Boys' Club

Whew. Busy day. I'm glad I came out swinging this morning with writing, getting as much done as I could, because Exene was gone almost the whole day, on various arcane things, so I had the boys all day. No problem, nothing I'm not used to, believe me.

Not sure what I'll do tomorrow. The boys and I'll figure something out.

B2 cuted me out while I was loading the dishwasher. Out of the blue, he asked me "Daddy, can I help you?" And so I had him help me load the dishwasher. He was very focused on it, eager to assist. Gold star for B2!

China Syndrome

I was reading in Businessweek about how the US is screwing the pooch where alternative energies are concerned ("America Sits Out the Race," August 2-August 8, 2010). It's actually been something that keeps popping up in that magazine, one way or another. China has been racing ahead with it, with something like $35 billion invested in alternative energies in 2009. This easily more than double what the US has done. The most frustrating thing about it is that there is a vital market here just waiting to be tapped, and the US's captivity to Big Oil and Big Coal on energy policy is keeping us out of it. Now, maybe it'll be a "panic button" kind of thing ala Sputnik, where the US will be made acutely aware of how behind it is on this (and the likely $100+ barrels of oil will eventually help grease those wheels), and the US will suddenly get serious on this issue. Maybe. But meantime, China's marching steadily onward on it. Now, I'm not one of those scaredy-cats where China is concerned. Our media likes to demonize China, and I'm not that way. They are, however, making the right decisions where alternative energy is concerned, and our country simply isn't.

Bradbury on Writing

This clip of Ray Bradbury is enjoyable, although he grew up in the golden age of short speculative fiction, where there were plenty of venues for short stories of the type he writes/wrote. Not saying it can't be done, but it's a lot harder in genre fiction to find homes for your work, let alone paying gigs (where, paradoxically, more and more writers are competing in fewer and fewer venues with ever-diminishing readership/circulations, for less and less pay). The kind of Horatio Alger story Bradbury actually experienced is a much unlikelier tale these days.

I banged out 3000 words this morning on the new project -- I never call it a "book" when I first start it, because it's not a book until it's done. But it was nice to get that much down on the front end. I'm going to try to get back to my old turnout level of around 3000-6000 words a day. When Exene's out of my daily mix, I should be able to get even more words down.

BP ... Bernadette Peters!

I didn't realize that Bernadette Peters was Italian (surname "Lazzara"). I don't know if I ever thought about what she was, ethnically. I was only reminded of her because of seeing a blurb about "The Jerk" on SALON that had her picture in there. She was always kinda hot, back in the day, in this kind of kewpie doll sort of way. She's only 5'3" -- another thing I didn't know about her.

Chicago

Was tickled to see Chicago on this list... (funny about the Gen Y thing -- I've noticed that on my commute. I'm like "Damn, Gen Y is taking over! D'oh!")

http://realestate.yahoo.com/promo/10-great-cities-for-young-adults.html

Chicago, Ill.

Metro population: 9,580,567
Cost-of-living index: 118
Median monthly rent: $861 (average is $819)
Average annual wage: $45,119
Unemployment rate: 10.3%
Percentage of Gen Y residents: 24.6%
Top employers: City, state and federal government, Chicago Public Schools, Wal-Mart Stores, Advocate Health Care, Walgreen, JP Morgan Chase, Abbott Laboratories, AT&T
Chicago is an exceptional value in big-city living, packing the cultural punch of Manhattan at nearly half the cost. Its lakefront district, with beaches, parks, a zoo and several museums, is a model for other waterfront cities. There are great sports teams, theater companies, and music festivals. And it's the home of the deep-dish pizza. The jobless rate is higher than the national average, but the Windy City's financial sector is thriving and promises more entry-level jobs in the future.
PROS: Low cost of living for a major city, cheap and widely available rentals, an efficient and user-friendly public transportation system, high-paying jobs in business and finance, great nightlife and entertainment venues
CONS: Extreme winter weather, high crime rate, and it's a long car drive to other major cities

Weekendish

Plans for the weekend? Do I ever really plan that far ahead? Nah. Weather permitting, I'll take the boys out, maybe hit the Zoo. I'm going to write (of course), hunt out some furniture, and clean up the boys' room, which is in need of it. I'll have the guys help, too, but I just want to get it cleaned up. I'd like to get some new dressers for the boys, too, if I can find any that are any good. Nothing much planned beyond that, but I think that's probably enough for a couple of days.

On the ride in this morning, this sort of odd gal sat next to me -- older woman, 50-something (?) in a navy blue summer dress. Done up, just kind of odd vibe from her. Of course, she sat next to me, primly sitting there with her bags on her lap, staring forward. Crowded bus, breaks of the game, but then when the bus emptied, she stayed in the spot next to me, which irks me. One of those mass transit-user etiquette things, like when the conveyance clears up, move over, give yourself and your fellow commuter more room. But no. She just stays there, staring forward, same blank expression on her face. Totally irksome. Then my stop comes, and I move to get up, and she still doesn't move. Just sits there, motionless. I push past her, glad to get off the bus. I glance back into the bus as I'm leaving, and she's still just staring ahead. She looks vaguely like Kate Pierson of the B-52s, although sans beehive. This picture looks a lot like her, like the eye makeup thing going on.

I think Michael Bay's film crew may still be around town here and there. I saw some film trucks on some of the side streets. Definitely filming on-location. He's been around for a few weeks, getting the shots.

Parental Miseries?

http://www.tnr.com/blog/damon-linker/76603/the-misery-the-modern-parent

“Happiness is a superficial and fragile thing; joy is happiness that has been deepened and refined by tragedy. Joy is happiness with dimension. Joy is what you have that tells you that the burden is light, the yoke is freedom.”

There’s certainly truth in that. Though I fear that Rod is staying within the conceptual universe that leads so many parents—or rather, so many of the early twenty-first-century, upper-middle-class, professional, secular, American parents highlighted in the New York magazine article—to view parenting as such an unhappy burden.

As ever, the New York whiners. I imagine the absence of accolades that generally accompanyg good parenting bother them. I never complain about parenting (my sole complaint being that I do nearly 70% of the parental load, to Exene's roughly 30% -- and this is borne out statistically, isn't just some arbitrary number I throw out). But in terms of the actual parental load, I don't have a problem with it. I work on my ME stuff when I can, but not to the exclusion of the boys (again, this differentiates me from Exene, who just runs off [literally] or in other ways just checks out).

I don't complain about parenting because it's the nature of parenting to be hard. It's like working in a coal mine and complaining about all the dust and dirt! It's just part of the deal. I guess that's what makes me a great dad. When I had the boys with my family in North Carolina on vacation, at one point, B2 was acting up, being a real pistol, and I just kept my cool, held to my parental line (he wasn't wanting to eat the food I'd set out for him), and eventually, without losing my head, B2 came around and ate his meal. No drama (and no mama -- haha). My mom, stepdad, and stepsister were all amazed that I hadn't lost my temper with B2, hadn't raised my voice. I just kept my cool.

Kids are kids. They're the ultimate egoists, and I think it's actually kinda charming about them. They're these young little universes, full of promise and potential, and it doesn't even occur to them that there are other universes out there, and that the reality beyond them doesn't care about them, or is even dangerous to them. Sure, it's a bliss borne of ignorance and naivete, but at the same time, it's charming. They want what they want when they want it. Over time, they learn (or should learn) the necessity of diplomacy and tact (and, again, amusingly, they learn Machiavellian intrigues so damned early). I think kids are great. Fatherhood is a true joy for me, because I think kids are wonderful. For them, everything is new and wonderful. That's precious, so I do my part to ensure that they get the best sampling of life that I can give them.

And it's still amusing to me what they pick up, what strikes their fancy -- B1 loves disasters of every stripe, black holes, volcanoes, earthquakes, avalanches, tsunamis, tornadoes, hurricanes, asteroids, comets, meteors, sharks, tanks, ships; B2 loves guns, cars, garbage trucks, guitars, music, performing, mischief, dogs, trains, jets, books.

This morning, the boys pretended that we were blasting off for Mars as I walked them to their sitter. I've played that game with them before, but this morning, the boys were mostly narrating it themselves, with B1 describing nebulae as we went on our way, interference with our radios and guidance systerms, while B2 was talking about being in a space capsule. I offered bits of input here and there, but it was a delight to see them playing together like that, crafting a fun narrative around an otherwise routine trip.

Gods and Ghosts

The boys are watching "Hercules" tonight. They love that movie. It butchers the Greek myths, but for Disney fare, it's enjoyable enough.

I'm researching ghost towns for one of the projects I'm working on. Ghost towns fascinate me. It's funny -- ghosts, not so much, but ghost towns? Definitely.

Ever see the pictures of Chernobyl these days? This isn't the best-organized Web page, but the pictures are haunting. A lost place.

Ill-Suited

I forgot to mention this morning, an amusing moment -- I got on the elevator with a Korean couple who had a golden retriever (Sweet dog. I asked its name, and it was "Polo"). Anyway, it was a friendly dog, as goldens usually are, and the elevator opened and this young guy in a very nice pinstriped suit stood there, and you could see him weighing it in his head, whether or not to get in the little elevator with that friendly dog, or whether to wait until the next elevator came. He decided to enter, and came in and hugged the wall. It really was a nice suit, no doubt, but the look on the guy's face was priceless, like "PLEASE, PLEASE let this dog stay the fuck away from me. Don't. Fuck. With. The. Suit." Polo the Wonder Dog didn't mess with him (I helped Pinstripe out by petting the dog, running interference, basically), and when we reached the lobby, everybody filed out, going their separate ways.

Small World

I haven't watched "Jersey Shore," but a few coworkers have, and have talked about it more than a bit. That show seems to have captured a bit of a pop cultural moment. I'm amused, in that my hometown of long ago (Youngstown) was sometimes known as "Little Hoboken" (!!!) and, in some ways, there is a bit of cultural affinity one can find between dwellers of Youngstown and folks in New Jersey -- what plays in New Jersey is likely to play in Youngstown, in some way. You can almost count on it. Anyway, Nicole "Snooki" Polizzi is apparently emerging as the "star" of that show, surely swilling down her 15 minutes of fame. I was amazed to read that she's only 4'9" -- wow. THAT is tiny. That's only about three inches taller than B1, for god's sake (I mean, he's a tall boy, but still, wow). Tiny, tiny chick.

Mission Statement

Damn. Mission of Burma are coming back to Chicago, for the Wicker Park Music Festival. I saw them the last time they were in town, at Double Door, and they were fantastic. Truly, one of the best small-venue shows I've ever seen. I'm tempted to see them again, EXCEPT that it would mean cooling my heels in Wicker Park, where you can't swing a dead cat without hitting a hipster. Never mind that Wicker Park's been gentrifying for the past decade, or that its best years were another decade before then (and even then, not so swell) -- the WP is still a hipster haven, and the prospect of being there with all the too-cool-for-school motionless minions would be tough to take. I will give Mission of Burma credit at Double Door -- they brought it, and that show actually had an incredible dynamic where they actually broke through the wall of Too Self-Conscious To Dance-ishness that plagues so many shows -- they just did it through sheer chops and performance skill. That show was organic and impressive, a living thing, and by the end, everybody was jumping around and howling, completely transported. But that was in a small indoor venue -- at a festival, it's trickier. I dunno. I likely won't go, although I'm sorely tempted. Mission of Burma are such a good band, I'm glad they've been touring steadily since their reunion. Some bands just ride reunion tours and phone it in, but Misison of Burma bring it. It's better than Wicker Park deserves! Hah!

Kalamazoo River Oil Spill

Nice going, Michigan. Michiganders. Pffff. Just what we need, an oil slick on Lake Michigan. Were they envious at all the attention the Gulf was getting or something? Lordy. This article doesn't cover it, but the Kalamazoo River flows swiftly, and feeds into Lake Michigan, which is about 80 miles away from the site of the disaster.

It reminds me of a pizzeria job I worked around 1992, where this total clod was working in the back, and he was just worthless, a total drag on our crew -- he'd sing "Rumpshaker" all day and would dance around and was gloating about how he was joining the Air Force. And another coworker and I were commenting on it to each other, and I said "Someday, we're going to read about planes falling out of the sky, and it's because HE'S gonna be the one doing the rivets on the jets." Then we mimed hip-hop dancing to "Rumpshaker" and working a riveting gun haphazardly. "Shake baby shake baby one, two, three..."

Power Games

Saw this curious article in the Chicago READER today.

While who knows if or whether this guy's invention would work, the real roadblock to alternative energy revolves around centralization of energy resources. That's the irony of it all -- Democrat or Republican, control of power is the main sticking point, where moving forward is concerned. Because many of the alternative energy resources (particularly wind and solar) allow at least the potential for decentralization of the power grid. The "virtue" of existing fuels is control of supply -- whether oil or natural gas or coal (or even "alternatives" like oil shales and ethanol) -- you have a company controlling the supply of the energy source. That plays handily into the cartel model of energy production that keeps everybody else dependent on the supplier (think of DeBeers and their diamonds, how zealously and jealously they control production there -- it's actually quite striking the measures they take to ensure control). And even nuclear, the most-likely to be implemented "alternative" energy source is one that is tightly-controlled and centralized (which, in my view, is why it's the likeliest to be fully realized).

The "problem" with wind and solar is that if the right approach is used, it would allow individuals to become their own energy producers. It's no accident that the existing model for even these alternatives is having solar and wind farms -- trying to centralize these alternative energy sources, and keeping them "behind the wall," brokered by energy companies.

The biggest nightmare of the power brokers is a decentralized energy grid, because suddenly people would no longer be dependent on a company for their power needs (sure, the wind and solar suppliers would still have a market, but the centralized power company, whether oil, coal, natural gas, or nuclear -- would be extinct).

Fundamentally, it's about control, as is so much in our society. People generate their own power, grow their own food, what need is there for a State? You'll see -- while they won't frame it that way (because of what it implies), centralization of power will continue to be the shadow hanging over the energy debate, and the goal will be keeping everybody dependent on power companies and utilities for their energy needs, regardless of the actual energy delivered.

Pasted

Here is one of the wheatpasted collage bits I saw (alluded to in the earlier post). There are a number of them peppered around the city...

I'm pleased with the colors of this picture, actually. It came out nicer than I thought it would.

Busin' etc.

The bus ride home was packed with amusements; lots of material I soaked up like a sponge. Totally got a short story out of the raw material. Just jotted notes to create it. A literary story, nothing genre.

I had a kind of epiphany today -- namely, that nobody sets out to write a Literary story -- that the whole "Literary" idea is bullshit. There are simply stories that stand the test of time, and those that don't. And the ones that survive become "Literature" -- regardless of their origins. Yesterday's "Genre" fiction become today's "Literature" and tomorrow's "Classics." Not all, naturally. Most vanish, but I think that's really how it happens.

Which is why the so-called "Literary" shit so many acolytes of the NYC Litfic industry churn out are just so bankrupt artistically -- exercises in pointlessness. Things that Litfic types sneer at -- you know, ephemera like "plot" -- are what make stories stories. And these colorless waifs, these paragons of Litfic, they work strenuously to write evocatively about ultimately nothing.

I mean, Stephen King wrote horror fiction, yes? And he was hugely popular in his day, of course, while the Litfic types generally shunned him. By his own admission, he wrote "salami" -- he admired writers like Joyce Carol Oates, among others. However, isn't it likely that some (certainly not all) of his books will stand the test of time? Already he's become a kind of literary elder statesman, earning some grudging plaudits from the avatars of good literary taste. Perhaps belatedly, or perhaps it's a bowing to the inevitable, I'm not sure. I mean, I read King as a teen, and stopped reading him after high school, but what's the separate King from, say, Robert Louis Stevenson or Jules Verne, except the span of time? It will be impossible to discuss fiction in the 20th Century without referring to Stephen King.

Then again, maybe people will have all but stopped reading in a century, and we won't be discussing literature at all.

I saw a "Manga Explains Physics" book at the bookstore -- basically a comic book explaining physics. The initial amusement factor if it hit me straightaway, like "Funny!" but then I thought "Wow. Maybe this is how ALL books will look in another 20 years. Maybe it'll all be a comic book."

Yikes.

Bedbuggery

Way to go, New York City: Bedbug capital of the world! Apparently some other cities are experiencing this bedbug renaissance, too. Nice to know that NYC is leading the charge on bedbugs. Maybe too many unwashed hipsters there? Just a thought.

We (Culture) Jammin'

I forgot to mention something amusing from the other day. While going through my 'hood, I passed these three whey-faced younglings who looked like they were Up To Something Serious(tm), striding purposefully past me -- army jackets? Check. Chuck Taylors? Check. Black stovepipe jeans? Check. Art Institute of Chicago bags? Check. I noted them in passing, couldn't help it. Serious, serious business. Anyway, I noted them, without paying too much attention, as I was en route to someplace else. Then later that day, I saw that somebody had wheatpasted these collage-poems (I snapped a photo of one; I should post it this evening) throughout the 'hood. All over the place, a bunch of them.

But the funny thing, the punchline, is that I think I found one of their IDs -- I saw it on the street while going to get some groceries, and I saw this ID sitting there in the street, was like "What's THIS?" and I picked it up and saw that it was (I am nearly sure) one of the Pop Cultural Commandos I had seen! I'm sure she's shitting biscuits between bong hits, like "Dooood, where's my ID?? Fawwwwk!"

I pocketed the ID, and thought at first that I'd just mail it back to them (if I can find them -- their name was pretty distinctive, so it should be fairly easy to sleuth'em out). But then I thought about making a little bit of conceptual art to contain their ID and THEN mail it back to them. Then they'd be  like "Dooood! My fawking ID that I thought was lost came back to me in THIS!" and then they see the little thing I created to house their ID. I'm still mulling it, but it amuses me just enough that I might do it. I was thinking of a box-within-a-box-within-a-box-within-a box or something like that. Different boxes. And the final one contains the ID, without sourcing or explanation. Bahah!

Note to would-be Cultural Commandos: don't carry your IDs on you when you go a'wheatpasting!

Lost Highway, found again

I'm tickled to see "Lost Highway" in the Onion's AV Club. It's one of my favorite David Lynch movies. People usually gush about "Eraserhead" and "Blue Velvet," and "Mulholland Drive," but "Lost Highway" is a keeper in so many ways -- a tasty, horrific lil' film noir with so much going for it, in terms of atmosphere. Some of the shots of it are so unsettling (one of my favorites is this slow pan of Pullman's character's bedroom, where the camera moves very slowly across it and you don't even realize you've gone into absolute darkness until you're already there -- wonderful shot).

I remember seeing it in the theaters when it came out, dragging a high school buddy to see it (Exene came along, too), sometime in 1997, when it came out. Hard to believe -- 27-year-old Dave! Long ago! Anyway, it was a stunning, horrifying movie. I remember walking out in a daze, everybody silent for about 20 minutes, and then my friend said "What the HELL was that movie all about?" I had my theories, and I expounded on them, what I thought had happened.

I think the "key" to "Lost Highway" is entirely there, and the ONION guy appears to mostly get it in his review. The key is Bill Pullman's talk of how he likes to remember things in his own way, not how they necessarily actually happened. That's it. And the two halves of the movie, in my view, reflect this dichotomy -- the impossible seems to happen midway through the movie, and we see what seems to be a second plot emerge out of the blue, but really, it's all interwoven -- it's all Pullman's nightmare, his fantasy -- he projects himself into that second plot, as somebody else. The second plot is really a shadow image of the original plot, what Pullman's character did to try to come to terms with what he actually did. The clues and keys are all there (especially in the VIDEO -- the videotaping is the key to it, because Pullman's character has this aversion to objective reality when it comes up against his ego, and so the videotape motif of it is vital to getting what was actually going on, versus what was appearing to go on. The video doesn't lie, and that's vital).

The trick of "Lost Highway" is that you have an unreliable narrator (really not a narrator, but an unreliable protagonist). Lynch's game he plays with the audience is having us, the audience, experience Pullman's character's world through his eyes, with reality periodically intruding and disturbing him (as reality surely must disturb the delusional). It's a brilliant movie (and is definitely a teste flight for what he did with "Mulholland Drive" -- which more people like, and which revisits those ideas he established in "Lost Highway.")

Pullman's character is so out of touch that he creates these extensions of self to shield his "real" (?) self from the consequences of his actions. It's kind of like "Fight Club" without the big revelation in the mix (and, again, video plays a role in that revelation, too, if you'll remember). The revelation in "Lost Highway" (which makes the movie make much more sense) is gradual, and isn't so nakedly apparent as in Fincher's movie.

Therein lies the brilliance of it -- people get distracted by Lynch's tendency to quirk the fuck out of his movies, but in this one, he trusted his audience to be sharp enough to get what was going on, without spoon-feeding them. The trouble is, most of his audience were Americans, not Europeans, so the indirect approach in his movie likely left people not sure what the hell was happening.

Seeing the ONION blurb above makes me want to get "Lost Highway" on DVD again. I loved that movie, and it's still one of my favorites of Lynch's. One of the best scenes in it, and scariest...

Mystery Man

Now, if you view the above as objective reality, then there's this bogeyman giving Bill Pullman shit at this party, and this entity is doing what seems to be impossible. But really, the Mystery Man is an extension of Pullman himself, and doesn't actually exist. He's a projection of his murderous guilt, essentially. The Mystery Man IS Pullman, and Pullman is the demonic Mystery Man. But Pullman sees himself as a good guy, not a demon, and so he recoils from this part of himself, and what horrible things that part of himself actually did.

Whensday

I woke up this morning momentarily disoriented, unsure what day it was. For a moment, I thought it was the weekend. Then I walked my mind through the days and realized where I was: Wednesday.

Today is a good day, I think. I signed the lease for the apartment -- just my name on it. My place! MINE! The new lease kicks in on October 1. Yippee! And it's about $40 less than my rent has been on the place, so how great is that? It rocks. Happy Dave!

It's humid as hell. I think it'll storm today.

While waiting for the bus this morning, I was amused at the automotive calvalcade -- life in the LP: a dozen BMWs cruising by, a handful of Audis, some Mercedes, a Porsche, some Lexuses (or is that "Lexi?" Hah). All the wealthies going their merry way, while I waited for my bus.

I'm looking forward to finding work in the Loop again. Then I can take the bus, the train, can bicycle, or even walk, if I wanted to. I love those kind of transportation options. I love living in the LP. It's a pricey neighborhood, but it's a great neighborhood, too.

School's Out

Stop the presses! Better-paid teachers and smaller class sizes yield better outcomes for the students?! You don't say!

The Case for the $320,000 Kindergarten Teacher

Our country's ambivalence toward education (and particularly, it's blowing off of primary education) is frustrating. Mortgaging the future for the sake of ideology. It's just stoooooopid.

The Whole Enchilada

I made chicken enchiladas yesterday. They were yummy! See?

Phairness Doctrine

I'm thrilled to see the backlash against Liz Phair of late -- that's been due for, what, 17 years? I've long, long been one of the Liz Phair dislikers -- I thought she was a cynical opportunist, an artistic fraud right out of the box. I liked "Stratford-On-Guy" (somewhat), but thought her masterpiece, "Exile in Guyville" -- her seminal, iconic, fuck-me feminist play-by-play that owed its very existence to the Rolling Stones' "Exile on Main Street" the way that "Ulysses" owed its existence to "The Odyssey" and "Ahab's Wife" (and "Lo's Diary") owe their existences to "Moby-Dick" and "Lolita" -- I thought it was decidedly mediocre. It was only because Liz Phair was who she was that it gained any legs at all.

Meta. Meta. Meta to the bone. That alone bugs the bejeezus out of me. The novelty of a young woman singing dirty songs and swearing and ginning up her posh Winnetka life with tales of the mean streets of Wicker Park (haha -- I think she spent a few months dicking around in Wicker Park in its heady early 90s days when there was a scene of sorts there, but she came from the rarefied air of Winnetka, not the whitebread gritty fauxhemia of Wicker Park) -- it was intoxicating to a generation of hipsters and scenesters and indie rock dickheads and [prefix of choice]-feminists.

And the thing is, as a con goes, Phair triumphed -- by and large, these folks swallowed the swindle (a few notable standouts were Steve Albini, who was onto it from the start, and wrote about it, famously referring to Phair and Urge Overkill and Smashing Pumpkins as "the three pandering sluts"). It was the Great Train Robbery, and Phair was Ronnie Biggs.

Liz Phair, Pheminist.

Anyway, I think Phair was conning people at the outset, which was why her subsequent efforts were so artistically bankrupt even as she did things like marrying her producer and tapping Pop music svengalis to try to spin off some more hits for her. But each effort brought ever-diminishing returns -- without the meta-album conceit to fall back on and frame her work for her, Phair's already-meager talents were worn threadbare, until the half-clad Indie Empress was finding herself without a stitch -- which wasn't something she was particular averse to, since it was part of her shtick, anyway. Like Sheryl Crow's sluttier younger sister, basically (and no doubt Crow offered Phair a kind of roadmap for that bland commercial empty success Phair was surely striving for).

Still, St. Liz was unassailable for such a long time (what I'd call the "Phairness Doctrine" -- basically, anything Phair did was apologized for and explained away), by the same acolytes and music journalists that had swilled the pop cultural Kool-Aid to begin with -- having already checked their aesthetics at the door in 1993, they had already invested their egos in her, and were reluctant to cop to the fraud without admitting that they were as full of shit as Phair was, or that they had been fooled.

Until now, apparently. In her latest musical debacle, "Funstyle," her acolytes are scratching their heads and wondering what the hell Phair is up to. Rapping on one of the tunes, lamenting the crass commercialism of the music industry (only lamenting it because her efforts to cash in had ultimately failed) and so on. Even Indie Rock Dickheads without peer like Pitchfork are what-the-fucking this latest release (as you can see here).


The challenge her fans and apologists face is accepting that they were duped at the outset (and Phair certainly deserves credit for tapping a perfect zeitgeist moment with "Exile in Guyville" -- she certainly was in the right place at the right time with that effort, pulling a Jedi Mind Trick on so many people). So, I'm enjoying watching and hearing people come to terms with this new album in various ways -- mostly centered around either denial (like "What was she thinking?") or a kind of qualified acceptance (like "Well, it's not SO terrible.") to angry rejection (like "She's insane. This is SHIT!") Charlatans, one and all, facing (or about-facing) an epiphany.

My beefs with Phair were manifold -- false Indie Rock/Alternative; the meta-album template leading to her singular triumph; the lack of much to sing about or musical talent on her part; the shameless, calculated chasing after commercialism (while at the same time carrying her Indier Than Thou creds in her back pocket, like a hairbrush); the notion of Phair as some kind of ur-feminist icon "voice of a generation" (without actually carving out much in the way of new ground, beyond "fuck-me feminism" -- which isn't much of a feminism at all) -- all of these bugged me (and worse, how critiques of Phair were often derided for being anti-feminist, when really it was anti-bullshit -- I mean, The Strokes were as annoying to me as Phair was, when they had their day in the sun).


Anyway, it's cool to see this latest effort flame out so mightily, as it might finally bury Phair once and for all! Life's not Phair! Woo hoo! It's over. She's over. It took 17 years, but stick a fork in her: she's done.

Bahahah

This amused the hell out of me. Saw this at the bookstore! "Glutes." Bahah!

Heh

It amused me to parallel my other foot shot with this one...

Men are from Venus?

Saw this blurb this morning in SALON (which was, itself, tracking a study elsewhere)...

The takeaway: Men's happiness depends on having an emotionally-supportive relationship, while women's happiness depends on not being alone, period.

I agree with that on the guy's end of things. An emotionally-supportive relationship matters hugely to me -- it's a big reason why I had to pull the ripcord on my marriage with Exene: there simply wasn't that emotional support there; if anything, I felt like I was doing the emotional lifting for two people.

Bric-a-brackish

This weekend was alternately fun and harrowing; I didn't feel like I got a decent break during it, although I still managed to see two movies ("Inception" on Friday night, and "Despicable Me" yesterday with the boy -- I loved the latter, didn't like the former).

Got laundry done, had to deal with that leaky ceiling, cooked Mexican food Saturday and Sunday (tacos Saturday, enchiladas Sunday), took care of the boys, and had an argument with Exene for old times' sake (ha). Just a lot of stuff going on, and I didn't get any writing done, which always leaves me feeling unsettled and ill-at-ease. I'm on the front end of a stack of projects, and just need the proper breathing space to carry them out. Just don't have that breathing space, yet.

I want to get rid of that abominable sofabed we have. I want to take an axe to the fucking thing, replace it with a futon (how collegiate of me, no?) But for the needs of the moment, that's just about ideal. Simple, straightforward. Chop that crappy sofabed into flinders and be done with it. Exene doesn't want it, and the thing popped a rivet or two over the weekend (like imagine me opening the thing and hearing *ping* and seeing a rivet sitting there on the ground, and then the thing not properly closing anymore). I just want to get rid of it, but I have to time it right -- have it limp along until I can get its replacement in place. Voila.

My boys cuted me out all weekend; they're a couple of treasures. Such great kids. I took B1 to a karate class Saturday, which he sorta liked, sorta didn't (he doesn't like the shouting -- the ki-yah's and so forth). There's a closer karate place I may take him to, see if that one is more his style. Not sure.

I'd really like to find work I could do at home; that would be ideal. I mean, as an editor, I could probably cobble together a freelance enterprise one way or another, but it's tricky. Still, it would solve so much if I could do that, just be home with the boys. They'd be happy, and I'd be happy (provided I could make enough to support them).

Blender

B1 just said "A tornado is like the Earth's blender -- every time you see a tornado, it means Earth wants a smoothie. You always see tornadoes on hot days."

Love it!

Waterblogged

I talked with the super this morning, and it appears a drain on the floor above ours was clogged, blocked, or in some way not working, and my floor got leaky ceilings all over the place. They fixed it, and the leaking stopped. Just glad I had a few of those old plastic cat litter buckets around to catch the drips. Whew.

It's stopped, now, so now it's just a matter of drying rugs and towels and ShamWows! ; )

I'm going back to sleep; that leaky ceiling crap woke me up too early.

*Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz*

Water, Water, Everywhere

WTF? I woke up this morning to dripping -- apparently the storm caused leaks in our foyer -- got two buckets holding the water. There's also some unspecified leak in the kitchen I'm trying to find. Ack!

Gee, I wonder if Exene'll still want this apartment unit? Bahah! My bet is "No."

After tending to it, I called the building maintenance. The balcony of the (empty?) unit above ours must've gotten a leak, and we're getting it, now. D'oh! Well, at least it's in the foyer, versus, say, over the books or the computer.

That was some storm last night!

Honorable Mentioned

I was pleased to see both of my published short stories (ack, yeah, all two of them -- I'm sooo overdue for a fresh publishing credit) of the other year were among the honorable mentions for the "Best Horror of the Year" anthology put together by editor Ellen Datlow. Nice to see that, since Datlow's not an easy sell on fiction (I know, since she's rejected more than a handful of my stories over the years), and for both of my stories to get a polite tip of the cap made me smile for a moment.

I think the long fiction I'm working on this year (and will be working on next year) will make a much-larger impression on people than those short stories, assuming I can get a publisher to pick them up. Always the big IF in the mix.

Just listening to the rain right now, the thunder. I should go to bed.

Sleepy

I'm not actually sleepy. I'm a bit caffeine-jazzed from seeing "Inception" (had a giant Coke Zero). Anyway, I found it to be a disappointing movie. I'll review it at Pirouettiquette.

It's thunderstorming right now, although mostly just raining. Soothing sounds.

Inception

So, I'm going to catch "Inception" somewhere after work. Haven't decided, yet. Someplace downtown. It's crazy-hot here today, and is likely to be so tomorrow, too. Ack. So glad I live next to the lake. One thing I will say about living in Chicago -- hug the shore! Don't go west. Stay by the shore, where it's about 10 degrees cooler than it is in the rest of the city. When it's mid-90s, it matters! Lordy, yes. Fucking HOT today.

I'll review "Inception" elsewhere.

Hopefully Exene won't be around this weekend. Bleah. Can't wait until I never have to say that again. Yeah! From "Bleah" to "Yeah!" in so many words! Baha!

My life actually is going to be so much better on my own. It's incredible to realize that. Maybe lonelier in some way, shape, and form, but since writing's "the loneliest profession" (wasn't it Hemingway who said that?) I'm really ready for that, honestly. I'll make use of that time to write -- that's the best thing about writing: you're never really alone. Hahah! But seriously, part of what drives me with my writing is building a better future for my boys -- that matters so much to me. If I can get things going with my fiction, I'll have single-handedly safeguarded their futures, and that matters more to me than anything I've done in my life. I want to do right by them.

It was the hardest thing for me to come to terms with splitting with Exene not because of her, but because of the boys. First I thought they'd be demolished by that reality, and worried that I needed to be there for them, but then I realized that being Happy Daddy was vital for their long-term health as much as it was for me -- they needed to see their dad happy and free and creative and vital, to be a good model for them. And in so being, I'll be able to create a good life for them, give them a head start, despite being a single parent.

I'm going to do better by them than I ever could as Exene's hired hand, truly. It's so clear to me. I'm free to be fully me, and there is power in that, and they'll see that and take heart in that, despite the change in their lives this will bring. I'm at peace with that.

Shrimps On Prozac?

Weird study I just saw today on SALON, basically showing that shrimp exposed to the main chemical in Prozac are more vulnerable to dying, for whatever reason. Several things about this -- I've been wondering for years about the role antidepressants play in suicides and murder-suicides, but the prospect of the chemical poisoning the environment by the way of urban runoff is creepy as well. The tip of the hat to brain parasites manipulating serotonin levels in shrimp is, of course, intriguing, too, given my lingering fascination with parasites. Parasites are tricky mofos. I'm forever amazed that dinosaurs had tapeworms, and those frickin' tapeworms survived the extinction of dinosaurs and migrated to mammalian species (no doubt because early mammals scavenged dinosaur remains and picked up the tapeworms, which then adapted themselves to mammalian bodies). That's an impressive (and horrifying) evolutionary feat. Don't underestimate parasites! Seriously. They. Will. Fuck. You. Up.

I've also long followed endocrine disruptors in the environment, too, which seem to come from plastics, creating false estrogens which may increase risks of cancer (and may be responsible for declining fertility in populations). Creepy shit.

That's Right!

Ah, I do love Zappos! Fastest. Free. Delivery. Ever. I ordered these yesterday, and today, they're here! Woo hoo! My navy blue Top-Siders. Yeah!

Onion ha-ha

This ONION article (below), and the accompanying picture, made me snicker...

Kid Ready to Start Playdating Again

"The playdating scene can be shallow, and you meet a lot of kids who won't think twice before lying to your face, but there's got to be that special someone out there somewhere," Gallagher said. "Look, I'm not going to say that it's not hard, because it is. But what am I supposed to do? Sit in the corner and cry all day?"

Added Gallagher, "Trust me, I've done that already."

Bahaha!

Kind of timely, too, since the new episode of "Louie" the other night had a gag about playdates (only hinted at in the trailer -- Louie and the gal at the end have a playdate with their respective kids).

This older ONION article is amusing, too (the picture is my favorite part)...

Sorta Attractive Girl Halfheartedly Hit On

Clementine!

As you can see, my little Clementine tree is coming along nicely!

Argyle!

Yes, my formerly-pewter loafers are now trending toward a worldly ivory hue.

Black & Blue

You know what I want? A black Timex and some blue Sperry Top-Siders. The Timex below isn't the exact one I want, but it's close. I will get the exact one I want, once I'm able to find it. The Top-Siders should be far easier to find. I want'em, and I'm gonna get'em.

I haven't worn any Top-Siders since high school, but I always liked'em. And the blue ones are awesome. I'm totally getting'em.

Immutable Laws

I don't generally like the New Pornographers much, aside from this tune (below) and "Twin Cinema." But this video always amuses me -- crafted after an art film, I'm amused because several of the characters in it remind me of people I've known in my life...

The New Pornographers, "The Laws Have Changed"

Guy on Pedestal (particularly after he Mods up) = former coworker
Vixen Temptress = former classmate
Keyboardist = former coworker
Lead Singer Chick = former coworker
Guitarist = former coworker
Whey-faced Bartender = former coworker
Dancing Guy with Shades = former coworker

It just amuses me, how many people this video reminds me of, all in one place. I don't know of any other video that has so many!

Bahah

"Louie" on FX cracks me up. This bit is funny...

"You smell like dying. It's sexy."

"Dukakis? Who's that?"

*snicker*

Sweaty, Wordy, Movie, Boring, Psyched, Enjoyable

Man, the dog days of Chicago summer are here. Hot and humid. Hazy! Argh! I sweat from 74 degrees on up, and we're way above that these days, with high humidity.

I got up early and banged out 1600 words on the book I'm doing right now. Pleased with that progress.

They're still apparently filming downtown. Leave it to Michael Bay to go over the top in his shooting downtown.

Editorial meeting in a few. Blech. Boring! Yawnsville!

I'm so stoked about having my own place -- I'm already plotting it out, carving out my own space. Paradise! Books! Plants! Art! Fun! Fun! Fun! So long overdue, but I'm in a great mood about it. Even with the career clouds on the horizon, I'm happy as can be, and getting happier. Getting Exene out of my mix is going to be so wonderful!

I'm taking the boys to see "Despicable Me" this weekend, since it got good reviews, and I think they'd enjoy it. And then a trip to the bookstore, and Jamba Juice. They'll have a good time, and I will, too. Those lil' guys are the best.

Transformation

Here are a couple of shots of the latest dressed-up part of downtown for the movie...

I don't know how many more days they're shooting in the city, but it's still funny, although it makes the commute a bit of a bitch. I'll definitely hop the El for the ride home, so I can avoid the devastation on Wacker Drive!

*eyeroll*

It's funny to think about the origins of the eyeroll (and the eyebrow raise). Or I think it is, anyway. Like somebody rolls their eyes at you (not that anybody has -- at least not in recent memory) -- anyway, you instantly understand what they're communicating, right? Nobody sees an eyeroll without understanding the meaning behind it.

So, how'd that evolve? It's clearly a facial mannerism, and is tied to emotions, so it is some kind of behavior that evolved over time, useful for communicating, what, scorn? Contempt? Exasperation? Useful information to convey for a social animal, so the efficacy of the eyeroll can't be questioned, although how precisely it arose fascinates me.

Like the smile has been studied pretty heavily in primates as a sign of non-aggression. Again, it operates on such a basic level that we react to it pretty instinctively. And the eyeroll does the same thing, in terms of that instinctive power it possesses.

It just amuses me to think of some primordial cavewoman looking at her caveman beau and thinking "CHRIST, what a fucktard." and she rolls her eyes. And, yes, I do think the first eyeroll was done by a woman. Moments like that just amuse me -- I'd enjoy being a time traveler and seeing esoterica like that.

The raised eyebrow likely has a similar provenance, but it communicates a more complicated kind of facial cue -- alternately ironic, flirty, mocking, amused, bemused, intrigued -- complex emotions in that simple gesture. And what fascinates me most about the raised eyebrow (and I think I've blogged about this before), anyway, is that some people can't do that at all. Some people can do the right eyebrow (me; cocking that eyebrow as I write this), some can do the left, some can do both, and some can do neither.

So, how the hell did that get passed on (or not), and why can some people do it, and some people are unable to? I mean, it just intrigues me. Like imagine this scenario...

URK: Gronk, have you tended the sheep?
GRONK: Yes, Urk, I have.

Simple exchange, no? And then let's try it with an eyebrow raised...

URK: Gronk, have you tended the sheep?
GRONK (raises eyebrow): Yes, Urk, I have.

or

GRONK: Yes, Urk, I have (raises eyebrow).

See? Nuance and mystery and complication and irony are thrown into the mix. What's Gronk up to? Is Gronk slyly mocking Urk in some way? Is Gronk up to something?

Somehow, evolutionarily, eyebrow-raising conferred some kind of edge to the people who have it (although I'm unsure of the actual numbers of people capable of doing it, and the distribution of right-, left-, and both-raised eyebrows). We'll have to wait until some swell at Harvard does this study and earns plaudits for it, but I'm here wondering it right fucking now, dammit!

Maybe the raised eyebrow was capable of angering one's enemies into doing something foolhardy. Or maybe the comic nature of it made one more desirable to one's prospective partners.

Certainly, however, the people who can raise both eyebrows look downright diabolical, having an almost impish bearing.

Exene can't really move either of her eyebrows -- unsurprising, really -- she's not one to be ironic or bemused about anything, particularly. In fact, the rheumo commented that her face wasn't nearly as lined as a woman of her age should be (she does have crow's feet, but that's about it), and he was concerned about that, relative to her overal condition, checked her face to see if there was swelling or whatever, drawing it out. The truth is that her face isn't overly wrinkled because she doesn't express much in the way of emotion. Duh! Heart of stone, face of stone. Her default expression is neutral and empty; not an animated face by any means. Anyway, she's one of the non-eyebrow raisers.

I am intrigued at how some people can do it, and when that mutation (?) or adaptation (?) proliferated in the human population.

ASHRAM: (raises eyebrow) The yaks are plentiful here, my brother.
AVRIM: A bit too plentiful, perhaps? (raises eyebrow)
RIA: Whatever are we to do? (rolls eyes)

Have you rolled your eyes, yet? Seriously, next time you do it, just think about the long evolutionary road that (or the eyebrow raise) took to get to you, and imagine your ancestors tapping into that emotional well with that arsenal of expressions.

Tooooosday

I banged out 2000 words this morning on the book I'm working on. I'm shooting to get it done by summer's end. It's coming along nicely, I think. I decided to give it 12 (or at most, 13 chapters). Long chapters, averaging about 7000 words -- which is a departure for me. I have a certain intuitive sense of rhythm with my fiction, and will write scenes with that in mind, so writing longer chapters "feels" different to me. It's an experiment for me.

I have several more books queued up in my head, will work on them in turn. The long drive south always triggers my creative juices -- the South just radiates "vibe" and inspires me.

(later, around noontime)

I got a Tuscan Chicken Melt from Subway (footlong flatbread, provolone, cucumber slices, lettuce, black olives, green peppers, red onions, oregano, black pepper, and their Tuscan sauce).

I was amused by yesterday's horoscopes in the Chicago Redeye...

Aries: You're going through a midlife crisis, even if you're just 22. Saturn has you reconsidering every major life decision you've made in the past 10 years. Why did you marry a mortician? Why did you fall in love with a cougar who has 10 kids?

Bahah! Some of the other ones are pretty funny, too. I'm tempted to share them. Muahah....

I don't think I'm having a midlife crisis, honestly; I used to joke about my quarterlife crisis back in the 90s -- so midlife is no big deal, and compared with the place I was in back in the 90s (or the 00s), I'm hunky-fucking-dory, honestly. The prospect of my own place is exciting as hell. And more writing time! Yay!

They're still filming scenes from "The Transformers 3" downtown. I saw more wreckage just south of the river, on Wacker Drive. And some armored personnel carriers. I snapped some pix of that.

"Louis" is on FX tonight, around 10:00 CST (11:00 EST). Louis CK is funny; definitely my kind of comic. I'll try to get caffeinated at the right moment this evening so I can stay up to watch it.

Transformed

I forgot to mention that they transformed Michigan Avenue into a war zone while filming "Transformers 3" downtown. I think they're still doing some shooting just south of the river, on Wacker Drive.

Megara

I was watching "Hercules" with the boys the other day, and rather liked the saucy Megara, the love interest babe rendered in typically Disneylicious style. I'm not particularly a fan of Disney's cultural meatgrinder that digests things and spits'em out all Disneyfied, but the boys seem to enjoy'em, so I put up with seeing Disney stuff every now and then. Megara's just simply HOT. She's trouble! Boom-chicka-boom!

Wah wahhh

Something about a published novelist writing an online article whining about how hard writing is irks the fuck out of me. Any creative endeavor is all about a huge investment of energy and time. Writers write. Simple as that. Do it, and deal with it, and count yourself very fortunate that you manage to score a book deal for your troubles. So, it took you ten years to get it done? Well, so what? At least you have something tangible to show for it. I soldier on because writing is fun for me, and rather than it being hard NOT to write (alright, I write constantly, one way or another, so maybe this doesn't quite come up for me), but I understand that there's no penalty whatsoever to not writing, except the understanding that I'm not writing. It's integral to my happiness that way. I never whine about it; I just do it.

And for somebody who managed to actually see their book published? What the fuck is there to complain about? As someone who many disparate readers tell me routinely that I'm a really good writer who is also perennially rejected by editors, were I to actually find a home for one of my books, I'd do a happy, happy dance. I'd count my lucky stars. But this gal decided to whine about how long it took for her to get her work done? You know what you do to stop that? Write more. There's a certain narcissistic romance some writers engage in with the whole "Oh, if you only knew how I suffered!" kind of bullshit -- like ink-stained fingertips or a trembling hand on a sweating, aquiline brow leaving an inky smear upon it. To create is to swoon. Oh, the humanity. Give me a break.

There's no penalty for not writing. You do it because you're compelled to do it. And there are few true satisfactions in it (at least in terms of appreciation, recognition, and reward). But do it I always will, because it's just who I am. If a book takes ten years to write, maybe that's how long it took to sort out that particular story's problem. Or maybe you don't have that much to say as a writer, and it didn't inspire you. Who knows? The only cure for writing is more writing, and that can be said with any creative endeavor, and only creatives get this. Non-creatives may think it's a waste of time, or may think they can do it, but they can't (and don't and won't -- you all know who you are, you "idea havers" and so forth who have a great idea you never actually write or create). The ones who can simply do it. Ideally, you make something worthwhile, something you enjoy, and better still, something beautiful that others can appreciate, too, and still better, something others will buy from you, for fuck's sake, so you can carve out the time to do more and more of what you love. But it's really the process that drives it. That's the furnace within that stokes the creative spirit.

Maybe this writer in that article is really privately worrying that, having sold one book, one that took her a decade to write, that she's got nothing more to say. Who knows? She is right that reaching an ending is vital. Get it done, or else it's just an open wound. And please, please don't whine about it.

Ballbuster

Looks like Blockbuster Video is finally dying. This is a reasonably good piece about the demise of that chain. I'm amused that the ONION had pegged that trend years ago. I can't even remember the last time I actually went into a video store. I think when living in Indiana, The Land That Time (and Hope) Forgot. Otherwise, not since the late 90s. Just funny how retro that is. I remember the trips to the video store, scoping around for something interesting and/or amusing to watch.

I've been busy managing my post-vacation workload today, hence being somewhat quiet, although I've been trying to think of a decent name for a fiction blog, as well as thinking about life and story ideas and daydreaming in general. I really, really need to get busy and find a fresh job. Gotta get that done. It's going to be weird to remarket and repackage myself as a 40-year-old in need of a new job. Thankfully, I still have my boyish demeanor, right? Hah!

There She Goes

Hah. I've been home with the boys three hours now, and Exene already went out the door for some run-related activity (purportedly some nutrition class at the area running shoe store in the 'hood). Now, I've had the boys a week -- so, she's been away from them for eight days, basically. And, after that absence, she's barely hung with them at all (maybe 2.5 hours, max) and she's already out the door? Huh. B2 was asking me "Where'd Mommy go, Daddy?" I would just think a parent would want to be with their kids after not seeing them a week, but that's just me.

I asked B1 if he had fun on the trip, and he said he did, wished it could go on forever. 

Home

Got back around 2:30 p.m. CST, so made good time. It's frickin' HOT over here. Super hot-n-humid. Lordy!

Was bummed to see another of my short stories was rejected. Urk. I'm seriously thinking of just posting them online (just some of the short stories) and see if anybody's into them. I have to think of a good concept for such a blog. Not like there aren't enough fiction blogs out there.

Meantime, glad to be home, not driving everywhere! Something like 700 miles in two days. *yawn*

Exene's 117 lbs., now. She has an appointment with the rheumo next week.

On the Road

Heading back to Chicago today. The boys have been so good on the whole trip; they were the toast of the family gathering, as I knew they would be. It's remarkably easy for me to handle this stuff solo; Exene always sweats it, but it's cake. I admit that I've had more practice at it than she has, since I drive (and she won't drive), and I spend so much time solo with the boys (because of her absenting herself), so I know the dance. But the boys were great. It sucks, however, that I didn't give myself one more vacation day (tomorrow) -- I hate thinking I have to hustle back home, and then tomorrow morning, am back in the workplace saddle. Ah, well. I didn't want to take too many days off.

Anyway, the car did well, and I'll properly blog about last week when I'm back home. Today, it'll just be me driving all day, getting the boys home. They're looking forward to being in Chicago again. B2 was cute, saying "Where are all the buildings?" when we first got out into the country. My city boys!

I'm amused at the hotel I'm at, how it says "Hello." and "Thanks." at the door. Somehow, the period ending the sentence seems less friendly than it ought to be! I'll snap a shot before I go.

When I next blog, I'll be home. "See" you soon! ; )

More KY

Back in glorious Lexington, KY -- overnighting it before the final jaunt to Chicago tomorrow. Plenty to blog about about the trip, but I'll do so later. The boys had a blast. I enjoyed the time away, although am looking forward to being home, despite the attendant issues I face there.

Mountain Man

I'm dropping a quick line from the mountains of North Carolina. Beautiful countryside, although it rained (hard) nearly all today. There are flying squirrels and such. The boys are having a blast, are really enjoying themselves. I'm chilling out.

There are lots of little things to report, but I'll do that later, since there are a ton of people around.

KY

Here I am in Lexington, KY -- a little more than half the way to the destination in NC. Love that the hotel has computers and Net access! There's not much in Lexington beyond distilleries, it would seem. Still, I'm amused! So far, so good -- great weather, cruised through the wasteland of Indiana and through Louisville to light here. Sunny, big, puffy clouds. The boys are having a blast. I'm going to take'em swimming later (we got some dinner earlier).

Tomorrow morning, the rest of the trek, then the World Cup final and seeing my fams!

And awayyyy I go...

I'm off! The boys and me, to North Carolina!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vJ2Da2ozCKc

Tiki Taka

Get ready for Spain to put the Tiki Taka hurt on Holland Sunday! And savor the grooooooove.

I'm getting up early tomorrow and leaving for my trip to North Carolina. If I've got any computer access where I'm headed, I'll blog and share my adventures. Otherwise, you'll just have to wait.

I'm bringing some Faulkner and Flannery O'C to read, have some notebooks to longhand a short story, and am otherwise gonna just chill out and enjoy the trip. I'm driving a bright red Chevy Impala. VRROOOOOOOM! Lotsa room, lotsa power (need the power for the mountains I'm gonna be driving over.

I love mountains. The Appalachians are some of the world's oldest mountains. I love that, too.

Mini-Mad Men Me

Mad Men had their avatar-creator/viral marketer out again, with new toys. So, here's an updated "Mad Men" me...

I don't really have a five o'clock shadow, but I do tend to get stubbly, so I'm being fairly true to life, there.

Road Trippin'

On the eve of leaving on a weeklong trip down South, so if I'm quiet, it may be because I don't have computer access down there (although I might; we'll see). Anyway, I'll be back on the 18th.

To prep for it, I bought some road trip funsies (from Target!) for the boys -- a couple of toy cars for B2, some Iron Man activity books (tee hee!), some crayons, a Rubik's Sphere thingie for B1 (imagine concentric transparent spheres you twirl about to solve -- he should enjoy it), a couple of lil' Energizer flashlightsabers I'll decant the first night we reach North Carolina (where we're headed, incidentally), and so on. They travel really well, so it should be alright. I'm traveling nearly 700 miles, broken up into two approximately 5-hour legs, although we'll see if it shakes out that way. I'm most concerned about getting to the destination on Sunday in time to catch the World Cup final! After seeing so many matches, I can't miss the final one!

One thing I got at Target was a 2GB memory card for my old digital camera. *DROOL* Now I've got a nearly 1400-image capacity on my camera, which is a far cry greater than the 187-image capacity from my old 256MB card I used to us. 1400 images? I'm fucking SET!

So, Exene went to the latest specialist, who didn't seem too off-put by whatever's going on with her -- he seemed to think that she had gotten some kind of infection, and her immune system went haywire in its effort to go after it (that's his theory, anyway), and much of what she was experiencing was simply the aftereffects of an immune system run amok. He put her on a different steroid to address that, to, in his view, get her immune system to chill out and find its baseline again. We'll see if he's right.

She apparently was much better yesterday than the day before, as she went out with some of her McFriends for most of the day, once she was done with the doctor visits; she made it out like she'd been doing the doctor stuff all day, but that appointment was at 10 a.m., and when I got home yesterday (around 4:30 p.m.) she was only just getting home, and let something slip about going to lunch with her "friends," who'd taken her out someplace to celebrate her getting a job. Yeah, yeah. Always on somebody else's nickel, that one is. Always.

I pick up the rental car after work today, although I don't leave until tomorrow morning. I just wanted to have all of that sorted out ahead of time. The cable people are supposed to fix the line today, so hopefully that'll be up and I won't be incommunicado again tonight, which sucks. Hate not having my Internets and Cable!

Staggering

Exene's going to the rheumo today; her ankles are more swollen than ever, and her hips were hurting her so badly yesterday that she could barely walk. It was excruciating to see that. I mean, we're going our separate ways, but I still don't want to see suffering like that. For somebody as active as she is, to be hobbled by this whatever-it-is (and, again, I suspect some kind of auto-immune reaction gone haywire, although nobody's giving clear answers), it has to be really frustrating for her. And painful, as she said it really hurt.

Cutting the cord

Our cable was cut yesterday -- I meant literally cut. Everything was dead and I went to look into it and saw that the actual cable line was cut. Some psycho had done it to our unit, and two others. No idea why -- crazy is as crazy does, right? But after seeing that there was no Net or cable television last night, what I thought was a possible network outage turned out to be some nutball actually severed three cable lines. I can't imagine it being an incompetent and/or cross-eyed cable guy doing it, as they don't need to physically sever the lines to halt service. And I'm all paid up, so it's not that. Anyway, what the fuck? So, they're supposed to get that up and running Friday.

Viva Espania!

Wow! Spain did it! They beat Germany 1 - 0. And not even by out-powering the young German powerhouse, but simply by outplaying them -- they denied Germany the ball, used possession and masterful midfield passing play to pull Germany's fangs.

Spain is heading to the World Cup final against Holland! Yay! The young German team will play for third place Saturday against Uruguay, and will surely be a threat in the next World Cup. They're amazingly good.

But Spain is advancing! I'm so happy for them!

Heat Wave

I can't understand why the tenants at the condo building next door don't use the pool they have. There's this nice pool that's cordoned off from the rest of the world (I can only see it because our building overlooks it across the way), and almost nobody ever swims in the pool. Plenty of sunbathers, but almost nobody swimming in it. Especially on these super-hot summer days! If I lived in that condo, was paying all the assessments for everything, I'd be in that pool every day it was open, just to get my money's worth. You got it, use it.

So, the doctors still aren't sure what's the deal with Exene -- several symptoms she thought were tied to the antibiotic she was on were ruled out by the ENT, who said nobody had ever shown those symptoms (in this case, a rash and/or extreme sun-sensitivity -- looks like a pox! Also, swollen joints. She's also had thrush the past week or so -- that could be tied to the antibiotic). Anyway, the doctor said Exene's "a puzzle" -- she wasn't sure what was going on, and recommended that Exene see another specialist, so she's got another appointment on Thursday, this time with a rheumatologist. I'm still thinking it's some kind of auto-immune disorder like lupus, or else, I dunno, cutaneous lymphoma? We'll see what the latest specialist says. But it definitely bugged Exene for the doctor to characterize her ailment as a "puzzle" -- she really wanted some kind of definitive say about what's wrong, and that wasn't forthcoming.

I stayed home sick today, still rebounding from the stomach flu. I'm way better now than I was this morning (or yesterday or the day before). Kinda glad to have gotten it out of the way before the big trip this weekend, when I take the boys to North Carolina to visit my family. Although B2 hasn't seemed to catch it, yet (and I hope he doesn't), at least I know B1 and I already had it. I'll bring stuff for the trip, just in case!

Uruguay put up a tough fight in the semifinal with Holland (2 - 3). I was surprised how fiercely they'd competed. It was a good match, although it should pale before the match tomorrow, between Germany and Spain. That should rock -- two competing styles: Germany's  calculated saber cuts versus Spain's rapier-like perfection. We'll see how it goes.

The one weakness I see for Spain is an excessive reliance on David Villa, their superstar striker (and he is amazingly good). They tend to pivot their offense on him, which is a lot to demand of one man against that German team (who manage a multi-pronged assault that is dazzlingly dynamic). Hopefully Spain will kick it into high gear and stop the German machine, but they have their work cut out for them, because this German team KILLS! It should be a fantastic match, and I'm looking forward to it.

This-and-that

Still somewhat sick from the stomach flu; B1 soldiered right through it straightaway; I'm getting there. Lost two pounds in about 12 hours. Hah!

Today is the Uruguay v. Holland World Cup match. Holland should smoke Uruguay. We'll see. I'm thinking tomorrow's Spain v. Germany will be the real highlight of the World Cup, although whoever wins that playing Holland should be great, too.

In today's NYT... Need a Job? Ask the NY Philharmonic.

Next season the New York Philharmonic will have a rare 12 openings, or roughly 12 percent of its instrumental work force, thanks to a confluence of retirements, departures for better jobs and long-unfilled positions. The Boston Symphony Orchestra has 10 vacancies, the Chicago Symphony Orchestra 9, and the Los Angeles Philharmonic 7.

Elsewhere the Cleveland Orchestra has four full-time job openings and one part-time. The Philadelphia Orchestra, Pittsburgh Symphony, San Francisco Symphony and Dallas Symphony each have three openings.

“We haven’t had this many for quite a while, not for 20 years,” said Carl R. Schiebler, the New York Philharmonic’s personnel director and its maestro of musician management. “A lot is six or seven.” 

I have the misfortune of working in a profession where people don't realize the value of the work that I do -- as I've said in the past (maybe not here), but editors, if they do their work well, are largely invisible. Only bad editing really stands out; if an editor does their job well, you don't even realize they're there. That's making the job search rather challenging, and even if/when I find something, the odds of it paying incredibly well will be remote. Not like it's my main objective, mind you, but it's still something I have to consider. It's why I'm looking into Technical Writing as a way of moving into something that uses my editing experience in a way that's actually valued.

Muddied

Notice anything amiss on this "Zombieland" DVD case?

I'll tell you: there's mud on Love Interest's(tm) chainsaw. Mud? Not blood?? WTF? You're in a supposed zombie apocalypse, your chainsaw should be bloody, not muddy. One of many complaints I have about that movie -- like its faux edge and romantic comedy core. Weak. Lame. MUD.

Pop(sicle) Culture

One thing I wondered, which is nicely topical with the holiday  -- I picked up the boys Bomb Pops at the Zoo, those really nice, chunky ones they tend to sell, and it bothers me that I can never find the GOOD Bomb Pops in retail places -- only at Zoos and amusement parks and with independent retailers can one seem to find the good ones. You know the ones that I mean -- thick, delicious, chunky Bomb Pops. The one above is the standard issue one, but there are wide ones, and big ones, and they're wonderful. But not readily available to everyday folks. Why? Why can't I get the GOOD Bomb Pops? They are, next to banana popsicles, my favorite quiescently frozen confection. I don't like not being able to find the good ones.

Da Bomb

I had the boys most of yesterday (well, nearly all of yesterday). Took'em to the playground, then to the Zoo, where there Nature Boardwalk has finally been opened. It looks great (I snapped lots of pix, no worries; will post'em when I've got a moment), although the greenery needs to grow in fully -- it'll be zeroscaped, like native flora to fill up the area. But it looks wonderful already, and the boys loved it.

Took the boys to the fireworks last night, which they enjoyed, although they really enjoyed just being out at night and running around on the beach, wearing glow necklaces. Very cute! I started to feel ill while out there, and, sure enough, got stomach flu, which kept me up most of the night. B1 got it this morning, the poor guy.

I'm sipping on a 7-Up right now. Had to! I've held out for hours and hours and hours.

Happy Independence Day

Happy Independence Day, everybody! Hope it's a happy, sparkly day for you, wherever you are.

I'm sleepy; I did a lot of bike-riding today. Gonna take the boys out later to watch the fireworks, which they're launching today, for whatever reason.

I'd take a nap, but it'd spoil my bedtime, right? *yawn*

Whew

So, Spain squeaked a 1 - 0 from Paraguay, and Germany trounced Argentina 4 - 0. Now to the semifinals next week:

Uruguay v. Holland
Germany v. Spain

We'll see how it goes. The Dutch are very formidable, and the German are amazing. Spain is the #2 ranked team in the world, but I don't know if they can beat Germany or not. Hope so.

B1 was doing karate today, a new thing for him. He was pretty reluctant to do it, but Exene took him with one of his friendettes. I'll see how it went for him later, when he comes back.

World Cup!

Okay, so Germany v. Argentina this morning, then Spain v. Paraguay later today! C'mon, Spain! I'm wearing my Spain jersey (also known as a "kit") today! Awooooo! B2 calls his vuvuzela his "googoozela" -- that cutes me out.

Exene is now 119 lbs.!

Limoncello?!

I saw this face on an anti-child prostitution PSA ad on the bus the other day, and almost did a spit-take in shock! It's like the SEINFELD where Elaine sees the mannequin that looks like her! I just took a hasty picture of it, as the bus was crowded, but still, it was uncanny! I'll try to snap a better picture of it if I run into it again.

Parasitic

I always read a lot about parasites. Having lived with one for 20 years, I'm something of an expert on the topic. Bahah! But really, I am fascinated by their adroit gaming of evolution. The Sacculina barnacle mentioned in the above article was the inspiration for my short story, "Rotgut."

Going, Going, Ghana...

Poor Ghana. They fought so hard, lost on a shootout to Uruguay. AAUGH! I swear, every team I liked (excepting Spain and Germany) has gone down. Cameroon, up in flames. Ivory Coast, toast. Mexico, a mess. Slovakia exits fast! Now Ghana, gone-a.

It was a mostly clean match, and hard-fought, going into extra time (two 15-minute OT periods), although Ghana was hosed in the very last minute of the second OT when, in a scramble in the box, Ghana shot a goal in that was batted out by a Uruguayan player who handballed it out of the goal. Well and good, it yielded a penalty kick. And then the Ghanian player fired his penalty kick at the goal, hitting the UPPER BAR, sending it hurtling skyward. No goal. Ghana fucked. Then they move to a shootout, which brings Uruguay from certain doom to back to life, and Uruguay outshoots Ghana in the penalty kicks, 4 kicks to 2, winning the match. Poor Ghana. Terrible way to go! It was sad to see all the Africans down in the mouth for the last African team standing -- they had 90,000 people there, most of them pulling for Ghana. Ghana's failure to score more goals earlier cost them. They seemed to dominate about two-thirds of the match, only to run out of steam at key moments

Uruguay, then, gets the dubious pleasure of going up against Holland, who ought to be able to cream them, given their strong performance against Brazil.

Tomorrow morning, it's Germany v. Argentina (go, Germany!) and later, Spain v. Paraguay (go, Spain!) If, for some reason, those two teams go down, then I'll root for Holland, who should be able to prevail over Uruguay. Of course, if Germany wins and Spain wins, then my two favorite remaining teams will be competing against each other (Spain v. Germany has me rooting for Spain, naturally, although Germany plays very, very well, is fun to watch, and I don't know how Spain would fare against them).

Sigh. Sorry, Ghana. You were a really good team, and deserved a better finish than you got.

Flying Dutchmen Beat Brazil

I'm amazed! Holland beat Brazil 2 - 1 in a flop-n-foul-tastic match that had plenty of thrills, particularly in the second half, when Brazil went to pieces, unable to check their emotions when up against the Netherlands!

Greer's

I love Greer's endlessly changing window displays.

Cello, There!

Hard-working musician waiting for the train. The CSO is just off this stop. I'm sure she makes at least double my salary. It pays to play!

a4a (1996-2010)

Aww, it looks like the archive that hosted my old political blog (Anarchy for Anybody) went belly-up this year (I think roughly around the end of April). I worked hard on that site for a long time (particularly active from 1996-2001; I think sometime in 2000 I lost access to the direct FTP stuff I used to do to update the site myself, back in the day, and just made one last post in 2001 thanks to some friends and fans, and let it languish from that point on as a kind of archive of radical political thought in the 90s). Even at the end of my most active period with that project, I found refuge in fiction over nonfiction for my ideas -- that I found art was the best way of expressing my radical attitudes (just flourishes here and there, a sensibility, a sense of the possible -- I don't write polemics in fiction).

Still, 14 years is a long time for a blog, even if I hadn't been active on it for nine of those years, it still exposed a lot of people to new and different ideas (I remember it having something like 500,000 hits or more the last time I checked it, which is paltry in Net terms, but nice for a fringe political site -- I used to get comments from people who would write me expressing gratitude for that site). One of my essays (really, my most influential one, circa 1996) is still archived out there, which is nice to know. Everything else is apparently gone. I may have discs of the stuff saved somewhere (unlikely, anymore, after a few moves), but I've moved on from that stuff. Not in terms of my politics, which remain stubbornly small "l" libertarian and internationalist in spirit, but I've always been more philosophical than doctrinaire.

It's weird to think of that time and contrast it with the 00s, like how our political culture curdled in the face of right-wing extremism that's continued to hold our country back. We truly are falling behind. So many vital concerns I had then have become policy, now -- our country suspended habeas corpus, it is now a nation that officially tortures, we have secret prisons, etc., etc. -- serious breaches of liberty, carried out without hesitation or shame, or really much substantive debate. Sure, a lot of hand-wringing and navel-gazing, but the Beltway consensus seems to have accepted this as the "new normal."

In so many ways, the 90s seems like the last "good" American decade -- a time of peace and prosperity. Certainly the 00s did not begin auspiciously, and we're grinding along unsteadily in this second decade of the 21st Century as an imperial nation, desperately stratified economically, debt-ridden, deficit-laden, with an exhausted workforce and an overcommitted (and massive) military, with one-and-a-half political factions jousting for ever-dwindling voter market share (one group wanting to lead the nation the wrong way [the Republicans], the other unwilling to lead at all).

From my vantage point as an everyday citizen and political outsider, it's amazing to behold. But I console myself that bad times make for good art -- it gets the creative mind spinning, even as American life in the 21st Century is an affront to one's intelligence and a insult to the imagination. We are becoming a banana republic before our very eyes.

A decade ago, I'd comment about the "Youngstownification of the country" (and those of you from Youngstown surely know what I'm talking about) -- where ignorance was paraded about with pride, where things spiraled down into oblivion, and people would cheer the corrupt and the vile as heroes, and I see it continuing, maybe even accelerating. Maybe it's just a natural human reaction to political, economic, and cultural entropy. Maybe it's how people react when they don't even realize why they're fucked, or what's fucking them. I'm not sure. It's something, for damned sure.

Anyway, a4a is gone, but I'm still kicking, fuckers. ; )

Vuvuzela Konzert

Okay, so there's one more week of World Cuppage left, but before it's done, I had to sling some more vuvuzela-related hee-hee...

Vuvuzela Konzert

*snicker*

Frankly, I think it violates the blaring spirit of the vuvuzela to actually play it, but it still amuses me.

Artful Dodger

I'm noshing on an Italian BMT (on Hearty Italian bread, with provolone cheese, naturally) from Subway at the moment. *nosh nosh* <-- see?

Beautiful day today -- mild, summery, sunny, lovely. A good walking-around kind of day, although I didn't have my camera handy, it was okay, because nothing jumped out at me (which is perhaps a good thing in Hyde Park -- you don't want anything or anybody jumping out at you down here!)

I was very pleased to learn that my good friend Corvina is getting a venue at ArtPrize! Yay! I stumbled upon that competition earlier this year and told her about it, said she should definitely submit something, on the off chance that she might get a venue (that's the real challenge with ArtPrize -- the venues are incredibly competitive and hard to get). And she got a venue! Her work is so solid, I'm really pleased she got in. Very, very cool. And what's even cooler is that the top 10 finalists win cash prizes for their works (and the prizes are phenomenally good). But even if she's not a finalist, at least she got in! Go get'em, Corvina! I'm so happy for her!

Damn

I just realized that I'm likely going to be on the road for the World Cup final (7/11) -- it's at 1:30 EST! D'oh! I might be able to just make it in time, if I time it just right!

There

1015 words this morning. Good words, too, mind you. I uploaded the files to my jump drive, so I can take it to work with me, maybe get some more done there.

Back in the saddle

I've gotten back into my early-morning writerly groove again; I'd tried to write at other times, but in our tiny apartment, with the boys jonesing for attention, I just can't swing it. So, for now, back to writing in the margins of my day. The morning is still the best, since I'm a natural early riser, and my brain is fresh, and there are no distractions (well, besides THIS, but I'm waiting for the old computer to warm up, so while it's doing that, I'm writing you).

Anyway, it's going well, this new piece. I've been easily clearing 1300 words a day, which is a decent clip for me. I would like to get over 2000 words a day, so we'll see how that goes.

I read an article in SALON about yet another memoir written by a privileged young woman (Sloane Crosley -- even her name sounds privileged, no?) Anyway, it left a bad taste in my mouth, highlighted the insider/outsider firewall that commands publishing. As somebody puttering around far, far outside that wall (heh, like a grubby, kilted Celt confronting Hadrian's Wall), it makes me peevish to see a 31-year-old with her second book out already, somebody with a perfect publishing pedigree (went to an elite liberal arts college, slummed around at an Ivy League school later, then miraculously got a job as a publicist -- indeed, New York City's most popular publicist, if you believe the hype (how does one get that job as a 20-something? Connections much?) And then, of course, a book deal (first book optioned out to HBO, and lord knows the fate of the second). And memoirs, no less. Well-connected from A to Z, reaping the rewards of it.

Sure, I'm envious. Why not be? What galls me is the retrofitting of such a fairytale history -- akin to adroit eraser rubs along the page to the theme song of the "Mary Tyler Moore Show" -- and we don't see the paperclip chain of connections, privileges, and opportunities that paved that golden road for her. Instead, we're to believe she did it all by herself. Not unlike that Russian spy gal who evangelized her pioneering spirit in America while taking Kremlin Kash to fund their lackadaisical spy mission in Cambridge. Bull-fucking-shit. Just once, I'd like to see somebody write "Thanks to my parent's wealth and connections, I got into the best schools, and because the Editor-In-Chief was a classmate of my mom's at Smith, I got a job at Fuckbird Publishing, where she introduced me to Celebrity X, who wanted me for her publicist as soon as she saw me, and blah blah blah blah." At least that would be honest and forthright.

As a member of the American Underclass (and let's be honest, here -- if you're making under $100,000 a year, if you've not gone to an elite school, if your parents weren't rich and/or connected -- you're a member of the American Underclass, intended only to be a spectator in our culture, not a participant -- anyway, as part of that, I chafe at seeing yet another memoir written by (and for) the children of privilege. I don't care that you trekked to Lisbon on a whim, Ms. Crosley. I hope nobody else does, either.

Alright, the old Dell's warmed up at last (my name for that computer remains "Shitbox"). I'm going to write the living fuck out of the story I'm working on.