship with his father. That's one of the central pieces to this novel. Another piece to the novel is the young man's relationship with his bandmates, all of whom are, yes, men. But you have to remember a couple of things: 1) I don't think I'm very good yet at creating female characters (which is something I am working on) and 2) This is only a very off-the-cuff spontaneous writing that only reflects a very small part of what I have envisioned for this novel. Rest assured, there are female characters in the works.
Well, that about wraps it up, everyone. Hope you all enjoyed your 4th of July weekend, and here's hoping that the coming months bring happiness and hope to everybody. Please do whatever you can to help your fellow man. We're all living on this planet together. We've got to share in each others' triumphs and failures. Otherwise, we're not doing our part.
From Your Questions Answered, Volume 6, September 27 2008:
Lisa asked:
How is future Elliot doing?
Oh how I wish I had a better answer. Wait, I do have a better answer. Future Elliot is doing amazingly well in all aspects of his life.
From Video Blog - Semester Reading, September 28 2008:
Becca asked:
How many credits are you taking this semester?
I think it was...18? Yes, 18 fall semester.
Becca also asked:
Was that left stack just for one class?
Confession time: Those were all the books that I had ever purchased for college courses that I hadn't returned (and I kept a lot of the novels and anthologies), plus a copy of Origin of Species I had on hand and a copy of Green Eggs and Ham.
Bridget asked:
How about blogging book reports?
Book reports? I wish. Book reports would have been way easier than critical essays about Emily Bronte. Ew.
Lisa asked:
How come you get [Green Eggs and Ham] and I get The Great Gatsby?
If you look closely, you'll see Gatsby is in one of those stacks. I had to read it in high school and then again at two out of the three colleges I attended. I'm damn near sick of it.
From Coming Soon: Blogapalooza 2, October 18 2008:
Molly asked:
Why don't you just relax?
Relax? During the school year? Then I might have shut down altogether!
Bridget asked:
Did you finish reading all those books?
Don't tell my teacher, but I didn't actually finish House of Mirth. But mostly, yes, I read them all and then some.
From Tuesday Excerpt Blogapalooza 2, October 21 2008:
notawritersfather asked:
You had beer in the fridge and didn't invite me over?
Probably not, dad. Seeing as how that was a story.
From Never Mind That Blogapalooza List, October 22 2008:
Christopher G asked:
So who was the poor team that you defeated for your only win in each of the last two seasons?
It was a different team, I think, each year. But now I don't remember. Plus, I think the team has been disbanded. We were tired of losing.
From Secret Blogging, November 2 2008:
Becky (your writing teacher) asked:
And does this count as a post?
Well...I guess this proves my html skills worked. So yes, yes it does.
Molly asked:
Do you get graded on this?
Not on the blog, no. But on the fake webpage, yes. I got an A in that class, so I guess I did all right.
From Getting Older, November 16 2008:
Molly asked:
Maybe you don't remember that...eh?
I learned from the best, mom. Don't tell the good parts when you're trying to guilt people. Just let them know how tragic your life has been, and they'll want to do whatever they can for you. Let them know you were ever happy before they came into your life, and they won't come to your Blues City Deli birthday party. Ever.
From Best Thing I Learned This Semester, December 4 2008:
Abalama asked:
Isn't that the greatest movie evar?
Evar isn't a word. And it is a very fantastic film.
Abalama also asked:
You JUST NOW saw it?
Yes. I had been busy with school, you know. Most of the movies I saw from fall of 2006 to spring of 2009 were films I watched specifically for class.
Molly asked:
Does anyone listen?
What was that, mom?
From And now, More Things I Learned This Semester, December 21 2008:
Bridget asked:
What's next?
Kathy gets to find a job to support me while I write the next great American novel. Or something.
Molly asked:
Has your mother told you she's proud of you?
Yes. Thanks, mom.
From It's Coming... December 30, 2008:
Molly asked:
What's wrong with that.
I am not calling our cat "Methy." It just won't happen.
Kathy asked:
How will I ever know what Amethyst looks like?
Um...you live here. And so does she. She was just cuddling with you not half an hour ago.
From The Long Awaited (and delayed) Post, January 26 2009:
Molly asked:
What's up with that?
Database object query search not found. Error. Delete search criteria. You'll have to be more specific in future queries.
From Way Overdue, April 19 2009:
Bridget asked:
Could this play have felt different because you know you'll be graduating in a few weeks?
Maybe, although I think the main reason it felt different was that it was directed by somebody else this year, rather than by me, and so it was more humbling to be a singular part of the process, rather than a very large part. I liked being the writer more than being the writer/director.
From Something Big... May 27 2009:
Bridget asked:
What will I be reading?
Yes, that is what I asked.
Molly asked:
You wanna know what I'm reading?
Yes. That's why I asked.
From A Free Write Friday of Sorts, July 3 2009:
Becca asked:
What is this anger you speak of?
Ha. Ha. Ha.
Molly asked:
Where are the women?
Well, first off, it's mainly a story about a young man and his relationship with his father. That's one of the central pieces to this novel. Another piece to the novel is the young man's relationship with his bandmates, all of whom are, yes, men. But you have to remember a couple of things: 1) I don't think I'm very good yet at creating female characters (which is something I am working on) and 2) This is only a very off-the-cuff spontaneous writing that only reflects a very small part of what I have envisioned for this novel. Rest assured, there are female characters in the works.
Well, that about wraps it up, everyone. Hope you all enjoyed your 4th of July weekend, and here's hoping that the coming months bring happiness and hope to everybody. Please do whatever you can to help your fellow man. We're all living on this planet together. We've got to share in each others' triumphs and failures. Otherwise, we're not doing our part.
Friday, July 03, 2009
A Free Write Friday of Sorts...
I have not been posting, and there is a reason for that.
I have been very angry. Those who know me well, are friends with/stalk me on facebook or follow my tweets, you already know what is making me angry. For those of you in the dark, I don't want to get into it. It's been all I could think about for something like two weeks, and every time I sat down to write I couldn't, because I wanted to write for my novel and not in anger. Let us leave it at that.
As to the rumors I've been hearing through the pipeline that I have forsaken blogspot for twitter, or that I feel my art should be only used for pay, or that I'm stuck in a tunnel, or that I've gone so crazy I forgot I had a blog, or whatever other crazy rumors are out there, they're all wrong. Each and every one of them. Trust me. I've just explained myself.
First things first, before I get into the writing: a quick update. The month of June was fairly uneventful. my sister and her husband celebrated their 4th anniversary. My brother-in-law Joe got married, which meant I got to attend my second wedding of the year. The first one was a low key deal in March in Iowa. This was rather a bigger deal and took place in Puerto Rico. The trip was very nice, if I do say so myself. Very nice indeed. Of course, sunny and beautiful just about every day, and the wedding was amazingly awesome. The flight back was a terror, but we're going for the highlights and not the lowlights on our way through June.
Skip forward to this past weekend, when my old roommate Chris came to town for a Twins v. Cardinals showdown. Of course we hit up the City Museum, Ted Drewes and drank ourselves some Schlafly Pale Ale (I believe Chris went with the dry-hopped American Pale Ale here at the house, and then the regular Pale Ale at Beatnik Bob's). Good times were, indeed, had by all. I can't remember who won the baseball game, though.
Anyway, that about wraps up the update. Work is still going well, Kathy is still looking for a job (leads? leads? anyone?) but in a slightly ironic twist of fate she received word this week that the bi-monthly program guide published by the television station from which she was laid off won an award for its design, and that her name is on that award because (fancy this) she was the designer. So with that tidbit added to her resume, she can't possibly be too far from employment now!
Okay, now on to the Free Write Friday of sorts. I've been stuck writing my novel lately, as I said I wasn't exactly in the right mood. But I need to keep my head down and power through. So in the interest of doing so, I'm going to write for a little bit and do it here, on my blog, spontaneously. Well, maybe not so spontaneously, as I've been thinking about how to go about constructing my novel for about two months now, and have actually already written some down. But this is a part of the envisioned novel that exists only in my head and as a scribbled note in my composition book.
Now I know that usually, my Free Write Fridays are done via suggestion; I ask around Tuesday or Wednesday, I check comments, I pick the most creative or the one with most potential (or I sandbag it and post an anonymous suggestion myself and take off with that...wait, did I just admit that?) and on Friday write it. But instead, this time it's just going for the overarching idea in my head of the novel about the guy in a band working through the relationships and the music, and one of the more specific ways in which I was planning on presenting the idea. So we'll give it a try. Here we go.
===
July 2009
One of the most important lessons about rock 'n' roll my father taught me was the idea that a song belongs to the person who wrote it in much the same way a true story belongs to the person to whom it happened. But, he was always careful to point out, that doesn't stop others from trying to tell the story or play the song.
There are two ways to cover a song, my father used to say. Make it sound like it did on the original recording, or make it your own in some way. He made it very clear which method he preferred.
"If it's a fast song originally, try to speed it up. If the main instrument is a guitar, transpose it to piano. If it was sung with a twinge of longing, amp it up."
I had a hundred perfect examples for him the last time we had this conversation. "Dad, you know that song 'Superstar' by The Carpenters?"
"Yeah," he answered, "originally written by Delaney, Bonnie & Friends, sung by Bette Midler of all people on The Tonight Show, but made famous by The Carpenters," and he started singing it.
"Yeah, that one. The way they do it, you know, it's, you feel sad for the singer."
"'Your guitar, it sounds so sweet and clear' yeah, 'but you're not really here...'"
I should have stopped there, tried to talk about that song, because I knew where the conversation would end. But I went on anyway. "Well, there was a tribute album to the Carpenters, you know, back in 1994?"
"'You said you'd be coming back this way again baby...'"
"And, well, Sonic Youth did a version of it, and..."
"What do I always tell you about covering tunes?" He had stopped singing, was looking at me, had even taken his glasses off so I could see how serious he was.
"Well, it was a tribute album," I tried to stall him. "It was released ten years ago, dad, and Sonic Youth..."
"And what do I always tell you about rock 'n' roll?"
I knew his rules, the gray areas. I tried to stall a little longer, hoping to pique his curiosity enough to at least ask if he could hear what I knew he would ultimately decry as a bastardized version of one of his treasured musical masterpieces. He liked to do that, to claim all the music that came before 1976 as his own. "But dad, look, it's a tribute album, for a band that made music from 1969 until 1982."
"Eighty-three," he corrected me. I couldn't let him go any further until I had said more.
"Fine, eighty-three. They made music before and after. And the tribute isn't about a bunch of people thinking they can repackage the songs and sell them to a younger crowd, they're paying tribute to them."
He was speechless. I thought he might actually want to hear the song this time. My heart pumped in my throat. "What I wanted to say was, though, that the way Sonic Youth does it, that you don't feel sorry for the singer at all, you feel kind of, kind of creeped out. Like with The Carpenters, you feel like the guy lied to the singer just to get her into bed or something, but with Sonic Youth, you know? Not that! You feel like, like, like...you feel like there never was any actual connection between the singer of the song and the person they're singing about. You get the sense that the singer's kind of, like, a stalker or something. It's really very cool, they do what you say, they make it their own."
I had just contradicted myself, and I knew it; after trying to convince my father that Sonic Youth had not usurped the song, had paid tribute to The Carpenters, I then told him flat out they had made it their own. And he caught me.
"I thought you said it was a tribute."
"It is, but..."
"That's not a very nice tribute, huh? Changing the meaning of their song?" And that was that.
"Nobody should ever be allowed to cover a song," he said to me, and I mouthed along with the next part of his statement; "except for Joe Cocker." I rolled my eyes. "And," he continued, "speak of the devil, Mad Dogs and Englishmen covered the tune before anybody else. Delaney, Mad Dogs, Bette Midler, Cher, some Australian lady, then The Carpenters. Maybe this Sonic band's paying tribute to somebody else, and they shouldn't be."
Because Rock 'n' Roll, I knew, attained perfection in 1976 with Led Zeppelin's release of "Achilles' Last Stand."
This was just the last of many conversations I had with my father about covering music. I asked him when I first started my band if we should play some Rolling Stones tunes, and he said no. "Not unless you intend on dressing up like them, looking like them, and playing only their music, and call yourselves The Ruby Tuesdays or something like that. Be a tribute band. You're no Joe Cocker."
To be honest, though, there were three kinds of bands that could play rock 'n' roll cover tunes, and my father acknowledged all three of them: Joe Cocker (not really a kind of band, but he goes on the list), tribute bands and wedding bands. And there is a reason they go in that order, too. Joe Cocker is the ultimate, because according to my father Joe Cocker is creating art from the remnants of previously shattered art (and what shattered that art? I'll let you know when I find the answer). Tribute bands fall next because they are providing a service that is like but not equal to the service provided by bands and artists who have passed this world and entered the crowded venues of Rock heaven. Wedding bands go last because they provide a very basic service which is always better than hiring a DJ but nonetheless nothing to get excited about.
These rules only ever applied to rock 'n' roll, though, never to any other kind of music, at least according to my father. Together, he and I had spent every Christmas since I was thirteen playing in a community orchestra together. My first year out of college, the band wasn't touring for various reasons and so I joined my father full time with the orchestra. He played timpani, I played whatever other percussion instruments needed to be played, and one night after playing some Holst and Mahler I asked him about the rules.
"If we're going to open with Mahler, dad, shouldn't we stick with Mahler? I mean, unless you're at a wedding gig, you wouldn't open with 'Twist and Shout' and then go on to 'Misty Mountain Hop' now would you?" We were packing up the music and still standing on the stage while the audience dispersed.
"You probably wouldn't play 'Misty Mountain Hop' at a wedding anyway," he answered, "but you're right. Only, this is different. Nobody in our audience ever got a chance to see Mahler. You can't run down to the record store about buy a recording of Mahler conducting himself, you know. He wrote it down so that others may play it. So much of the enjoyment of classical music isn't happening out there," and he waved toward the seats in the auditorium, "but up here, with the musicians. Rock, you know, the enjoyment...there's a lot of it up on stage, but even more of it out there. And out there, they want to see what they hear. They don't want to see Blood Sweat and Tears playing 'Stairway to Heaven.' Give 'em 'Spinning Wheel,' give 'em 'Lucretia MacEvil.'"
My father's first Christmas without his own father came upon all of us suddenly. My grandfather had died in February, but when December 15th came everyone in the family realized how different this year would be. Grandpa always played his tuba at an event called "Tuba Christmas" in one of the malls in town every year, up until the year before he died, and there it was, Tuba Christmas, upon us. We had almost forgotten about it, until one night there we were, rehearsing for the orchestra's holiday concert, and one of the tuba players mentioned it in passing. Of course. Tuba Christmas.
We called all of my father's brothers, even the ones we never talked to in Alabama, and invited them all up to come see Tuba Christmas one last time. Only the ones who were still in St. Louis came. So on a Saturday afternoon, we went to the Galleria and picked out a spot to watch and listen to all the tubas. We sat. We watched. We listened. I was the only one of my cousins to show up, but then for some reason Grandpa Schulz had always seemed especially fond of me over his other grandsons. While others would get a card with a five dollar bill for their birthdays, sent in the mail no matter how close they lived, Grandpa would always come down and visit with me, take me to a movie, usually war films or flicks about baseball. We sat for a long time, even after the tubas had all been packed up and hauled off. We were trading stories, and my father was telling all about the last camping trip before Robert, the oldest brother, moved out on his own. He told the whole story, and we laughed at the right spots, except for my uncle James, the second youngest.
When the story was over, James frowned. "Gerald, that's not how it happened. We weren't lost in the woods for six hours, it was more like half an hour. And it only rained for the whole day one of the days we were there. And dad had spare gas, he didn't use Robert's whiskey to fuel the boat, he just threatened to."
"Maybe you're right," my father said, after a silence. Robert sat, grinning, not willing or wanting to settle the matter of what happened to his whiskey.
"I am right," James said. "And it wasn't the sixty-two Pontiac anymore, it was the sixty-five. Remember, Dale had totalled the sixty-two on his seventeenth birthday?"
"That, you're right about," Robert chimed in. "It was the sixty-five. The Bonneville. Maroon."
When all was said and done that day, my father and I got back into his car to head home. "Why does James always insist on contradicting you?" I asked.
"What, about the story?" I nodded. "He's right. About the time lost, the rain, the whiskey. Dad's not around, James feels like he should correct history. But sometimes, you know, when you cover a song, you gotta change it a little. Make it your own." He turned the radio on, perhaps somehow knowing that Joe Cocker's version of "The Letter" would be on the classic hit station. "Besides, your uncle James has never been able to change it up that way. He's in a wedding band."
===
A little (very) disjointed, but remember, this only existed as a sliver of an idea in my head when I started. But the important thing is that I kept my head down and powered through. I've made an important step. Yay!
No promises about blogging. You can follow me on twitter, though!
Happy 4th of July everyone!
I have been very angry. Those who know me well, are friends with/stalk me on facebook or follow my tweets, you already know what is making me angry. For those of you in the dark, I don't want to get into it. It's been all I could think about for something like two weeks, and every time I sat down to write I couldn't, because I wanted to write for my novel and not in anger. Let us leave it at that.
As to the rumors I've been hearing through the pipeline that I have forsaken blogspot for twitter, or that I feel my art should be only used for pay, or that I'm stuck in a tunnel, or that I've gone so crazy I forgot I had a blog, or whatever other crazy rumors are out there, they're all wrong. Each and every one of them. Trust me. I've just explained myself.
First things first, before I get into the writing: a quick update. The month of June was fairly uneventful. my sister and her husband celebrated their 4th anniversary. My brother-in-law Joe got married, which meant I got to attend my second wedding of the year. The first one was a low key deal in March in Iowa. This was rather a bigger deal and took place in Puerto Rico. The trip was very nice, if I do say so myself. Very nice indeed. Of course, sunny and beautiful just about every day, and the wedding was amazingly awesome. The flight back was a terror, but we're going for the highlights and not the lowlights on our way through June.
Skip forward to this past weekend, when my old roommate Chris came to town for a Twins v. Cardinals showdown. Of course we hit up the City Museum, Ted Drewes and drank ourselves some Schlafly Pale Ale (I believe Chris went with the dry-hopped American Pale Ale here at the house, and then the regular Pale Ale at Beatnik Bob's). Good times were, indeed, had by all. I can't remember who won the baseball game, though.
Anyway, that about wraps up the update. Work is still going well, Kathy is still looking for a job (leads? leads? anyone?) but in a slightly ironic twist of fate she received word this week that the bi-monthly program guide published by the television station from which she was laid off won an award for its design, and that her name is on that award because (fancy this) she was the designer. So with that tidbit added to her resume, she can't possibly be too far from employment now!
Okay, now on to the Free Write Friday of sorts. I've been stuck writing my novel lately, as I said I wasn't exactly in the right mood. But I need to keep my head down and power through. So in the interest of doing so, I'm going to write for a little bit and do it here, on my blog, spontaneously. Well, maybe not so spontaneously, as I've been thinking about how to go about constructing my novel for about two months now, and have actually already written some down. But this is a part of the envisioned novel that exists only in my head and as a scribbled note in my composition book.
Now I know that usually, my Free Write Fridays are done via suggestion; I ask around Tuesday or Wednesday, I check comments, I pick the most creative or the one with most potential (or I sandbag it and post an anonymous suggestion myself and take off with that...wait, did I just admit that?) and on Friday write it. But instead, this time it's just going for the overarching idea in my head of the novel about the guy in a band working through the relationships and the music, and one of the more specific ways in which I was planning on presenting the idea. So we'll give it a try. Here we go.
===
July 2009
One of the most important lessons about rock 'n' roll my father taught me was the idea that a song belongs to the person who wrote it in much the same way a true story belongs to the person to whom it happened. But, he was always careful to point out, that doesn't stop others from trying to tell the story or play the song.
There are two ways to cover a song, my father used to say. Make it sound like it did on the original recording, or make it your own in some way. He made it very clear which method he preferred.
"If it's a fast song originally, try to speed it up. If the main instrument is a guitar, transpose it to piano. If it was sung with a twinge of longing, amp it up."
I had a hundred perfect examples for him the last time we had this conversation. "Dad, you know that song 'Superstar' by The Carpenters?"
"Yeah," he answered, "originally written by Delaney, Bonnie & Friends, sung by Bette Midler of all people on The Tonight Show, but made famous by The Carpenters," and he started singing it.
"Yeah, that one. The way they do it, you know, it's, you feel sad for the singer."
"'Your guitar, it sounds so sweet and clear' yeah, 'but you're not really here...'"
I should have stopped there, tried to talk about that song, because I knew where the conversation would end. But I went on anyway. "Well, there was a tribute album to the Carpenters, you know, back in 1994?"
"'You said you'd be coming back this way again baby...'"
"And, well, Sonic Youth did a version of it, and..."
"What do I always tell you about covering tunes?" He had stopped singing, was looking at me, had even taken his glasses off so I could see how serious he was.
"Well, it was a tribute album," I tried to stall him. "It was released ten years ago, dad, and Sonic Youth..."
"And what do I always tell you about rock 'n' roll?"
I knew his rules, the gray areas. I tried to stall a little longer, hoping to pique his curiosity enough to at least ask if he could hear what I knew he would ultimately decry as a bastardized version of one of his treasured musical masterpieces. He liked to do that, to claim all the music that came before 1976 as his own. "But dad, look, it's a tribute album, for a band that made music from 1969 until 1982."
"Eighty-three," he corrected me. I couldn't let him go any further until I had said more.
"Fine, eighty-three. They made music before and after. And the tribute isn't about a bunch of people thinking they can repackage the songs and sell them to a younger crowd, they're paying tribute to them."
He was speechless. I thought he might actually want to hear the song this time. My heart pumped in my throat. "What I wanted to say was, though, that the way Sonic Youth does it, that you don't feel sorry for the singer at all, you feel kind of, kind of creeped out. Like with The Carpenters, you feel like the guy lied to the singer just to get her into bed or something, but with Sonic Youth, you know? Not that! You feel like, like, like...you feel like there never was any actual connection between the singer of the song and the person they're singing about. You get the sense that the singer's kind of, like, a stalker or something. It's really very cool, they do what you say, they make it their own."
I had just contradicted myself, and I knew it; after trying to convince my father that Sonic Youth had not usurped the song, had paid tribute to The Carpenters, I then told him flat out they had made it their own. And he caught me.
"I thought you said it was a tribute."
"It is, but..."
"That's not a very nice tribute, huh? Changing the meaning of their song?" And that was that.
"Nobody should ever be allowed to cover a song," he said to me, and I mouthed along with the next part of his statement; "except for Joe Cocker." I rolled my eyes. "And," he continued, "speak of the devil, Mad Dogs and Englishmen covered the tune before anybody else. Delaney, Mad Dogs, Bette Midler, Cher, some Australian lady, then The Carpenters. Maybe this Sonic band's paying tribute to somebody else, and they shouldn't be."
Because Rock 'n' Roll, I knew, attained perfection in 1976 with Led Zeppelin's release of "Achilles' Last Stand."
This was just the last of many conversations I had with my father about covering music. I asked him when I first started my band if we should play some Rolling Stones tunes, and he said no. "Not unless you intend on dressing up like them, looking like them, and playing only their music, and call yourselves The Ruby Tuesdays or something like that. Be a tribute band. You're no Joe Cocker."
To be honest, though, there were three kinds of bands that could play rock 'n' roll cover tunes, and my father acknowledged all three of them: Joe Cocker (not really a kind of band, but he goes on the list), tribute bands and wedding bands. And there is a reason they go in that order, too. Joe Cocker is the ultimate, because according to my father Joe Cocker is creating art from the remnants of previously shattered art (and what shattered that art? I'll let you know when I find the answer). Tribute bands fall next because they are providing a service that is like but not equal to the service provided by bands and artists who have passed this world and entered the crowded venues of Rock heaven. Wedding bands go last because they provide a very basic service which is always better than hiring a DJ but nonetheless nothing to get excited about.
These rules only ever applied to rock 'n' roll, though, never to any other kind of music, at least according to my father. Together, he and I had spent every Christmas since I was thirteen playing in a community orchestra together. My first year out of college, the band wasn't touring for various reasons and so I joined my father full time with the orchestra. He played timpani, I played whatever other percussion instruments needed to be played, and one night after playing some Holst and Mahler I asked him about the rules.
"If we're going to open with Mahler, dad, shouldn't we stick with Mahler? I mean, unless you're at a wedding gig, you wouldn't open with 'Twist and Shout' and then go on to 'Misty Mountain Hop' now would you?" We were packing up the music and still standing on the stage while the audience dispersed.
"You probably wouldn't play 'Misty Mountain Hop' at a wedding anyway," he answered, "but you're right. Only, this is different. Nobody in our audience ever got a chance to see Mahler. You can't run down to the record store about buy a recording of Mahler conducting himself, you know. He wrote it down so that others may play it. So much of the enjoyment of classical music isn't happening out there," and he waved toward the seats in the auditorium, "but up here, with the musicians. Rock, you know, the enjoyment...there's a lot of it up on stage, but even more of it out there. And out there, they want to see what they hear. They don't want to see Blood Sweat and Tears playing 'Stairway to Heaven.' Give 'em 'Spinning Wheel,' give 'em 'Lucretia MacEvil.'"
My father's first Christmas without his own father came upon all of us suddenly. My grandfather had died in February, but when December 15th came everyone in the family realized how different this year would be. Grandpa always played his tuba at an event called "Tuba Christmas" in one of the malls in town every year, up until the year before he died, and there it was, Tuba Christmas, upon us. We had almost forgotten about it, until one night there we were, rehearsing for the orchestra's holiday concert, and one of the tuba players mentioned it in passing. Of course. Tuba Christmas.
We called all of my father's brothers, even the ones we never talked to in Alabama, and invited them all up to come see Tuba Christmas one last time. Only the ones who were still in St. Louis came. So on a Saturday afternoon, we went to the Galleria and picked out a spot to watch and listen to all the tubas. We sat. We watched. We listened. I was the only one of my cousins to show up, but then for some reason Grandpa Schulz had always seemed especially fond of me over his other grandsons. While others would get a card with a five dollar bill for their birthdays, sent in the mail no matter how close they lived, Grandpa would always come down and visit with me, take me to a movie, usually war films or flicks about baseball. We sat for a long time, even after the tubas had all been packed up and hauled off. We were trading stories, and my father was telling all about the last camping trip before Robert, the oldest brother, moved out on his own. He told the whole story, and we laughed at the right spots, except for my uncle James, the second youngest.
When the story was over, James frowned. "Gerald, that's not how it happened. We weren't lost in the woods for six hours, it was more like half an hour. And it only rained for the whole day one of the days we were there. And dad had spare gas, he didn't use Robert's whiskey to fuel the boat, he just threatened to."
"Maybe you're right," my father said, after a silence. Robert sat, grinning, not willing or wanting to settle the matter of what happened to his whiskey.
"I am right," James said. "And it wasn't the sixty-two Pontiac anymore, it was the sixty-five. Remember, Dale had totalled the sixty-two on his seventeenth birthday?"
"That, you're right about," Robert chimed in. "It was the sixty-five. The Bonneville. Maroon."
When all was said and done that day, my father and I got back into his car to head home. "Why does James always insist on contradicting you?" I asked.
"What, about the story?" I nodded. "He's right. About the time lost, the rain, the whiskey. Dad's not around, James feels like he should correct history. But sometimes, you know, when you cover a song, you gotta change it a little. Make it your own." He turned the radio on, perhaps somehow knowing that Joe Cocker's version of "The Letter" would be on the classic hit station. "Besides, your uncle James has never been able to change it up that way. He's in a wedding band."
===
A little (very) disjointed, but remember, this only existed as a sliver of an idea in my head when I started. But the important thing is that I kept my head down and powered through. I've made an important step. Yay!
No promises about blogging. You can follow me on twitter, though!
Happy 4th of July everyone!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Something Big...
...is in the works.
It's got to do with Rock 'n' Roll, Pontiacs, and father-son relationships.
Just know that I have recently watched American Graffiti, and also watched and read High Fidelity so I am on a bit of a Rock kick. Also, I am promising myself to own a nice component stereo system with a turntable by the end of the year so that I can listen to all the records I bought in my teens (I know that makes me sound old, but I really did buy a bunch of used records in my teens because they were cheaper than CDs and my parents have a working record player).
This project is based on the short story "Before Rock Attained Perfection" which in turn was a top-to-bottom rewrite of "North For Salvation" (from which you can read an excerpt here). It will incorporate aspects of both stories, and in fact much of "Before Rock" will be within this work, just not altogether, and a lot of "North for Salvation" may be salvaged and reintroduced as a chapter.
That's right, a chapter. As in, chapter of a novel or novella. I've got a lot of good ideas brewing for this, and it will be nice after having an entire semester devoted to writing for the stage to work on this for the summer. Not that I'm putting my bard-style quill down just yet, I want to polish up Still Life and send it to some festivals and contests (it really is about the most complete thing I've ever written I think), but that shouldn't take me more than a week, but as I said I'm coming off a semester where all of my creative writing went into Still Life and rewrites of Spice.
Speaking of Spice, I promise that within the next week, I will post the video. I have been lazy in that regard while I've been working hard finishing up school and working as much as I can before my vacation in mid-June.
I know, I know, a vacation now? With Kathy still unemployed (yes, Kathy is still unemployed)? Well, we paid for our plane tickets in December, and we're splitting the hotel room with my brother-in-law, and we can't miss it because how often is there a family wedding in Puerto Rico? Only, like, one in ten people get married in Puerto Rico (the percentage is much higher for those who, you know, live there...) so we can't miss it. Plus, it's our first real vacation together since our honeymoon. When we went to New York City two years ago, it was only a vacation for me. And weekend trips don't count as vacations. They're just little road trips.
Anyway, keep checking back here for updates on any and all situations. Again, look here in a week or so for the video of Spice and everybody please have a happy and safe summer.
But before you go, what will you be reading this summer? Something new? An old favorite? Nothing? A classic you've somehow missed all these years? That book you were supposed to have read in your Sophomore year American Lit class but just checked sparknotes and scraped a B- on the paper and vowed to read it eventually? Let me know in the comments!
It's got to do with Rock 'n' Roll, Pontiacs, and father-son relationships.
Just know that I have recently watched American Graffiti, and also watched and read High Fidelity so I am on a bit of a Rock kick. Also, I am promising myself to own a nice component stereo system with a turntable by the end of the year so that I can listen to all the records I bought in my teens (I know that makes me sound old, but I really did buy a bunch of used records in my teens because they were cheaper than CDs and my parents have a working record player).
This project is based on the short story "Before Rock Attained Perfection" which in turn was a top-to-bottom rewrite of "North For Salvation" (from which you can read an excerpt here). It will incorporate aspects of both stories, and in fact much of "Before Rock" will be within this work, just not altogether, and a lot of "North for Salvation" may be salvaged and reintroduced as a chapter.
That's right, a chapter. As in, chapter of a novel or novella. I've got a lot of good ideas brewing for this, and it will be nice after having an entire semester devoted to writing for the stage to work on this for the summer. Not that I'm putting my bard-style quill down just yet, I want to polish up Still Life and send it to some festivals and contests (it really is about the most complete thing I've ever written I think), but that shouldn't take me more than a week, but as I said I'm coming off a semester where all of my creative writing went into Still Life and rewrites of Spice.
Speaking of Spice, I promise that within the next week, I will post the video. I have been lazy in that regard while I've been working hard finishing up school and working as much as I can before my vacation in mid-June.
I know, I know, a vacation now? With Kathy still unemployed (yes, Kathy is still unemployed)? Well, we paid for our plane tickets in December, and we're splitting the hotel room with my brother-in-law, and we can't miss it because how often is there a family wedding in Puerto Rico? Only, like, one in ten people get married in Puerto Rico (the percentage is much higher for those who, you know, live there...) so we can't miss it. Plus, it's our first real vacation together since our honeymoon. When we went to New York City two years ago, it was only a vacation for me. And weekend trips don't count as vacations. They're just little road trips.
Anyway, keep checking back here for updates on any and all situations. Again, look here in a week or so for the video of Spice and everybody please have a happy and safe summer.
But before you go, what will you be reading this summer? Something new? An old favorite? Nothing? A classic you've somehow missed all these years? That book you were supposed to have read in your Sophomore year American Lit class but just checked sparknotes and scraped a B- on the paper and vowed to read it eventually? Let me know in the comments!
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Way Overdue
I apologize. I've been busier than I've ever been. Trying to squeeze as much money out of my job as I can, trying to do all of my homework, trying to spend time with my friends and family. Something had to fall by the wayside. Something had to take not just a backseat, but a spot in the trunk, next to my bottle of windshield washer fluid and the golf clubs that were supposed to be used as props in one of the plays at this year's Surfacing, but which never made it into the theatre for whatever reason. And that something was my blog. And it's unfair to you, my readers, for me to have done that.
I haven't been totally silent, though. I have been twittering quite a bit. If you've come here at all and paid attention to the twitter feed at right (----->), you'd notice how active I've been there. You could put all of those together to form one post.
Sadly, for those who have been watching the blog only for information, I hate to say that you missed Surfacing, only because I never posted about it. That's been my biggest screw up. I really am upset at myself for that. If you're friends with me on Facebook or follow me on twitter, again, you probably heard all about it. Or if you saw me in person any time over the last few weeks. It was basically all I could think of/talk about.
Not that this helps, but there will be videos posted. Again, it's not the same.
This year's Surfacing was incredible, though. I told the cast and director of my show today that this was the best experience I've had in theatre, and I meant that. All the shows I was a part of growing up, in high school, community theatre, last year's Surfacing...all good, some great. But this year was different. I don't know why. I feel closer this year to my cast, even though I spent more time last year. I didn't have to direct this year; maybe that's the difference. I want to thank my director, Mac, for taking my play and trimming the fat from the script. I'm sure you're aware, readers, of how verbose I can sometimes be. I'd like to thank Madeline, the Assistant Director, for doing everything that I would have not thought of if I had been left in control, like organizing props backstage beforehand. I want to thank Max, Christina and Dexter for their portrayals of (respectively) Chris, Janette and Kai. I wrote these parts with certain things in mind, but you each interpreted them in your own way, and brought something new and exciting and awesome to the table.
I have never understood the phrase "Just the writer" in theatre. Until this weekend. I was humbled, but in a good way. Lines that I wrote were getting laughs. Sure, some of them were written to get laughs. Others were delivered in a way I didn't think when I wrote them. I thought, "this line should go here" and put it there. I never thought they would get a laugh. And they did. It was very interesting. I could have sat there with a scorecard and divied up the laughs as they came; that one goes to me for clever writing, that one goes to Mac for clever directing, and this one goes to Dexter for clever delivery. It probably would have come out even.
Anyway, back to my apology. I can't say that you'll be inundated with updates. You know that won't happen. But don't give up on me. I graduate in three weeks. Expect a doozy of an update sometime thereafter. Okay? And please, feel free to drop me a comment any time. Encouraging ones are always appreciated. Snarky ones are likely to be returned at a later date with extra snark attached. Sort of like an interest bearing deposit. Ye be warned.
I haven't been totally silent, though. I have been twittering quite a bit. If you've come here at all and paid attention to the twitter feed at right (----->), you'd notice how active I've been there. You could put all of those together to form one post.
Sadly, for those who have been watching the blog only for information, I hate to say that you missed Surfacing, only because I never posted about it. That's been my biggest screw up. I really am upset at myself for that. If you're friends with me on Facebook or follow me on twitter, again, you probably heard all about it. Or if you saw me in person any time over the last few weeks. It was basically all I could think of/talk about.
Not that this helps, but there will be videos posted. Again, it's not the same.
This year's Surfacing was incredible, though. I told the cast and director of my show today that this was the best experience I've had in theatre, and I meant that. All the shows I was a part of growing up, in high school, community theatre, last year's Surfacing...all good, some great. But this year was different. I don't know why. I feel closer this year to my cast, even though I spent more time last year. I didn't have to direct this year; maybe that's the difference. I want to thank my director, Mac, for taking my play and trimming the fat from the script. I'm sure you're aware, readers, of how verbose I can sometimes be. I'd like to thank Madeline, the Assistant Director, for doing everything that I would have not thought of if I had been left in control, like organizing props backstage beforehand. I want to thank Max, Christina and Dexter for their portrayals of (respectively) Chris, Janette and Kai. I wrote these parts with certain things in mind, but you each interpreted them in your own way, and brought something new and exciting and awesome to the table.
I have never understood the phrase "Just the writer" in theatre. Until this weekend. I was humbled, but in a good way. Lines that I wrote were getting laughs. Sure, some of them were written to get laughs. Others were delivered in a way I didn't think when I wrote them. I thought, "this line should go here" and put it there. I never thought they would get a laugh. And they did. It was very interesting. I could have sat there with a scorecard and divied up the laughs as they came; that one goes to me for clever writing, that one goes to Mac for clever directing, and this one goes to Dexter for clever delivery. It probably would have come out even.
Anyway, back to my apology. I can't say that you'll be inundated with updates. You know that won't happen. But don't give up on me. I graduate in three weeks. Expect a doozy of an update sometime thereafter. Okay? And please, feel free to drop me a comment any time. Encouraging ones are always appreciated. Snarky ones are likely to be returned at a later date with extra snark attached. Sort of like an interest bearing deposit. Ye be warned.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Update
Okay, time for the update.
Let me start off talking about the bad news, then work my way to the good news. I find that's the nicest way to do things to you, my reader, who may also have bad news and may want to read some good news.
First and foremost: Kathy was laid off from KETC Channel 9 on February 27th. Everybody knows somebody who's been laid off now, I think. Now I live with somebody who has been laid off.
This has actually been kind of a blow to us, as you can imagine. Looking at our monthly income pre lay-off, I'd say Kathy brought in around 60% of the money. Sometimes, my paychecks would be bigger, but you have to remember that Kathy paid for our health and dental insurance out of her paycheck, and that she also had money taken out and put into a 403(b) (which is a 401(k) but for non-profits). So this impacts us in huge ways.
Suddenly, we can't even afford the four boxes of Girl Scout cookies we ordered. We're conserving milk and baking potatoes we might have thrown out a year ago (I know the grammar of that sentence is confusing; obviously we're not eating potatoes we've had since last year). We're skimming the ads for great deals and coupons and changing habits. We used to buy Oberweis milk, and now we're back to store brand plastic gallons. Instead of meat from the deli, we're getting pre-packaged processed meat. And we're struggling.
Kathy got a severance package. Meager. Two weeks' pay. So one paycheck. Not only have we already gotten that check, we've already spent most of it. Covering our mortgage payment.
We've called our cell phone provider and knocked ourselves down to bare-bones service, and cut that bill almost in half. We're cancelling home phone service but not sacrificing internet (I can't live without it in school, and Kathy needs to pick up some freelance work and also can't be without it). We never had cable or satellite. With Kathy driving less, we're saving money on gas. However, I'm taking long trips a lot for work. Why? Because if I take a long trip, I get reimbursed for a portion of the mileage. Generally, the reimbursed amount more than covers the gas for the trip, so that's extra money in the paycheck. But in the meantime, I need to spend money on the gas to get me places. We don't have any magazine subscriptions, cancelled our Post Dispatch delivery months ago. Car payments, student loan payments, and credit card payments? We used to pay beyond the minimum every month, in an effort to pay them down. Now, we're down to minimum payments on all of them, which saves us money in the here and now I know but will cost us more in interest in the long run. But it's the here and now that matters. Unfortunately, we added extra charges to our insurance bill; we signed up for catastrophic through our home/auto provider. Just in case of emergency. I have to tell you, I don't like to think about me driving around all day without health insurance.
Also unfortunate is our mortgage bill. With the fall in the housing market, the equity we expected to have after three and a half years has vanished, and we're under water by about $6000 on our mortgage. With no down payment, we've been paying Primary Mortgage Insurance every month along with the standard interest/principal/escrow. We've tried several times to get this removed, because it would save us money. We have never even been late with a payment, let alone missed one. But our mortgage servicer refuses to work with us.
The stimulus bill has been passed. There are provisions for home owners. I don't know all the details; despite the fact that I am on spring break, I am no less busy, working as hard as I can this week to put in a full week or more, to help make ends meet. So I don't know what all the details are. But I thought there was supposed to be something about helping home owners who are facing financial hardship.
So we called our mortgage servicer, told them that one of us was recently laid off, and we need some of that financial hardship assistance. They told us they could not offer it to us, because since Kathy was laid-off, we are now spending more in a month than we are making. And I'm thinking, isn't that the definition of financial hardship? I was at a banquet tonight (more on that later). The M.C. was a banker. She told a joke. "The banks have money to loan. They just won't loan it to you unless you can prove that you're rich enough not to need it." Lots of people laughed. Kathy and I didn't. Mo & Kevin sort of laughed, then sighed. They're currently selling their house and moving into a new one.
So that's the picture. We're not sure what we're doing. Kathy has her Mary Kay Business so if you need any cosmetics, please buy from her. I know she would appreciate it. Also, as mentioned above, she is picking up any freelance design jobs you may have (no website as of yet; coming soon though). So if you have any loose graphic design jobs you need taken care of, drop me a line and I'll put you in contact with her. I can't do much more than I am doing; full time employee, full time student, full time writer. Kathy is, of course, seeking full time employment.
The announcement comes now. Though it's not set in stone. This is a likely scenario: Kathy will continue to seek a career in the St. Louis area for another month or so. If nothing comes to fruition, she will begin seeking a career in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area. And we will put our house up on the market. Despite being under water on the mortgage (according to St. Louis County assessments, the mortgage company, et al), I believe we could get a fair price for our home if it came down to it. After graduation (and more on that later, too), we'd likely be moving up to the Twin Cities, provided both of us can find work. We have a good support network of friends and family here in St. Louis, but we have a similar network in Minneapolis. We know our way around up there. But again, that's if Kathy can't find a career in St. Louis. If she does find one, we'll be staying here. So, if you're in StL or MSP, please keep your ear to the ground.
Moving away from the doom and gloom of the financiapocalypse, I'd like to move on to the idea that my Karma has a flat tire. I must mention Kathy getting laid-off again, because that's part of how I came to this conclusion.
A few weeks ago, I was driving my car and heard a flapping noise and found the handling had suddenly gone a little wonky. It was a flat tire. Passenger side rear. But, hey, you know, that happens. I changed the tire (thanking the good people at Volkswagen for a standard full-size spare) and admitted that it was time to replace my tires anyway. So, I got them replaced. But just the rear ones, mind, the front ones are relatively new. However, the price of the tires I had on the front went up. Significantly. So I got a comparable set for less. But I like all of my tires to match; I'm weird like that. I kept thinking I should have sprung for the more expensive tires. And two days later, Kathy got laid off. And last Friday, a week after this, Kathy called me in tears; reality had sunk in, she had visited channel nine to pick up some things for her portfolio and had to be escorted out of the building, like she's some crazed security risk, and then as she was on her way out to run an errand, her car wouldn't start. And then this morning, first thing that happened to me on my way to work was I got a flat tire. Passenger side rear. Big old fat old shiny sharp metal f*ck you right in the tread. So once again, thank you Volkswagen, for providing a full size spare.
I've been thinking a lot about this full size spare as a metaphor. Like Kathy losing her job is a flat tire, and it's no big deal. But driving on a donut isn't exactly great. You can't move as fast. You can't go as far. You have to get that regular sized tire back on ASAP. Actually, driving with a donut tire is a big impetus for getting that thing into the tire shop quickly. The only thing that was really driving me to get the car into the shop the first time was that because the spare doesn't have the VW hubcap, the car looked uneven. But now, this time, I want to get it fixed right away. Because there's really not much worse than driving around without a spare tire. No insurance. No crutch. Nothing to bridge the gap.
Okay. Now on to more pleasant thoughts. My father was awarded Teacher of the Year at his high school by the Lemay Chamber of Commerce. It's a pretty sweat deal, when you get right down to it. He's taught at Hancock Place High School for sixteen years (is that right? Maybe seventeen...) and has built the music program into one with a reputation. They may not have the biggest band, and they may not have the best band, but they've got (in my opinion) the best band director. Congratulations, Dad!
Also, I've been working on a play called Still Life, which is based on a piece of artwork by Belgian Artist Wim Delvoye entitled Tim. I heard about it on NPR (read the story here) and was, honestly, disgusted. Immediately, I began writing a play about it for Surfacing. I originally envisioned it as a comedy, but the more I thought about it, the less funny it was becoming. And also, the more I thought about it, the more ambitious it started to sound. I wrote half of a scene and abandoned the project as having too much scope.
But then this semester, taking what will be my last undergraduate level creative writing workshop, I got to thinking about it some more. The scope still seemed too big. But I thought, well, give it a try. So I wrote the second half of the first scene and then a second scene. People responded well. I hit a wall. I could not write any more. It sat at two scenes and 14 pages for a month. And then I burst through the wall. I think I decided it was time either to become the writer I wanted to be or hang up my typing fingers.
I didn't hang up.
Peers in my playwriting class have praised it. And the teacher compared it to GB Shaw. That's actually partially why I got blocked. It was like, "Shaw is a master. How could I compete?" But I read part of Pygmalion. And I realized that Shaw is a master. A genius. Don't be scared. It's a compliment. I realized I don't have to be the next GB Shaw. All I have to do is be the first Elliot M. Rauscher.
Anyway, sorry for the novella update. I'll try to be better in the future. To those who read my blog on a feed or a reader, you may want to swing by the actual website and check out my twitter feed on the right hand side. Or, you know, if you twitter, you could follow me there. It's much easier to update. I'll be using twitter to share links, short thoughts, and writing/surfacing progress updates.
And now, the following GB Shaw quotes to ponder:
"A day's work is a day's work, neither more nor less, and the man who does it needs a day's sustenance, a night's repose and due leisure, whether he be painter or ploughman."
"A fool's brain digests philosophy into folly, science into superstition, and art into pedantry. Hence University education."
"A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing."
"An American has no sense of privacy. He does not know what it means. There is no such thing in the country."
With that last one being the most ironic because I have just blogged all about my personal life, let me introduce you to another American I know. His name is Andy, he's a fellow Webster Gorlock and friend. He's a good kid. He plays music, writes, and rides his bicycle. Sound familiar yet? Go check out his blog.
Let me start off talking about the bad news, then work my way to the good news. I find that's the nicest way to do things to you, my reader, who may also have bad news and may want to read some good news.
First and foremost: Kathy was laid off from KETC Channel 9 on February 27th. Everybody knows somebody who's been laid off now, I think. Now I live with somebody who has been laid off.
This has actually been kind of a blow to us, as you can imagine. Looking at our monthly income pre lay-off, I'd say Kathy brought in around 60% of the money. Sometimes, my paychecks would be bigger, but you have to remember that Kathy paid for our health and dental insurance out of her paycheck, and that she also had money taken out and put into a 403(b) (which is a 401(k) but for non-profits). So this impacts us in huge ways.
Suddenly, we can't even afford the four boxes of Girl Scout cookies we ordered. We're conserving milk and baking potatoes we might have thrown out a year ago (I know the grammar of that sentence is confusing; obviously we're not eating potatoes we've had since last year). We're skimming the ads for great deals and coupons and changing habits. We used to buy Oberweis milk, and now we're back to store brand plastic gallons. Instead of meat from the deli, we're getting pre-packaged processed meat. And we're struggling.
Kathy got a severance package. Meager. Two weeks' pay. So one paycheck. Not only have we already gotten that check, we've already spent most of it. Covering our mortgage payment.
We've called our cell phone provider and knocked ourselves down to bare-bones service, and cut that bill almost in half. We're cancelling home phone service but not sacrificing internet (I can't live without it in school, and Kathy needs to pick up some freelance work and also can't be without it). We never had cable or satellite. With Kathy driving less, we're saving money on gas. However, I'm taking long trips a lot for work. Why? Because if I take a long trip, I get reimbursed for a portion of the mileage. Generally, the reimbursed amount more than covers the gas for the trip, so that's extra money in the paycheck. But in the meantime, I need to spend money on the gas to get me places. We don't have any magazine subscriptions, cancelled our Post Dispatch delivery months ago. Car payments, student loan payments, and credit card payments? We used to pay beyond the minimum every month, in an effort to pay them down. Now, we're down to minimum payments on all of them, which saves us money in the here and now I know but will cost us more in interest in the long run. But it's the here and now that matters. Unfortunately, we added extra charges to our insurance bill; we signed up for catastrophic through our home/auto provider. Just in case of emergency. I have to tell you, I don't like to think about me driving around all day without health insurance.
Also unfortunate is our mortgage bill. With the fall in the housing market, the equity we expected to have after three and a half years has vanished, and we're under water by about $6000 on our mortgage. With no down payment, we've been paying Primary Mortgage Insurance every month along with the standard interest/principal/escrow. We've tried several times to get this removed, because it would save us money. We have never even been late with a payment, let alone missed one. But our mortgage servicer refuses to work with us.
The stimulus bill has been passed. There are provisions for home owners. I don't know all the details; despite the fact that I am on spring break, I am no less busy, working as hard as I can this week to put in a full week or more, to help make ends meet. So I don't know what all the details are. But I thought there was supposed to be something about helping home owners who are facing financial hardship.
So we called our mortgage servicer, told them that one of us was recently laid off, and we need some of that financial hardship assistance. They told us they could not offer it to us, because since Kathy was laid-off, we are now spending more in a month than we are making. And I'm thinking, isn't that the definition of financial hardship? I was at a banquet tonight (more on that later). The M.C. was a banker. She told a joke. "The banks have money to loan. They just won't loan it to you unless you can prove that you're rich enough not to need it." Lots of people laughed. Kathy and I didn't. Mo & Kevin sort of laughed, then sighed. They're currently selling their house and moving into a new one.
So that's the picture. We're not sure what we're doing. Kathy has her Mary Kay Business so if you need any cosmetics, please buy from her. I know she would appreciate it. Also, as mentioned above, she is picking up any freelance design jobs you may have (no website as of yet; coming soon though). So if you have any loose graphic design jobs you need taken care of, drop me a line and I'll put you in contact with her. I can't do much more than I am doing; full time employee, full time student, full time writer. Kathy is, of course, seeking full time employment.
The announcement comes now. Though it's not set in stone. This is a likely scenario: Kathy will continue to seek a career in the St. Louis area for another month or so. If nothing comes to fruition, she will begin seeking a career in the Minneapolis/St. Paul area. And we will put our house up on the market. Despite being under water on the mortgage (according to St. Louis County assessments, the mortgage company, et al), I believe we could get a fair price for our home if it came down to it. After graduation (and more on that later, too), we'd likely be moving up to the Twin Cities, provided both of us can find work. We have a good support network of friends and family here in St. Louis, but we have a similar network in Minneapolis. We know our way around up there. But again, that's if Kathy can't find a career in St. Louis. If she does find one, we'll be staying here. So, if you're in StL or MSP, please keep your ear to the ground.
Moving away from the doom and gloom of the financiapocalypse, I'd like to move on to the idea that my Karma has a flat tire. I must mention Kathy getting laid-off again, because that's part of how I came to this conclusion.
A few weeks ago, I was driving my car and heard a flapping noise and found the handling had suddenly gone a little wonky. It was a flat tire. Passenger side rear. But, hey, you know, that happens. I changed the tire (thanking the good people at Volkswagen for a standard full-size spare) and admitted that it was time to replace my tires anyway. So, I got them replaced. But just the rear ones, mind, the front ones are relatively new. However, the price of the tires I had on the front went up. Significantly. So I got a comparable set for less. But I like all of my tires to match; I'm weird like that. I kept thinking I should have sprung for the more expensive tires. And two days later, Kathy got laid off. And last Friday, a week after this, Kathy called me in tears; reality had sunk in, she had visited channel nine to pick up some things for her portfolio and had to be escorted out of the building, like she's some crazed security risk, and then as she was on her way out to run an errand, her car wouldn't start. And then this morning, first thing that happened to me on my way to work was I got a flat tire. Passenger side rear. Big old fat old shiny sharp metal f*ck you right in the tread. So once again, thank you Volkswagen, for providing a full size spare.
I've been thinking a lot about this full size spare as a metaphor. Like Kathy losing her job is a flat tire, and it's no big deal. But driving on a donut isn't exactly great. You can't move as fast. You can't go as far. You have to get that regular sized tire back on ASAP. Actually, driving with a donut tire is a big impetus for getting that thing into the tire shop quickly. The only thing that was really driving me to get the car into the shop the first time was that because the spare doesn't have the VW hubcap, the car looked uneven. But now, this time, I want to get it fixed right away. Because there's really not much worse than driving around without a spare tire. No insurance. No crutch. Nothing to bridge the gap.
Okay. Now on to more pleasant thoughts. My father was awarded Teacher of the Year at his high school by the Lemay Chamber of Commerce. It's a pretty sweat deal, when you get right down to it. He's taught at Hancock Place High School for sixteen years (is that right? Maybe seventeen...) and has built the music program into one with a reputation. They may not have the biggest band, and they may not have the best band, but they've got (in my opinion) the best band director. Congratulations, Dad!
Also, I've been working on a play called Still Life, which is based on a piece of artwork by Belgian Artist Wim Delvoye entitled Tim. I heard about it on NPR (read the story here) and was, honestly, disgusted. Immediately, I began writing a play about it for Surfacing. I originally envisioned it as a comedy, but the more I thought about it, the less funny it was becoming. And also, the more I thought about it, the more ambitious it started to sound. I wrote half of a scene and abandoned the project as having too much scope.
But then this semester, taking what will be my last undergraduate level creative writing workshop, I got to thinking about it some more. The scope still seemed too big. But I thought, well, give it a try. So I wrote the second half of the first scene and then a second scene. People responded well. I hit a wall. I could not write any more. It sat at two scenes and 14 pages for a month. And then I burst through the wall. I think I decided it was time either to become the writer I wanted to be or hang up my typing fingers.
I didn't hang up.
Peers in my playwriting class have praised it. And the teacher compared it to GB Shaw. That's actually partially why I got blocked. It was like, "Shaw is a master. How could I compete?" But I read part of Pygmalion. And I realized that Shaw is a master. A genius. Don't be scared. It's a compliment. I realized I don't have to be the next GB Shaw. All I have to do is be the first Elliot M. Rauscher.
Anyway, sorry for the novella update. I'll try to be better in the future. To those who read my blog on a feed or a reader, you may want to swing by the actual website and check out my twitter feed on the right hand side. Or, you know, if you twitter, you could follow me there. It's much easier to update. I'll be using twitter to share links, short thoughts, and writing/surfacing progress updates.
And now, the following GB Shaw quotes to ponder:
"A day's work is a day's work, neither more nor less, and the man who does it needs a day's sustenance, a night's repose and due leisure, whether he be painter or ploughman."
"A fool's brain digests philosophy into folly, science into superstition, and art into pedantry. Hence University education."
"A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing."
"An American has no sense of privacy. He does not know what it means. There is no such thing in the country."
With that last one being the most ironic because I have just blogged all about my personal life, let me introduce you to another American I know. His name is Andy, he's a fellow Webster Gorlock and friend. He's a good kid. He plays music, writes, and rides his bicycle. Sound familiar yet? Go check out his blog.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Not the Update, but Something I've been thinking about.
I saw Watchmen this weekend (along with most of America) and I liked it. More on why later.
My buddy Chris just posted a link to this blog, which I read with interest. Go read it now.
Thank you. Now read my response.
For those of us who have not read the novel (but who really really want to), I think the film was intriguing. I did not go in expecting a superhero film. And the narrative is extremely character driven, which is not what American audiences like. American audiences like explosions and good guys who are good and bad guys who are bad. Although, this is bound to change.
As America came out of the Great Depression and entered WWII, there emerged a new film genre which we now call Film Noir. Maltese Falcon, Double Indemnity. Films where the good guys weren't all that good. They created their own morality. I think we're going to be seeing a lot more movies with this kind of tone. I'm not talking about the lovable criminals of the late 90's/early 2000's (remakes of Oceans 11, Italian Job, Thomas Crown Affair). You know, bad guys we wanted to win. And of course after 9/11, we were inundated with films that were very Patriotic in tone, specifically Spider-Man (which I thoroughly enjoyed, don't get me wrong), which included the scene of New Yorkers shouting at the Green Goblin to "leave him alone" and "take on the whole city." Now is a time when we will start seeing films take on shades of gray.
When you get down to it, writer Alan Moore's declaration that he won't see this film is just downright ridiculous. While admitting that I haven't read the novel, I have read a bit on the structure of it, and have gleaned a lot of information from friends who have read it. And, also, as I've been told the film is almost a panel-for-panel recreation of the novel (obviously not true, but fairly true), I can say that much of what the graphic novel did was use the kind of narrative structure used in Hard Boiled detective fiction and the stylistic chiaroscuro that film noir became so popular for (which, oddly enough, was borrowed from comic books back in the 40's). So adapting Watchmen to the screen just brings it all full circle and back again, so to speak.
So why, you may ask, did I like Watchmen? For the same reason I liked Pixar's The Incredibles: The idea that heroes walk among us. In fact, I'm going to guess that the initial driving plot point of The Incredibles (superheroes forced into obscurity due to a public angry and afraid of them) was likely borrowed from Watchmen. When you get down to it, most superhero stories you can come up with will have some sort of nod to another superhero story. In fact, take a look at my new guilty-pleasure TV show Heroes. The whole thing smacks of plot points derived from X-Men, The Justice League, Watchmen...the list goes on.
So why did I like Watchmen? Even though it's not about real people, the people are believable. They're flawed. They may be superhuman, but they're human. That's what I liked about Heroes versus a television show like all the nine thousand variations of Law & Order (note no link here): the characters on Heroes may have unbelievable abilities, but they behave in believable ways. Maybe unpredictable ways sometimes, but unpredictable in a good way. Much like the characters in Watchmen. They have extensive depth to them. Each is different.
But in reality, the only reason I liked Watchmen is because of Jackie Earl Haley. I mean, come on! He played Moocher in the Academy Award winning Breaking Away (and also in the very short lived television series of the same name).
My buddy Chris just posted a link to this blog, which I read with interest. Go read it now.
Thank you. Now read my response.
For those of us who have not read the novel (but who really really want to), I think the film was intriguing. I did not go in expecting a superhero film. And the narrative is extremely character driven, which is not what American audiences like. American audiences like explosions and good guys who are good and bad guys who are bad. Although, this is bound to change.
As America came out of the Great Depression and entered WWII, there emerged a new film genre which we now call Film Noir. Maltese Falcon, Double Indemnity. Films where the good guys weren't all that good. They created their own morality. I think we're going to be seeing a lot more movies with this kind of tone. I'm not talking about the lovable criminals of the late 90's/early 2000's (remakes of Oceans 11, Italian Job, Thomas Crown Affair). You know, bad guys we wanted to win. And of course after 9/11, we were inundated with films that were very Patriotic in tone, specifically Spider-Man (which I thoroughly enjoyed, don't get me wrong), which included the scene of New Yorkers shouting at the Green Goblin to "leave him alone" and "take on the whole city." Now is a time when we will start seeing films take on shades of gray.
When you get down to it, writer Alan Moore's declaration that he won't see this film is just downright ridiculous. While admitting that I haven't read the novel, I have read a bit on the structure of it, and have gleaned a lot of information from friends who have read it. And, also, as I've been told the film is almost a panel-for-panel recreation of the novel (obviously not true, but fairly true), I can say that much of what the graphic novel did was use the kind of narrative structure used in Hard Boiled detective fiction and the stylistic chiaroscuro that film noir became so popular for (which, oddly enough, was borrowed from comic books back in the 40's). So adapting Watchmen to the screen just brings it all full circle and back again, so to speak.
So why, you may ask, did I like Watchmen? For the same reason I liked Pixar's The Incredibles: The idea that heroes walk among us. In fact, I'm going to guess that the initial driving plot point of The Incredibles (superheroes forced into obscurity due to a public angry and afraid of them) was likely borrowed from Watchmen. When you get down to it, most superhero stories you can come up with will have some sort of nod to another superhero story. In fact, take a look at my new guilty-pleasure TV show Heroes. The whole thing smacks of plot points derived from X-Men, The Justice League, Watchmen...the list goes on.
So why did I like Watchmen? Even though it's not about real people, the people are believable. They're flawed. They may be superhuman, but they're human. That's what I liked about Heroes versus a television show like all the nine thousand variations of Law & Order (note no link here): the characters on Heroes may have unbelievable abilities, but they behave in believable ways. Maybe unpredictable ways sometimes, but unpredictable in a good way. Much like the characters in Watchmen. They have extensive depth to them. Each is different.
But in reality, the only reason I liked Watchmen is because of Jackie Earl Haley. I mean, come on! He played Moocher in the Academy Award winning Breaking Away (and also in the very short lived television series of the same name).
I'm now on twitter.
Follow me at twitter.com/emr042
Or just check here and read my twitter feed in my sidebar.
Twitter will be easier to update than the blog. And it'll help keep the blog about writing while I update you with life information on my twitter.
Stay tuned for a major update this week, as I am on Spring Break.
Follow me at twitter.com/emr042
Or just check here and read my twitter feed in my sidebar.
Twitter will be easier to update than the blog. And it'll help keep the blog about writing while I update you with life information on my twitter.
Stay tuned for a major update this week, as I am on Spring Break.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Dear Readers...
Every so often, I'll get a comment on my blog that deserves a public response.
This is just such a case.
bridget said...
This has been on here so long that it needs to be renamed "Re-tale".
Well, here is my very public response to that:
ZING!
This is just such a case.
bridget said...
This has been on here so long that it needs to be renamed "Re-tale".
Well, here is my very public response to that:
ZING!
Thursday, February 05, 2009
Retail
It's long, so I don't expect everyone to read the whole thing, but I just took a look at this article over at Gizmodo.com about Circuit City employees, and found it actually a bit hard to get through.
The financiapocalypse is taking down many victims, from faceless corporations to the grunts with faces who work for them. Now, Target seems to be doing okay, better than Circuit City, but nothing is certain right now. And while I am glad I don't work in retail anymore, I found parts of this article resonating with me, with the part of me that does miss working there. Because with any job, your co-workers become your friends. And I spent four years working there, making friends. Sure, a lot of them were, like me, just passing through on their way to graduation, to other pursuits. But just as many of them have given a significant portion of their lives to working at Target, and will stay loyal because for all of the bitching and complaining we all did, it's a good company to work for (case in point, when my father-in-law had a heart attack, I called in and hadn't gotten much beyond "heart attack" before my HR person said, "Take as much time as you need, we can cover you. Go be with family." Or my uncle, who worked for corporate, and how wonderful they were with adoption assistance). And regardless, lifetime employee or summer job employee, they're friends. I spent a great deal of time with them. I miss them at times.
So keep that in mind as you troll the going-out-of-business sales for sweet deals. You might be getting a sweet deal, but the people who are helping you are getting a raw deal. They had very little to do with the company going under. And if they seem upset, surly, or whatever, just remember; they can see the writing on the wall. They don't imagine a pink slip is looming, they know it's coming down towards them. Once they sell the last digital camera, they're out of work. They sign up for unemployment benefits and wonder how to pay bills next month. Please, be nice to them. We could all stand to be nice to each other now, in the coming months, in the coming years, and from now on until forever.
The financiapocalypse is taking down many victims, from faceless corporations to the grunts with faces who work for them. Now, Target seems to be doing okay, better than Circuit City, but nothing is certain right now. And while I am glad I don't work in retail anymore, I found parts of this article resonating with me, with the part of me that does miss working there. Because with any job, your co-workers become your friends. And I spent four years working there, making friends. Sure, a lot of them were, like me, just passing through on their way to graduation, to other pursuits. But just as many of them have given a significant portion of their lives to working at Target, and will stay loyal because for all of the bitching and complaining we all did, it's a good company to work for (case in point, when my father-in-law had a heart attack, I called in and hadn't gotten much beyond "heart attack" before my HR person said, "Take as much time as you need, we can cover you. Go be with family." Or my uncle, who worked for corporate, and how wonderful they were with adoption assistance). And regardless, lifetime employee or summer job employee, they're friends. I spent a great deal of time with them. I miss them at times.
So keep that in mind as you troll the going-out-of-business sales for sweet deals. You might be getting a sweet deal, but the people who are helping you are getting a raw deal. They had very little to do with the company going under. And if they seem upset, surly, or whatever, just remember; they can see the writing on the wall. They don't imagine a pink slip is looming, they know it's coming down towards them. Once they sell the last digital camera, they're out of work. They sign up for unemployment benefits and wonder how to pay bills next month. Please, be nice to them. We could all stand to be nice to each other now, in the coming months, in the coming years, and from now on until forever.
Monday, January 26, 2009
The Long Awaited (and delayed) Post
Well, my teacher called class a little early, because all he had left on the agenda was to screen a film he wrote that went to sundance called Dopamine, and there wasn't enough time to do so.
I am going to just do a brief little "New Years Resolutions" deal here, not recap the ones I didn't keep from last year. I have more important things to blog about tonight.
So, this year I resolve to graduate. I resolve to get on my bike at least once. I resolve to write as much over Spring Break as I will have been doing all semester (with playwriting and scriptwriting [two totally different classes; playwriting is plays and scriptwriting is actually screenwriting] it should be quite a large amount). I resolve to love more, dislike less, try new things, spend more quality time with my wife and our family (both at home with the cats and the extended groups), cook more often (because I love to cook and haven't done enough of it in the last two and a half years), publish, make contacts, sell myself as a writer. I resolve to be Elliot M. Rauscher, writer.
I want to talk about the writing process, and two pieces I wrote in the last year and a half that I think truly are me, one hundred percent, through and through. These pieces that grew from the mind but evolved from the heart, while growing from the heart and evolving from the mind. What I mean by that is that, well, I have written a great deal from my heart in the past, but my heart has always been on my sleeve whilst doing so. I have also written a great deal from my mind, which has proven ill-fated and hard to read later when I can't figure out where my sentences were going and why they took so long to get to nowhere (kinda like this sentence which I have extended even longer with the parenthetical). What I learned while writing these two pieces is that you shouldn't write from just the heart or just the mind, but both. Let the heart kick the mind up, let the mind ground the heart in reality.
These pieces-and I have excerpts of both of them on here and I'll link to them at the bottom of this post-are similar in subject matter, but approach them differently. It's sad to say that they both deal with death, which is odd, because I have the good fortune of not having dealt with much death in my life. Three of my four grandparents are dead, one of them before I was even born. It was difficult when Granny Rauscher died suddenly, but it was even more difficult six years later to watch Grandpa Rauscher die slowly. I've had three pets that I held very dear to my heart die in the last eight years; one unexpectedly, one slowly and in great comfort (I like to think that the morning she died, the last thing she did when my father picked her up was purr), and one in the cold, clinical fashion most of our pets leave the world. But this is all normal; pets do not live forever; they get old or their adventurous attitude catches up with them. Grandparents die. Parents die, too, and so do children, and brothers and sisters and friends and enemies. People die. This is nothing new. What could I possibly have to say of any value, of any profound consequence, on the subject of death? It's a theme writers and philosophers have dealt with for centuries.
But I tackled it, as I said, from the heart and from the mind. My first drafts were, however, not done correctly. The first of these two pieces, a play, I began writing upon hearing of the death of a friend I hadn't seen in four years. It was too much to tackle at that point, and it poured out of my heart and came out on the page splotchy, bloody, raw, but not emotionally raw; melodramatically raw. Not the good kind of raw. It started with the protagonist (loosely based on your heroic writer) receiving a hand-addressed letter (how romantic, no?) informing him of his friend's death. Only, the audience does not know the nature of the news. It sent the character into a spiral of self-pity and then, lo and behold the (as-of-yet unrevealed to the audience) dead friend arrives. Clearly, it is all in the protagonist's head.
So I put it down for four months and worked on another play, Spice (and more on that in a moment). I thought a lot about what my friendship with this person had been, had meant. I read up a lot on what projects he was working on before he died, as he had been a terrific actor. Lots of people had a lot to say about him online in tribute groups on facebook. And in a way, reading all of that and thinking hard about him made me remember more of our friendship, insignificant as it truly was. And it got me to thinking about how lives cross paths at all kinds of angles, acute and obtuse and right and sometimes they run parallel and bend together for a short while. About how no life is really a straight line, lived from start to finish. It bends, it circles, it splits in two at times. And I wrote The Last Thing.
The second piece is sort of the opposite; I had this idea for writing about a band, traveling to their last gig because they've had it with life as an unsuccessful local band. It was partially inspired by the second ever free-write Friday about Joe Dubinsky. But I had all this stuff in my head about music, and about a band, and it all came out on the page. Actually, nothing about death in the traditional sense, merely the death of a certain musical act, which can seem like a death (believe me).
But as I said, I wrote this one from the mind, not releasing my passion for music, just some technical jargon. Which is not to say it didn't have any heart in it; the friendships were written with heart, because I had learned that with The Last Thing. But in a sixteen page story, three pages with heart do not equal anything good. This story was called "North for Salvation" and, while parts of it were good, it fizzled for me with every read.
So I got to thinking about death again as I was redrafting, thinking about it because I felt mortality creeping up on everybody I know; not morbidly, not immediately, but I feel the steady drumbeat of time, and it dawned on me that each second passed is a second less to live than a second ago. Now, this could cause some heavy breathing and angst amongst some people, so instead of dwelling on this, I just let it happen to one of my characters. Not the angst, but the final passing second. My main character's father passed away. It got me to thinking of what I would do if I were that person; how does one cope with that? It's not the same as a cat. It can be the same as a grandparent, but for me it would be more immediate. There's a generational buffer between us and our grandparents. There is no such buffer between ourselves and our own parents.
Suddenly, I found the heart of the story. Not to keep saying heart, but I found it when I started writing from the heart. The result is something more profound than four guys riding in a van trying to live out their last rock 'n' roll glory. The result is called "Before Rock Attained Perfection."
Anyway, these are the two pieces I am currently going to push forth as the heavy artillery in my arsenal. The Last Thing is very nearly polished to perfection; "Rock" still needs work but it is getting there. These are the works that are going to go out to contests, magazines, etc.
You can find the excerpt from The Last Thing here. Currently, no excerpt of "Before Rock Attained Perfection" can be found on this blog. However, you can find an excerpt from the original draft of "North for Salvation" here.
And now, to other business. Remember the debacle that was Surfacing Emerging Playwrights Festival 2008? Well, it's back, but this time in better hands. In fact, it's in the hands of the same person who rescued it from oblivion last year. And this year, rather than being commissioned to write a piece and guaranteed a spot regardless of the crap I turn out, I opted to submit work and hope for the best. I actually submitted three pieces: the aforementioned The Last Thing, a dramedy set in a restaurant called The Office Bar and Grill, and a romantic comedy entitled Spice (no excerpt posted [and none forthcoming, read on]). I had hope for The Last Thing, knew that The Office Bar and Grill was a long shot, and I submitted Spice because I knew it would play well onstage and fit in very well because there are moments of absurd comedy played against the reality of a young couple falling for each other over Thai food. I was originally going to suicide submit just The Last Thing, but Surfacing is known for selecting plays with parts for both men and women, hence the other two.
Anyway, I received confirmation last week that Spice has been selected this year! And the best part is that I won't have to direct it! Which is a big relief, because that was very time consuming and stressful. I had offered to direct a play if none of my written work was selected, and you can bet your last dollar I was doing my best to will fate to select a play so I wouldn't have to direct. I would have taken the director's chair for a play, if needed; you can't renege on a promise once you've made it, unless of course it's a promise to be more of a consistent blogger...
Well, there you have it. My long silence is broken.
I would like to take a second to ask for a moment of blog silence, to mourn the dismantlement and removal of Gerald's blog turbochubs. He assures us he will come back some day, showcasing his amazing skills of an artist. Yes, I said skills of an artist. Ten points to anyone who can recognize that reference.
I am going to just do a brief little "New Years Resolutions" deal here, not recap the ones I didn't keep from last year. I have more important things to blog about tonight.
So, this year I resolve to graduate. I resolve to get on my bike at least once. I resolve to write as much over Spring Break as I will have been doing all semester (with playwriting and scriptwriting [two totally different classes; playwriting is plays and scriptwriting is actually screenwriting] it should be quite a large amount). I resolve to love more, dislike less, try new things, spend more quality time with my wife and our family (both at home with the cats and the extended groups), cook more often (because I love to cook and haven't done enough of it in the last two and a half years), publish, make contacts, sell myself as a writer. I resolve to be Elliot M. Rauscher, writer.
I want to talk about the writing process, and two pieces I wrote in the last year and a half that I think truly are me, one hundred percent, through and through. These pieces that grew from the mind but evolved from the heart, while growing from the heart and evolving from the mind. What I mean by that is that, well, I have written a great deal from my heart in the past, but my heart has always been on my sleeve whilst doing so. I have also written a great deal from my mind, which has proven ill-fated and hard to read later when I can't figure out where my sentences were going and why they took so long to get to nowhere (kinda like this sentence which I have extended even longer with the parenthetical). What I learned while writing these two pieces is that you shouldn't write from just the heart or just the mind, but both. Let the heart kick the mind up, let the mind ground the heart in reality.
These pieces-and I have excerpts of both of them on here and I'll link to them at the bottom of this post-are similar in subject matter, but approach them differently. It's sad to say that they both deal with death, which is odd, because I have the good fortune of not having dealt with much death in my life. Three of my four grandparents are dead, one of them before I was even born. It was difficult when Granny Rauscher died suddenly, but it was even more difficult six years later to watch Grandpa Rauscher die slowly. I've had three pets that I held very dear to my heart die in the last eight years; one unexpectedly, one slowly and in great comfort (I like to think that the morning she died, the last thing she did when my father picked her up was purr), and one in the cold, clinical fashion most of our pets leave the world. But this is all normal; pets do not live forever; they get old or their adventurous attitude catches up with them. Grandparents die. Parents die, too, and so do children, and brothers and sisters and friends and enemies. People die. This is nothing new. What could I possibly have to say of any value, of any profound consequence, on the subject of death? It's a theme writers and philosophers have dealt with for centuries.
But I tackled it, as I said, from the heart and from the mind. My first drafts were, however, not done correctly. The first of these two pieces, a play, I began writing upon hearing of the death of a friend I hadn't seen in four years. It was too much to tackle at that point, and it poured out of my heart and came out on the page splotchy, bloody, raw, but not emotionally raw; melodramatically raw. Not the good kind of raw. It started with the protagonist (loosely based on your heroic writer) receiving a hand-addressed letter (how romantic, no?) informing him of his friend's death. Only, the audience does not know the nature of the news. It sent the character into a spiral of self-pity and then, lo and behold the (as-of-yet unrevealed to the audience) dead friend arrives. Clearly, it is all in the protagonist's head.
So I put it down for four months and worked on another play, Spice (and more on that in a moment). I thought a lot about what my friendship with this person had been, had meant. I read up a lot on what projects he was working on before he died, as he had been a terrific actor. Lots of people had a lot to say about him online in tribute groups on facebook. And in a way, reading all of that and thinking hard about him made me remember more of our friendship, insignificant as it truly was. And it got me to thinking about how lives cross paths at all kinds of angles, acute and obtuse and right and sometimes they run parallel and bend together for a short while. About how no life is really a straight line, lived from start to finish. It bends, it circles, it splits in two at times. And I wrote The Last Thing.
The second piece is sort of the opposite; I had this idea for writing about a band, traveling to their last gig because they've had it with life as an unsuccessful local band. It was partially inspired by the second ever free-write Friday about Joe Dubinsky. But I had all this stuff in my head about music, and about a band, and it all came out on the page. Actually, nothing about death in the traditional sense, merely the death of a certain musical act, which can seem like a death (believe me).
But as I said, I wrote this one from the mind, not releasing my passion for music, just some technical jargon. Which is not to say it didn't have any heart in it; the friendships were written with heart, because I had learned that with The Last Thing. But in a sixteen page story, three pages with heart do not equal anything good. This story was called "North for Salvation" and, while parts of it were good, it fizzled for me with every read.
So I got to thinking about death again as I was redrafting, thinking about it because I felt mortality creeping up on everybody I know; not morbidly, not immediately, but I feel the steady drumbeat of time, and it dawned on me that each second passed is a second less to live than a second ago. Now, this could cause some heavy breathing and angst amongst some people, so instead of dwelling on this, I just let it happen to one of my characters. Not the angst, but the final passing second. My main character's father passed away. It got me to thinking of what I would do if I were that person; how does one cope with that? It's not the same as a cat. It can be the same as a grandparent, but for me it would be more immediate. There's a generational buffer between us and our grandparents. There is no such buffer between ourselves and our own parents.
Suddenly, I found the heart of the story. Not to keep saying heart, but I found it when I started writing from the heart. The result is something more profound than four guys riding in a van trying to live out their last rock 'n' roll glory. The result is called "Before Rock Attained Perfection."
Anyway, these are the two pieces I am currently going to push forth as the heavy artillery in my arsenal. The Last Thing is very nearly polished to perfection; "Rock" still needs work but it is getting there. These are the works that are going to go out to contests, magazines, etc.
You can find the excerpt from The Last Thing here. Currently, no excerpt of "Before Rock Attained Perfection" can be found on this blog. However, you can find an excerpt from the original draft of "North for Salvation" here.
And now, to other business. Remember the debacle that was Surfacing Emerging Playwrights Festival 2008? Well, it's back, but this time in better hands. In fact, it's in the hands of the same person who rescued it from oblivion last year. And this year, rather than being commissioned to write a piece and guaranteed a spot regardless of the crap I turn out, I opted to submit work and hope for the best. I actually submitted three pieces: the aforementioned The Last Thing, a dramedy set in a restaurant called The Office Bar and Grill, and a romantic comedy entitled Spice (no excerpt posted [and none forthcoming, read on]). I had hope for The Last Thing, knew that The Office Bar and Grill was a long shot, and I submitted Spice because I knew it would play well onstage and fit in very well because there are moments of absurd comedy played against the reality of a young couple falling for each other over Thai food. I was originally going to suicide submit just The Last Thing, but Surfacing is known for selecting plays with parts for both men and women, hence the other two.
Anyway, I received confirmation last week that Spice has been selected this year! And the best part is that I won't have to direct it! Which is a big relief, because that was very time consuming and stressful. I had offered to direct a play if none of my written work was selected, and you can bet your last dollar I was doing my best to will fate to select a play so I wouldn't have to direct. I would have taken the director's chair for a play, if needed; you can't renege on a promise once you've made it, unless of course it's a promise to be more of a consistent blogger...
Well, there you have it. My long silence is broken.
I would like to take a second to ask for a moment of blog silence, to mourn the dismantlement and removal of Gerald's blog turbochubs. He assures us he will come back some day, showcasing his amazing skills of an artist. Yes, I said skills of an artist. Ten points to anyone who can recognize that reference.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Don't Hate Me
I promise more of a blog this evening. Just...you know, stuff happens and I get negligent about my readers. Not that I don't care about you, I just like to see you, you know, in person, more so than bland blog interactions. That having been said, Becca, December-January holidays is not exactly the most convenient time to be taking a couple days off to travel to the great white north of MN. You should just come back again some time when it's warmer/more conducive to travel.
Check back within twelve hours.
Check back within twelve hours.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
It's Coming...
...the Annual I'm o.k, I'm all write end of year reflection blog dealy thing whatsamajigger.
It will be filled with reflections on school, the writing process, love, family, felines, age, money, politics, work and others. Keep your eyes peeled for it!
And now, an announcement:
Kathy and I would like to announce to the blogniverse (and, I suppose, to the blogosphere, too) that our family has recently grown. We have adopted a new kitten.
She is four months old, weighs about two pounds, and is a long-haired red tabby (orange tabby, as I like to call them because they are way more orange than red). Her name is Amethyst, and despite my mother's suggestion her nickname will not be Meth. I will post a picture (because apparently, blogs with photos are more interesting than just words) as soon as she stays still long enough for us to snap one. If we're lucky, we'll get a picture of the both of the cats, Acrodyl and Amethyst, so that you can see the contrast between a long hair and a short hair and also the even more alarming contrast between a two pound cat and a thirteen pound cat.
This is likely my last post of 2008, so enjoy your New Year's Eve! I'll be back shortly after the start of 2009.
It will be filled with reflections on school, the writing process, love, family, felines, age, money, politics, work and others. Keep your eyes peeled for it!
And now, an announcement:
Kathy and I would like to announce to the blogniverse (and, I suppose, to the blogosphere, too) that our family has recently grown. We have adopted a new kitten.
She is four months old, weighs about two pounds, and is a long-haired red tabby (orange tabby, as I like to call them because they are way more orange than red). Her name is Amethyst, and despite my mother's suggestion her nickname will not be Meth. I will post a picture (because apparently, blogs with photos are more interesting than just words) as soon as she stays still long enough for us to snap one. If we're lucky, we'll get a picture of the both of the cats, Acrodyl and Amethyst, so that you can see the contrast between a long hair and a short hair and also the even more alarming contrast between a two pound cat and a thirteen pound cat.
This is likely my last post of 2008, so enjoy your New Year's Eve! I'll be back shortly after the start of 2009.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
And Now, More Things I Learned This Semester
I don't know if I've wrapped every semester like this, and I'm too lazy to check back. In my mind, I have done this every semester, and I've boiled each class down to a single paragraph containing one thing I took away from each class.
A list of surprising things Elliot learned this semester.
I learned that eight years later, I remembered all the words to John Donne's Holy Sonnet #14 (the first line is "At the round Earth's imagin'd corners" and it was turned into a choral piece that I sang my senior year of high school). Sadly, though this was in our book, it was not one that we had to read, so therefore, served me no purpose when th extra credit question was to copy out an entire sonnet that we had read for this semester.
Collaborating on a screenplay, even just six pages of one and a synopsis, basically means that by the time it's done you've got a product that nobody in your group really wants to lay claim to. And also that if left to it with no clear direction, one group will turn out a screenplay that feels so much like Beckett's Endgame even though none of them have ever so much as seen a play.
I may have already discussed this, but Ernest Hemingway writes the best.sentences.ever. Don'e believe me? Check it out, Shortstack:
"The girl came in with the coffee and buttered toast. Or, rather, it was bread toasted and buttered."
and this is the best exchange of dialogue in a novel, ever:
"You asked me what I knew about Brett Ashley"
"I didn't ask you to insult her."
"Oh, go to hell."
He stood up from the table with his face white, and stood there white and angry behind the plates of hors d'oeurves.
"Sit down," I said. "Don't be a fool."
"You've got to take that back."
"Oh, cut out the prep-school stuff."
"Take it back."
"Sure. Anything. I never heard of Brett Ashley. How's that?"
"No. Not that. About me going to hell."
"Oh, don't go to hell," I said. "Stick around. We're just starting lunch."
I learned that I am almost as much of a beer snob as some people are wine snobs. And also that I still harbor ill will towards a former employer of mine. And also that getting the teacher drunk before giving your own presentation actually pays off.
See the post just below this one to see another amazing thing I learned. But the other thing I learned for this particular class is that the WU Lab Fee pays for ridiculous stuff sometimes. Like T-shirts and bags of chips and a DVD viewing system that works just about as well as you'd expect a rusted out Pinto to work.
I learned that I can, in fact, be a good writer some day. And I think that one's probably the most important thing I learned. After the spring semester, for some reason I was feeling like maybe my skills weren't as keen as I thought. That actually kind of explains the lackluster blogging. But now, I turned out seriously a hell of a piece, I think. And the thing about it is, like with my one-act play I wrote last fall (which I actually shouldn't mention the title of at this point, since I submitted it to a blind competition and you can never be too sure about who is clicking on links and googling my name), the subject matter is important to me in a very personal way. And that's all I'll say about it for now.
Happy Holidays. Maybe over break I'll blog a little more. And then after that...
ONE
MORE
SEMESTER
A list of surprising things Elliot learned this semester.
I learned that eight years later, I remembered all the words to John Donne's Holy Sonnet #14 (the first line is "At the round Earth's imagin'd corners" and it was turned into a choral piece that I sang my senior year of high school). Sadly, though this was in our book, it was not one that we had to read, so therefore, served me no purpose when th extra credit question was to copy out an entire sonnet that we had read for this semester.
Collaborating on a screenplay, even just six pages of one and a synopsis, basically means that by the time it's done you've got a product that nobody in your group really wants to lay claim to. And also that if left to it with no clear direction, one group will turn out a screenplay that feels so much like Beckett's Endgame even though none of them have ever so much as seen a play.
I may have already discussed this, but Ernest Hemingway writes the best.sentences.ever. Don'e believe me? Check it out, Shortstack:
"The girl came in with the coffee and buttered toast. Or, rather, it was bread toasted and buttered."
and this is the best exchange of dialogue in a novel, ever:
"You asked me what I knew about Brett Ashley"
"I didn't ask you to insult her."
"Oh, go to hell."
He stood up from the table with his face white, and stood there white and angry behind the plates of hors d'oeurves.
"Sit down," I said. "Don't be a fool."
"You've got to take that back."
"Oh, cut out the prep-school stuff."
"Take it back."
"Sure. Anything. I never heard of Brett Ashley. How's that?"
"No. Not that. About me going to hell."
"Oh, don't go to hell," I said. "Stick around. We're just starting lunch."
I learned that I am almost as much of a beer snob as some people are wine snobs. And also that I still harbor ill will towards a former employer of mine. And also that getting the teacher drunk before giving your own presentation actually pays off.
See the post just below this one to see another amazing thing I learned. But the other thing I learned for this particular class is that the WU Lab Fee pays for ridiculous stuff sometimes. Like T-shirts and bags of chips and a DVD viewing system that works just about as well as you'd expect a rusted out Pinto to work.
I learned that I can, in fact, be a good writer some day. And I think that one's probably the most important thing I learned. After the spring semester, for some reason I was feeling like maybe my skills weren't as keen as I thought. That actually kind of explains the lackluster blogging. But now, I turned out seriously a hell of a piece, I think. And the thing about it is, like with my one-act play I wrote last fall (which I actually shouldn't mention the title of at this point, since I submitted it to a blind competition and you can never be too sure about who is clicking on links and googling my name), the subject matter is important to me in a very personal way. And that's all I'll say about it for now.
Happy Holidays. Maybe over break I'll blog a little more. And then after that...
ONE
MORE
SEMESTER
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Getting Older
Getting older has its perks. I mean, I'm not talking like I'm really old or anything. Twenty-six is still young and vital and there's plenty of time for me to make an impact in the world, hell, there's time at 56, 76, 96 to do so. But what I'm talking about is generally aging one year, and specifically reaching that mark where you officially turn the page on a year in your life. I'm talking about Birthdays.
Birthdays are fun because for one day, everybody sort of treats you like royalty. This isn't always true, though; I've had some doozies of bad times on my birthdays before. Any year my birthday falls on a Wednesday, it sort of gets swallowed up in the pre-Thanksgiving madness. The last time my birthday fell on a Tuesday, I had to be up at 5 in the morning to go to work. I've faced math tests, literature presentations, a girlfriend cheating on me (she didn't want to break up with me and ruin my birthday, she told me three days later when she did break up with me, and then it was New Year's Eve before I found out about the cheating from-get this-the guy she cheated with, real class act this girl), blizzards, a family neglecting me because my grandmother had just died (which, okay, really I forgive them, but it adds extra spice), long car trips, severe disappointment in gifts ("Oh boy...double A batteries. I could use those in a Sega Game Gear...if only I had a Sega Game Gear. But I don't. And this was the last present. Gee, thanks."), and the inevitable birthday beatdown from "friens" such as Chad Thompson and Cullen Shearburn. And, let's not forget that my father's birthday is one week and one day before mine, so now instead of doing two separate celebrations, we just group them together on the Sunday in between our birthdays (but I don't really mind sharing with my father).
But all in all, birthdays are great. Good looking girls who normally give you a passing "hello" in the halls smile and give you hugs. People spend money on you. Mom asks you what you want for dinner, and then actually makes it for you. And did I mention that people spend money on you? My father and I had our dual celebration this evening and one of my gifts was a pack of AA batteries and a Mary Kay Timewise Lotion box containing a Wiimote. The Wii, itself, was at home. And now it's hooked up and ready to distract me from all of my studies, family, work, obligations and (most dire to you folks) this blog.
My birthday takes place this coming Friday, November 21st. I like Friday birthdays for all the obvious reasons; you get to actually go out on your birthday and stay out late. You have a full day to recover from it afterwards, and then another day after that to accomplish all the things you meant to accomplish the rest of the weekend.
The last time I had a birthday on a Friday was 2003, my 21st birthday. The golden birthday, as it were. On a Friday. I mean...how great is that? But, as I recall, I somehow ended up only drinking a (pronounced "ah" as in one very singular depressing) beer and then managed to end up at my place of employ, buying a fake Christmas Tree for my parents (using my discount, of course). Then, we went to The City Museum, but for some reason I ended up driving...
And this Friday, I will actually be packing for a weekend trip to Springfield, IL, to see the Christmas Decorations and the Lincoln museums and such, with Kathy and our friends Heather and Drew. But that should be a great time, so no reason to complain there.
But, all you readers out there, if you would like to celebrate with me, you are welcome to come to The Blues City Deli on Thursday, November 20th, from 6 pm to 8 pm to get yourself some good food, good beer, and listen to some good music as The Rum Drum Ramblers take the stage.
Hope to see you there! Blues City is kind of a small space, so get there early and often. Er...or, just...get there early?
Birthdays are fun because for one day, everybody sort of treats you like royalty. This isn't always true, though; I've had some doozies of bad times on my birthdays before. Any year my birthday falls on a Wednesday, it sort of gets swallowed up in the pre-Thanksgiving madness. The last time my birthday fell on a Tuesday, I had to be up at 5 in the morning to go to work. I've faced math tests, literature presentations, a girlfriend cheating on me (she didn't want to break up with me and ruin my birthday, she told me three days later when she did break up with me, and then it was New Year's Eve before I found out about the cheating from-get this-the guy she cheated with, real class act this girl), blizzards, a family neglecting me because my grandmother had just died (which, okay, really I forgive them, but it adds extra spice), long car trips, severe disappointment in gifts ("Oh boy...double A batteries. I could use those in a Sega Game Gear...if only I had a Sega Game Gear. But I don't. And this was the last present. Gee, thanks."), and the inevitable birthday beatdown from "friens" such as Chad Thompson and Cullen Shearburn. And, let's not forget that my father's birthday is one week and one day before mine, so now instead of doing two separate celebrations, we just group them together on the Sunday in between our birthdays (but I don't really mind sharing with my father).
But all in all, birthdays are great. Good looking girls who normally give you a passing "hello" in the halls smile and give you hugs. People spend money on you. Mom asks you what you want for dinner, and then actually makes it for you. And did I mention that people spend money on you? My father and I had our dual celebration this evening and one of my gifts was a pack of AA batteries and a Mary Kay Timewise Lotion box containing a Wiimote. The Wii, itself, was at home. And now it's hooked up and ready to distract me from all of my studies, family, work, obligations and (most dire to you folks) this blog.
My birthday takes place this coming Friday, November 21st. I like Friday birthdays for all the obvious reasons; you get to actually go out on your birthday and stay out late. You have a full day to recover from it afterwards, and then another day after that to accomplish all the things you meant to accomplish the rest of the weekend.
The last time I had a birthday on a Friday was 2003, my 21st birthday. The golden birthday, as it were. On a Friday. I mean...how great is that? But, as I recall, I somehow ended up only drinking a (pronounced "ah" as in one very singular depressing) beer and then managed to end up at my place of employ, buying a fake Christmas Tree for my parents (using my discount, of course). Then, we went to The City Museum, but for some reason I ended up driving...
And this Friday, I will actually be packing for a weekend trip to Springfield, IL, to see the Christmas Decorations and the Lincoln museums and such, with Kathy and our friends Heather and Drew. But that should be a great time, so no reason to complain there.
But, all you readers out there, if you would like to celebrate with me, you are welcome to come to The Blues City Deli on Thursday, November 20th, from 6 pm to 8 pm to get yourself some good food, good beer, and listen to some good music as The Rum Drum Ramblers take the stage.
Hope to see you there! Blues City is kind of a small space, so get there early and often. Er...or, just...get there early?
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