Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Exene
Curious things are afoot with Exene. She's been sick on and off since February, which I haven't mentioned too much. Her symptoms are fever, night sweats, swollen lymph glands, and most recently, swollen spleen. She'd gone to the doctor a few times over the past few months, getting antibiotics, but nothing worked, the fevers (often around 102 degrees F) persisted. Symptoms have been gradually worsening (in my view -- first fever, then tonsilitis, then night sweats, then fatigue, then swollen lymph glands, then swollen spleen).
Not sure what it is, but she's got five of eight symptoms for lymphoma. She's getting a CT scan this week, and is seeing an ear, nose, and throat specialist (and infectious disease specialist) at the recommendation of our GP, who was concerned with the swollen spleen (which is the newest symptom). Either she's a victim of stregoneria, some novel infection (she's been tested several times, no strep, no mono, no other routine pathogens implicated), or else it's lymphoma. She's pretty blasé about it at the moment, but we'll see where she's at once this whatever-it-is gets diagnosed.
She also appears to have broken one of her toes -- she says somebody stepped on her foot on the El, and one of her little toes was all swollen and looked broken. Needless to say, she's not done much running of late.
Also, she's interviewing for a good position today; I hope she gets it, as it'll make everything else far easier in this dreadful economic (and household) situation!
Not sure what it is, but she's got five of eight symptoms for lymphoma. She's getting a CT scan this week, and is seeing an ear, nose, and throat specialist (and infectious disease specialist) at the recommendation of our GP, who was concerned with the swollen spleen (which is the newest symptom). Either she's a victim of stregoneria, some novel infection (she's been tested several times, no strep, no mono, no other routine pathogens implicated), or else it's lymphoma. She's pretty blasé about it at the moment, but we'll see where she's at once this whatever-it-is gets diagnosed.
She also appears to have broken one of her toes -- she says somebody stepped on her foot on the El, and one of her little toes was all swollen and looked broken. Needless to say, she's not done much running of late.
Also, she's interviewing for a good position today; I hope she gets it, as it'll make everything else far easier in this dreadful economic (and household) situation!
Monday, June 21, 2010
Sigh
Spain smoked Honduras today (2 - 0; and Portugal flayed North Korea, 7 - 0). Spain's soccer play was really lovely to watch -- just good stuff. They should have won 10 - 0, just from the number of attempts that should have yieled goals, but beyond that, they played beautiful soccer, the loveliest I've seen so far in the World Cup. The Swiss played a strong (but futile) match against Chile, losing to them (barely) but still showing serious strength.
I'm bummed out today. Got the "How in the hell am I ever gonna make it as a writer" blues in a big way. I won't give up, I never give up (on writing, anyway), but it's frustrating just how hard it is to get noticed, how arbitrary and connection-driven it is. I really should have played the game in my youth -- I would send stories out when I was 18 and 19, but I should have entered the Iowa Writer's Workshop, get the connections one apparently totally needs to get seen. The editorial firewall is still so hard to get past. All I focused on was writing well (or at least as well as I could), when I guess I should've properly positioned myself and played the game more on the front end. Now I'm a 40-year-old writer, not even a "young writer" anymore. WTF? Bleah. Sucks. At least my boys'll have all of the writing I've done, so when I'm gone, maybe they can make hay out of it. And maybe THEN people will enjoy the work. Hah. By the time I eventually die, I'll have written so much stuff, at the rate that I go. It'll be a library's worth of unread fiction.
I'm keenly feeling just how shitty this economy is. Unless you work in some kind of boutique industry that serves the wealthy, you're really fucked in the Great Recession. God, do I ever need to find a good job to escape the Asylum before the walls come down. The main reason I sweat it is because I want the boys to be better off than their dad was, and I worry that in the far-more socially rigid America that is the unspoken reality we face, I've done them a disservice by not being a captain of industry...
Social Immobility in America
Sigh. I see my writing so much as me creating cultural capital -- creating something from nothing, something of value. But until I can make it work for me, it's nothing. Just a big pile of nothing. I want to help my boys any way I can, help them deal with the bullshit of "the game" that our society foists on us all -- certainly, I'm more attentive and supportive to them than I ever got. I am looking at what they enjoy, and what they're good at, and I try to encourage them to test their limits and explore. I don't want my sweet boys to be casualties in the "new economy" (that is, the medievalization of the American economy -- which is really the US becoming a de facto banana republic).
I'm bummed out today. Got the "How in the hell am I ever gonna make it as a writer" blues in a big way. I won't give up, I never give up (on writing, anyway), but it's frustrating just how hard it is to get noticed, how arbitrary and connection-driven it is. I really should have played the game in my youth -- I would send stories out when I was 18 and 19, but I should have entered the Iowa Writer's Workshop, get the connections one apparently totally needs to get seen. The editorial firewall is still so hard to get past. All I focused on was writing well (or at least as well as I could), when I guess I should've properly positioned myself and played the game more on the front end. Now I'm a 40-year-old writer, not even a "young writer" anymore. WTF? Bleah. Sucks. At least my boys'll have all of the writing I've done, so when I'm gone, maybe they can make hay out of it. And maybe THEN people will enjoy the work. Hah. By the time I eventually die, I'll have written so much stuff, at the rate that I go. It'll be a library's worth of unread fiction.
I'm keenly feeling just how shitty this economy is. Unless you work in some kind of boutique industry that serves the wealthy, you're really fucked in the Great Recession. God, do I ever need to find a good job to escape the Asylum before the walls come down. The main reason I sweat it is because I want the boys to be better off than their dad was, and I worry that in the far-more socially rigid America that is the unspoken reality we face, I've done them a disservice by not being a captain of industry...
Social Immobility in America
Sigh. I see my writing so much as me creating cultural capital -- creating something from nothing, something of value. But until I can make it work for me, it's nothing. Just a big pile of nothing. I want to help my boys any way I can, help them deal with the bullshit of "the game" that our society foists on us all -- certainly, I'm more attentive and supportive to them than I ever got. I am looking at what they enjoy, and what they're good at, and I try to encourage them to test their limits and explore. I don't want my sweet boys to be casualties in the "new economy" (that is, the medievalization of the American economy -- which is really the US becoming a de facto banana republic).
The Longest Day
Happy First Day of Summer, motherfuckers! It's all downhill from here! Winter's right around the corner. It's funny, because over the weekend, I remember thinking "Wow, what a long fucking day." and not even associating it with the Summer Solstice. And here we are, on THE longest day of the year...
Scene from "The Longest Day"
Scene from "The Longest Day"
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Father's Day
Happy Father's Day to me! ; )
Off to watch the Slovaks take on Paraguay in the World Cup. Go, Slovakia!
Off to watch the Slovaks take on Paraguay in the World Cup. Go, Slovakia!
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Pianoforte
I got B2 a little keyboard. It's cute watching him play on it. He said "I wanted a PIANO, Daddy." but I told him this was a start for him.
Gonna take B1 out and play frisbee.
Gonna take B1 out and play frisbee.
What a dick!
First I thought this headline in the Chicago READER was about me, but then I realized it was about performance artists... This Guy's Penis Is a Work of Art. Ah, performance artists. *eyeroll* I think he needs to petition patrons for a bigger endowment. ; )
Piano Man?
B2 came over with two handfuls of Lincoln Logs and asked me "Daddy, can you make a piano out of THESE?"
Worst Word Ever
Want to know one of the absolute worst words in the realm of fantasy fiction?
Try saying it and NOT laughing. The writer, R.A. Salvatore, is a NYT bestselling writer, and he coined that term as a Drow (dark elf) word for "cloak." The Drow are supposed to be super badasses -- and anybody who was an AD&D gamer geek like I was as a boy can't mention the Drow without thinking "Badass." So, along comes Salvatore, looking to make some money writing throwaway fantasy fiction, and does quite well with it. But he created the word piwafwi.
And for that, in truth, he should live in infamy. Just try sound like a badass while saying "Piwafwi." You invariably turn into Elmer Fudd. "Where's my piwafwi? Where is it, you wascally wabbit?!" Tone-deaf writer.
"Piwafwi."
Try saying it and NOT laughing. The writer, R.A. Salvatore, is a NYT bestselling writer, and he coined that term as a Drow (dark elf) word for "cloak." The Drow are supposed to be super badasses -- and anybody who was an AD&D gamer geek like I was as a boy can't mention the Drow without thinking "Badass." So, along comes Salvatore, looking to make some money writing throwaway fantasy fiction, and does quite well with it. But he created the word piwafwi.
And for that, in truth, he should live in infamy. Just try sound like a badass while saying "Piwafwi." You invariably turn into Elmer Fudd. "Where's my piwafwi? Where is it, you wascally wabbit?!" Tone-deaf writer.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Coming Storm
Another seriously heavy storm is passing through Chicago tonight. Incredibly gusty winds. I love storms, and these have been pretty damned fierce. On top of that, somewhere in one of the units in this building, I can hear a woman getting it on somewhere -- could hear her crying out, borne on the wind; no idea where, plenty of people have their windows open. I just love that sound. It's so beautiful! Now I just hear thunder, wind, and downpouring rain, drowning everything out; that's beautiful, too.
Guess I should sign off before my computer gets fragged by the lightning and hail and whatever else is coming down from above!
Guess I should sign off before my computer gets fragged by the lightning and hail and whatever else is coming down from above!
*SNIFF*
B1 and I were talking earlier, and I was mentioning what a good memory he has, and he said "I wish I could forget things, too." and I said "Like what?" and he said "Sad things." and I said "Like...?" and he said "Like Newt dying." And I could see him fighting back tears, asking me about why his kidneys failed, etc. I held him and told him that he needed to just remember all of the good things about Newt as a way of keeping Newt alive in his heart. It was so heart-breaking to see B1 fighting back tears. He's a crier, like I am, but this is the first time I've seen him shed any tears over Newt -- and, uncharacteristically, he was fighting them back a bit. I just tried to comfort him. Sweet lil' guy. He's such a good kid. He's got a big heart like I do. I'm glad for that.
I've had a couple of "ghost cat" dreams, like seeing Newt watching me from the hallway and such. B2 keeps asking every now and then where Newt's gone. B2 was trying out a new face today -- his "statue face" -- he did some amazing acting! He stood there with a neutral expression and then, without breaking character one bit, he let his eyes go blank -- it was a marvelous metamorphosis, and I'm impressed that he already could do that. Also, he was being loud at one point and I pretended to turn the volume down on him, turning an imaginary knob on his shoulder -- I said "Let's get this down to 3, howsabout?" and he whispered to me. Then I said "Well, maybe 5." and then he talked in a softer voice, but louder than the whisper. I was impressed that my four-year-old could understand that and, on the first try, get that just right.
I've had a couple of "ghost cat" dreams, like seeing Newt watching me from the hallway and such. B2 keeps asking every now and then where Newt's gone. B2 was trying out a new face today -- his "statue face" -- he did some amazing acting! He stood there with a neutral expression and then, without breaking character one bit, he let his eyes go blank -- it was a marvelous metamorphosis, and I'm impressed that he already could do that. Also, he was being loud at one point and I pretended to turn the volume down on him, turning an imaginary knob on his shoulder -- I said "Let's get this down to 3, howsabout?" and he whispered to me. Then I said "Well, maybe 5." and then he talked in a softer voice, but louder than the whisper. I was impressed that my four-year-old could understand that and, on the first try, get that just right.
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