I sat down today to attempt to write a blog entry about the beer festival I went to in St. Louis this weekend, but as with so many times I sit down to write blog entries about things that seem perfect fodder for blog entries, I drew a blank.
Once upon a time (this weekend), I visited a friend from high school, her husband, and their baby. I drove up Saturday morning. We drank a lot of beer (well, the baby didn’t). I drove home the next day. The end.
That is not a great story.
Here is something slightly more interesting:
Once upon a time (this weekend), I visited a friend whom I always refer to as “a friend from high school,” though I don’t know why because we’ve known each other since elementary school.
She has a lot of legitimately shitty things to complain about, but she manages to truthfully and straightforwardly discuss her life without ever seeming to feel sorry for herself. This is a quality I admire immensely and would like to emulate.
When I first got there, the baby took one look at me walking in the door and started to cry, and then continued to stare suspiciously at me the rest of the trip any time I was within eyesight.
Saturday night, when a whole group of us had reconvened at the house after the beer drinking, one woman got a migraine and got sick, but her husband shrugged it off and refused to go help her (Husband: “She’ll be fine” My friend [horrified]: “Shouldn’t you go hold her hair?” Husband: “You go hold her hair. I’ll hold her boobs.”). This was accepted as reasonable behavior by most of the people (male) there to witness it. Because people are awful to each other.
I didn’t want to get drunk so I didn’t get drunk. That, in and of itself, is newsworthy: I went a beer festival and did not overindulge.
When I got back to my apartment yesterday evening, it was devastatingly and beautifully quiet.
(The end.)
Monday, February 25, 2013
Monday, February 18, 2013
Update!
It seems like only yesterday that I was flashing self-portrait shots of myself clutching an allegedly finished manuscript of a second book…
But it wasn’t yesterday; it was nearly a year ago, and perhaps you’re wondering what gives. (And if you are, then that makes two of us.)
You know, it’s funny the way no one ever remembered what my second book was about, and equally funny how I could never come up with a title for it. If I ever again find myself in a position of trying to force an unnamed book that no one can remember into completion, then please, by all means, direct me to this blog entry and offer me the option to learn from my past and get out while I’m ahead.
The book was not particularly well reviewed during the first round, arguably even more poorly received five months later after a complete overhaul, and four months after the picture above was taken – months spent starting from the beginning and gutting most of what I had – I gave it to two friends and, well, neither of them ever mentioned it to me again. That was six months ago and I know you may find this hard to believe, but even I can eventually take a hint.
So the untitled second book of forgettable subject matter has been tabled indefinitely, for revival later in life (or maybe not at all; WHO KNOWS).
Remember how we set the goal to spend 2013 giving 60%? There was another part of the Newsweek article that inspired our lackluster efforts that I want to bring up: when working on long-term goals, it’s important to keep working, even if that work winds up being sub par. The article’s case-in-point was Jerry Seinfeld who, early in his career, set himself the goal of writing jokes every day. It wasn't always much, but the point was to come up with something every single day, and every day he did, he put a little “x” on his calendar. The focus, then, wasn't on the overwhelming goal of "making it big," but on the much more tangible goal of "not breaking the line of x's."
Translating this as literally as humanly possible, if things have been a little scarce around here, it’s because starting earlier this month, I’ve had a string of x’s on my own calendar that I’ve chained myself to. New book, and we’ll just keep our fingers crossed that this one is more willing to work with me than its predecessor.
So happy x-marking to all of you! And I hope you are not too emotionally traumatized after the season finale of Downton Abbey last night. I am in mourning, both because of the plotline and because I now have nothing to look forward to on Sunday nights.
(It’s a wretched and difficult life I lead, in which I am a slave to Sharpie x’s and have to wait long, cruel months between seasons of imported British television period dramas. Speaking of which, I could say so much…SO MUCH…but last time I said so very little and still managed to spoil poor Sam, so all I will say today is that holy hell, over the past three weeks Branson has become my new favorite thing about this show. Is it Season 4, yet?!)
But it wasn’t yesterday; it was nearly a year ago, and perhaps you’re wondering what gives. (And if you are, then that makes two of us.)
You know, it’s funny the way no one ever remembered what my second book was about, and equally funny how I could never come up with a title for it. If I ever again find myself in a position of trying to force an unnamed book that no one can remember into completion, then please, by all means, direct me to this blog entry and offer me the option to learn from my past and get out while I’m ahead.
The book was not particularly well reviewed during the first round, arguably even more poorly received five months later after a complete overhaul, and four months after the picture above was taken – months spent starting from the beginning and gutting most of what I had – I gave it to two friends and, well, neither of them ever mentioned it to me again. That was six months ago and I know you may find this hard to believe, but even I can eventually take a hint.
So the untitled second book of forgettable subject matter has been tabled indefinitely, for revival later in life (or maybe not at all; WHO KNOWS).
Remember how we set the goal to spend 2013 giving 60%? There was another part of the Newsweek article that inspired our lackluster efforts that I want to bring up: when working on long-term goals, it’s important to keep working, even if that work winds up being sub par. The article’s case-in-point was Jerry Seinfeld who, early in his career, set himself the goal of writing jokes every day. It wasn't always much, but the point was to come up with something every single day, and every day he did, he put a little “x” on his calendar. The focus, then, wasn't on the overwhelming goal of "making it big," but on the much more tangible goal of "not breaking the line of x's."
Translating this as literally as humanly possible, if things have been a little scarce around here, it’s because starting earlier this month, I’ve had a string of x’s on my own calendar that I’ve chained myself to. New book, and we’ll just keep our fingers crossed that this one is more willing to work with me than its predecessor.
So happy x-marking to all of you! And I hope you are not too emotionally traumatized after the season finale of Downton Abbey last night. I am in mourning, both because of the plotline and because I now have nothing to look forward to on Sunday nights.
(It’s a wretched and difficult life I lead, in which I am a slave to Sharpie x’s and have to wait long, cruel months between seasons of imported British television period dramas. Speaking of which, I could say so much…SO MUCH…but last time I said so very little and still managed to spoil poor Sam, so all I will say today is that holy hell, over the past three weeks Branson has become my new favorite thing about this show. Is it Season 4, yet?!)
Monday, February 11, 2013
Quote of the Week
(Can I call it a Quote of the Week even if I never do Quotes of the Week?)
"I am incredibly judgmental. This is partly because it's fun, partly because it's a way to bond with others and mostly because one of my few faults is not appreciating how difficult it is for others to be as amazing as I am."
- Joel Stein, from his column "The Shame Game" (which I cannot locate online to link to) from last week's Time magazine
Joel Stein (and I do not say this lightly), I think we might be soulmates.
"I am incredibly judgmental. This is partly because it's fun, partly because it's a way to bond with others and mostly because one of my few faults is not appreciating how difficult it is for others to be as amazing as I am."
- Joel Stein, from his column "The Shame Game" (which I cannot locate online to link to) from last week's Time magazine
Joel Stein (and I do not say this lightly), I think we might be soulmates.
Friday, February 8, 2013
Restless
It’s only natural to go through periods of restlessness, but for the past week, for no reason that I can account for, I’ve felt like I’m about to jump out of my skin.
Second semester of my senior year of college, the phrase I uttered more than any other was, “I’m on top of things.” Had I studied for finals yet? “I’m on top of things.” Had I finished my lab report? “I’m on top of things.” Had I been working on my memoir/taped Angel/finished my painting? “I’m on top of things.”
It seemed like every person I knew struggled with procrastination, yet the more they put things off, the further ahead I worked; by the end of my college career, I was perpetually ahead of schedule. Not that this made me a better student (or a better anything) than my friends. If anything, it made me more frustrated. There were parties to go to and concerts to see but everyone was always “too busy.” (Infinitely less self-assured at 22 than I am now, it never would have occurred to me to do any of those things on my own.)
That’s the closest I can come to explaining how I feel at the moment: as if I’m on top of things, but life itself is telling me “not now; I’m too busy.”
I fully accept responsibility for my own destiny, but for the first time, I'm appreciating the deep good that came from having a foundation-shaking graduation thrust upon me to carry me out of monotony...
Second semester of my senior year of college, the phrase I uttered more than any other was, “I’m on top of things.” Had I studied for finals yet? “I’m on top of things.” Had I finished my lab report? “I’m on top of things.” Had I been working on my memoir/taped Angel/finished my painting? “I’m on top of things.”
It seemed like every person I knew struggled with procrastination, yet the more they put things off, the further ahead I worked; by the end of my college career, I was perpetually ahead of schedule. Not that this made me a better student (or a better anything) than my friends. If anything, it made me more frustrated. There were parties to go to and concerts to see but everyone was always “too busy.” (Infinitely less self-assured at 22 than I am now, it never would have occurred to me to do any of those things on my own.)
That’s the closest I can come to explaining how I feel at the moment: as if I’m on top of things, but life itself is telling me “not now; I’m too busy.”
I fully accept responsibility for my own destiny, but for the first time, I'm appreciating the deep good that came from having a foundation-shaking graduation thrust upon me to carry me out of monotony...
Monday, February 4, 2013
I May Have Given Myself a Headache Writing This...
The Post-Birthday World: A woman in a ten-year relationship finds herself helplessly and unexpectedly attracted to another man. Her story is told twice – once from a universe in which she resists temptation, and once from a universe in which she does not.
I’ve been a little heavy on the book reviews lately, so I’m going to eschew a formal review of this one (fascinating in premise, somewhat tedious in execution) and instead just flat-out admit that I more than once woke up in the middle of the night while reading it to ponder which path I might take if put in the protagonist’s position. Nothing is clear cut in the book; there is no “right” choice any more than there is a “wrong” choice, and what a mind-fuck that is to anyone (i.e., everyone) out there who has ever felt the tug of “what if.”
There’s another book that I want to read, which was excerpted in Newsweek a couple of weeks ago. It’s called Missing Out, and is something of a defense of frustration – an open acknowledgment that for each and every one of us, life really does play out in the two-fold way of The Post-Birthday World. We have the lives we live, and we have the parallel lives in our heads filled with the possibilities of what might have been: a “lived” life and an “unlived” life, which coexist and feed off of each other. Missing Out argues that our lived lives are as shaped by our unlived lives as vice versa, and I’m looking forward to slogging through an attempt to wrap my head around that.
Coincidentally enough, these two books (one fiction, one non-fiction; one I've now read, one I haven't) entered my consciousness on the exact same day, and, in striking duality, presented me with two equally appealing ideas: In a world devoid of perfection, no one choice can ever be the “correct” one. AND YET the choices we make deeply define us, and thus are critically important.
One of the most interesting aspects of The Post-Birthday World was that in both universes, the main character frequently wondered what her life would be like had she made the opposite decision. From our vantage point as readers, we saw what no one in real life ever could: the answer to her question.
In the grand scheme of things, though, it seems like maybe it wasn't the decision itself that was important, but the fact that she'd had a choice in the first place.
Which lends itself handily to the Missing Out argument that our self-inflicted "what ifs" are as valid to our definition of self as our real lives, and thus cumulatively as meaningful to us as the experiences that actually happen...
Talk about a mind-fuck…
There’s another book that I want to read, which was excerpted in Newsweek a couple of weeks ago. It’s called Missing Out, and is something of a defense of frustration – an open acknowledgment that for each and every one of us, life really does play out in the two-fold way of The Post-Birthday World. We have the lives we live, and we have the parallel lives in our heads filled with the possibilities of what might have been: a “lived” life and an “unlived” life, which coexist and feed off of each other. Missing Out argues that our lived lives are as shaped by our unlived lives as vice versa, and I’m looking forward to slogging through an attempt to wrap my head around that.
Coincidentally enough, these two books (one fiction, one non-fiction; one I've now read, one I haven't) entered my consciousness on the exact same day, and, in striking duality, presented me with two equally appealing ideas: In a world devoid of perfection, no one choice can ever be the “correct” one. AND YET the choices we make deeply define us, and thus are critically important.
One of the most interesting aspects of The Post-Birthday World was that in both universes, the main character frequently wondered what her life would be like had she made the opposite decision. From our vantage point as readers, we saw what no one in real life ever could: the answer to her question.
In the grand scheme of things, though, it seems like maybe it wasn't the decision itself that was important, but the fact that she'd had a choice in the first place.
Which lends itself handily to the Missing Out argument that our self-inflicted "what ifs" are as valid to our definition of self as our real lives, and thus cumulatively as meaningful to us as the experiences that actually happen...
Talk about a mind-fuck…
(A little heavy for a Monday, I know. On Saturday, I was invited to a party, but I didn't go, which left plenty of time this weekend to finish The Post-Birthday World. I'm not all that interested in speculating on some alternate version of me that went to the party instead...but you might be, because she probably had a more fun blog entry for you today.)
Image yanked from HERE.
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