I love Book TV on C-SPAN 2. Every weekend, I get insight into authors I've heard of, the reasons why they pursued their chosen subjects, and I also learn about authors I've never known before. Yesterday alone, I listened to a talk by author Kristie Miller at the 2011 National Book Festival (headed by the Library of Congress) about her book, Ellen and Edith: Woodrow Wilson's First Ladies which spurred me on to take notes and wonder if I can eventually find a workable angle for one of my presidential history books.
Then there was Candice Millard, author of Destiny of the Republic: A Tale of Madness, Medicine and the Murder of a President, about President Garfield's assassination and the horrid circumstances surrounding it. She was speaking from the James A. Garfield National Historic Site in Mentor, Ohio, where she had undertaken a few research trips for her book. It's a book I can't afford just yet, and am hoping it'll be reduced in price in due time, because I really want to read it, not only to see if I'd need any part of it for my research, but also because she has a low-key, easygoing speaking style that spotlights her vast knowledge on her subjects, which is the same in her writing (I read the sample provided at Amazon).
She had been reading about Alexander Graham Bell, came upon the story about Bell desperately wanting to help the mortally wounded Garfield (also mortally wounded by his doctor who thought he knew everything, but knew nothing about what was necessary to help his patient, and dismissed advice from others that was the correct advice), and was fascinated by it, and decided to research it, and then came the book. In answer to a question about what she was going to write next, she said she couldn't reveal too much since it was in the early stages, but that it was going to be about Winston Churchill.
That's smart, because I also prefer to be vague about my subjects of choice. I've become excited by a potential new project which involves 1930s movie history, but with a different focus. I have also noticed that I have more ideas for non-fiction books than novels. There, I have two dusty ideas, one of which may be viable one day, but even though I read novels, I don't feel the pull to write them as I do with what I want to pursue in non-fiction.
After Millard's talk came a program of Ken Jennings speaking in Seattle at the Elliot Bay Book Company on September 20 about his book Maphead: Charting the Wide, Weird World of Geography Wonks. Lucky Jennings with his astonishing run on Jeopardy! because it's given him great opportunity to become an author. And it's a lot of fun to watch him talk about his book because he split it into three parts: One was a discussion about his own background as a lover of maps, the people he met while writing the book, second was a geography quiz in which the prizes for the eventual winner was a copy of Maphead and a Ken Jennings bobblehead doll which had been made for promotion of a CD quiz game, and third was a Q&A. I'm not sure, but I don't think the C-SPAN program covered the Q&A portion.
During the talk about his book, Jennings described the map rooms in the Library of Congress, which stretched over two or three football fields, over 900 cabinets full of maps in drawers. He described pulling out one map at random, and it was a map of a plantation....George Washington's plantation.
I'm not a maphead. I don't feel what Jennings and others in his book feel about maps, but I have had that feeling about one map that I saw at a rest stop/convenience store in Primm, Nevada, right at the Nevada/California border. Inside, there is a small space of slot machines right as you walk in, to the left is that convenience store (I first had Vegas Chips there, really good potato chips that had been produced in Vegas, and unfortunately, the company that made them was bought out long ago and the product line disappeared) with many products, including coffee, baked goods, and some sandwiches, and to the right is a long hallway leading right to the restrooms.
As you walk that long hallway, on the left are payphones and on the right is a long wall-length map of the United States. I am always awed and fascinated by that map. I first look at Florida, having been born and raised there, to spot where I had lived and to pick out memories, such as DeLand, where, in 1998, me and my Embry-Riddle summer camp roomate, and a flight instructor, had flown in a Cessna to the small airport there, and had lunch in the tiny diner on the property. I also look for St. Augustine, because of the history there that I love, that I've seen, and I search for towns I'd never heard of, and there are always a few.
Then I look at California to first look for Santa Clarita, and then see what I've never heard of in California and there are many towns for that. The rest of the time I spend looking at all the other states, looking for unique names. This map doesn't spur me on to wish to travel extensively one day (though I will hopefully end up doing so as my only goal in life is to visit all the presidential libraries in the nation), but it makes me wonder about all the people who live in these towns, who they are, what they love about their towns, why they might be moving somewhere else, and I regret that there's no one like Charles Kuralt today. He traveled and reported on such people, and we learned so much about the United States because of his efforts and those of the team that accompanied him on these trips. Maybe it's because of the Internet that there isn't anyone like him anymore, because of YouTube, because of people shooting their own videos, but I think we could use a measured voice like that again, someone who explores those lesser-known places with quiet interest. It takes a great, willing mind for that and Kuralt had it.
What I feel about that map at the rest stop is exactly what will transfer over to my new home. I want to explore every square inch of Henderson and Las Vegas and Summerlin and Boulder City and the Hoover Dam. I know parts of all of these, but not enough. When that happens, it's going to be a consistently great time.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Saturday, October 8, 2011
My Favorite Joke
"A car hits a Jewish man. The paramedic rushes over and says, "Are you comfortable?" The guy says, "I make a good living." - Henny Youngman
My Community Standard
A few minutes before 11 yesterday morning, as I was walking the campus, past the 200 classrooms again, I thought back to the Panorama Mall in Panorama City, a no-frills mall that was there for service. No huge banners for movies or TV shows, no soda vending machines with credit card slots, very few stalls across from various stores selling Pillow Pets or cell phone cases. What you see is what there is, and there's also the two-floor Walmart that looks nothing like how the corporation is setting up other Walmarts, with slicker operations.
Across from La Curacao, the Hispanic electronics store, there were tables with chess boards and timers on them, and people playing chess. There was a quiet, thoughtful feeling in this area, and that's my community standard, with people sitting close together, a mutual game between them, enjoying the strategy, the concentration, working to think three moves ahead. Everyone was equal in these games. This is what there was. And it was honest, most important to me, unlike here in Santa Clarita, where you can't get a solid read on anyone. I don't intend to seek out chess games in Henderson, since I don't play chess, but I get that same feeling there.
Across from La Curacao, the Hispanic electronics store, there were tables with chess boards and timers on them, and people playing chess. There was a quiet, thoughtful feeling in this area, and that's my community standard, with people sitting close together, a mutual game between them, enjoying the strategy, the concentration, working to think three moves ahead. Everyone was equal in these games. This is what there was. And it was honest, most important to me, unlike here in Santa Clarita, where you can't get a solid read on anyone. I don't intend to seek out chess games in Henderson, since I don't play chess, but I get that same feeling there.
Friday, October 7, 2011
The Only Job In Which I Can Amble, Mosey, Wander and Stroll
Given a two-day stretch as a substitute campus supervisor, I'm at my best on my second day. Whenever I'm called for the job, it's always a few weeks or sometimes a month in between, and my body is accustomed to the relatively slow pace of my average day. So the first day is always the hardest as my body's not sure what's going on, but this can't be right! All this walking? All this communication with other people? This sudden air of authority? Something's wrong!
Because my hours for this particular campus supervisor, Alex, were 9:30 to 3:30, I had time in the morning to go online and read. On Thursday, I spent those two hours (Dad, Meridith and I get to school at 7:30 or a little past) online, trying to catch up on the latest transcripts of arguments before the Supreme Court in its new term, which I've vowed to follow at length because of my interest in the institution. SCOTUSblog (http://www.scotusblog.com/) provides transcripts in .pdf form at day's end when there are arguments before the court, and I've just found out that The Oyez Project (http://www.oyez.org/) provides the audio, along with transcript follow-along. I think I'll wait at the end of each argument week for the audio because I'd like to read the transcript as the audio goes along. I'd like to listen to the justices' questions, vocal inflections, as well as those of the people arguing these cases.
But on Thursday morning, I finished reading the transcript of Maples v. Thomas, which SCOTUSblog, on its page of the case, puts in plain English: "Whether a defendant is prohibited from arguing in federal that his death sentence is unconstitutional because his lawyer missed a filing deadline in state court."
My maternal grandfather was a lawyer, passionate and dedicated, and though I don't remember a great deal about him, I picked up on this somehow, just as I did with a brief interest in boxing (He loved boxing) that led me to write recaps of fantasy boxing matches years ago when the Internet wasn't as advanced as it is now. However, I've no intention of following my grandfather. I'm happiest as a reader and writer and the Supreme Court is one of many interests.
Thursday was without radio calls from various members of the school administration to bring kids to the office. I walked around during the day, made sure everything was ok, supervised the kids during brunch (15-minute break) and lunch, made sure they got to class when the bell rang between each period, and made sure they left as swiftly as possible at the end of the day. But because my body wasn't used to such activity, I was completely worn out after the day was done. At Walmart Supercenter, where we went to pick up a few things, I felt like everything in me had been scooped out and I was left with a hull of myself. Zombie feeling.
I've started something new whenever I have this job. I love it, but I also make sure to pick out one thing to look forward to when I get home. Yesterday, it was dinner from Wienerschnitzel. Meridith and I went in and we ordered dinner for all of us to bring home, and I ordered a pastrami sandwich and ultimate chili cheese fries, which includes diced onions and sour cream. I had been good with my diet throughout the day, and this was worth it. Wienerschnitzel produces some satisfying chili cheese fries. It's a solid comfort food, even when you're not looking for comfort. Today, I looked forward to a shower in the evening. And it was worth it, naturally.
Today made all the difference. My body knew what was to come, since I had gone to bed at 12:30 a.m. again (I made no attempt to try to go to bed earlier, since I had to make my lunch for the day and shave beforehand), and I was ready. I had my Cheerios in the toy racecar in which you open the back and put them in; I had my Silk Very Vanilla soymilk, my favorite lemon yogurt, a few slices of Swiss and Provolone cheese, previously-frozen strawberries, blueberries and blackberries now thawed out in a plastic container; spinach, cherub tomatoes, and carrot chips in another plastic container; two rice cakes in a plastic baggie, and a Quaker oatmeal raisin granola bar. I gathered it all in a plastic bag and we were all off to work.
I spent time online after we got to school like I did yesterday, except for after the bell rang. Since the special education class that Meridith's an aide for was in Dad's classroom for first period, there aren't as many kids during that time, so I had a computer for myself. This morning, full up, so I went upstairs to the teachers' lounge to lie on the couch and read through most of Books by Larry McMurtry.
The newest feature in the teachers' lounge, right in front of that couch are book racks for teachers to bring in books they don't want anymore, for others to take. When I was substituting for Liz, one of the other campus supervisors (I was substituting these two days for Alex, who's also a football coach at Canyon High), I took my fair share of books then, including Night Fall by Nelson DeMille, All in One Place by Carolyne Aarsen, and someone must have been giving away their John Grisham collection, because I found The King of Torts, The Brethren, and A Painted House. It was funny finding all those Grisham books on the shelves (Bleachers was also there, but football doesn't interest me) because in 3rd grade, Mr. Dexter called my parents in for a conference because I was bringing John Grisham novels to class to read. And I could read them.
Yesterday on those racks, I spotted Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden, Stiltsville by Susanna Daniel (set in 1969 Biscayne Bay, Florida), a much cleaner copy of Love in Mid Air by Kim Wright (I had ordered it online and received it in the mail, and after bringing that better copy home, I put the other one in the Goodwill box), and The Broker by John Grisham. Of course I grabbed all of them. Today, the same Nora Roberts and two Sue Grafton novels still sit on those racks. But the next time I'm called in, I'm hoping there's more great possibilities like those finds.
Before I continue fawning over this wonderful day, there are two cabinets in the school library, one under the magazine racks and a bigger one next to those racks with the labels "Discarded Books." These are books that are no longer needed in the school library and are free to take. Being that books are my life, these are wonderful portals, and in the smaller cabinet, when I was substituting for Liz, I found All Creatures Great and Small and All Things Wise and Wonderful by James Herriott. Today, substituting for Alex, I found The Cherokee Trail by Louis L'Amour, and Goodbye, Mr. Chips by James Hilton, both with "Accelerated Reader" labels on them. Good enough for me!
Lying on the couch, I read a good portion of Books, and marveled at where I was in my life. Before work, I got to read. I stopped at a few points in the book to revel in that. I got to read, since I was starting at 9:30, and it was 8:30. All I want to do in my life is read and write, so this fits easily.
After I signed in on my time card and wrote down the hours, and picked up a walkie-talkie from the head campus supervisor's office, I walked around campus, and my mind went right back to thinking about Las Vegas, about Henderson, about how I can reinvent myself once I'm there. I intend to remain as I am now, but no one knows who I am. No one knows what I'm about, and I can strive to make the best impressions every time. In Henderson, I'd be entirely different from the person I was in Santa Clarita, happier, and from the person I was in Florida, much more grown up, but only in age.
That's what I love about this job: I can think about anything. I've had random song lyrics come to mind, I've thought about if I'd want to date again (I'm not sure I'd want to give up all this reading time), I've mulled over my writing projects, especially my new one which has me very excited. It's a solo foray into 1930s movie history, but not what's typically known. I've thought about possible angles for it, and that unlike What If They Lived?, whose format was already set for me (Phil Hall, my co-writer, who created it, already had everything laid out when he asked if I wanted to join him), I have to write an outline for this book. But I don't mind it because that's the skeleton for the book. Everything else to do with the book will emanate for that. It'll be fun. And it'll get me closer to editing, which I enjoy more than writing. I like to write, but I love to move around words, sentences, rewrite paragraphs, and shape a book to become what I'd want to read.
There were a few calls for a campus supervisor today, two kids going home, one dismissed curtly by a P.E. teacher who wanted me to take him to the principal's office, and another to be taken to see one of the assistant principals. Some kids are easy to talk to as we walk, some I can sense that silence is best as we walk to the office. It's easy to know.
Because Liz wasn't there today (she always seems to take Fridays off), I drove the golf cart to the basketball court with the mesh basketball bag hooked in the back, giving out the basketballs and taking IDs in exchange at brunch and lunch. There wasn't much action on the court at brunch. The only interesting part had been a kid giving me his backpack as collateral for a basketball. I'm ok with that, because if a kid wants to play basketball, my favorite sport, he's going to have the chance to play.
But at lunch, holy god! There was a 4-on-4 game going on that was the most intense, the most talented I have ever seen in the years I've been a substitute campus supervisor at La Mesa. These kids played hard, one kid fell on the blacktop, but was ok, and they were laser-coordinated. There was a clear love of the game among all of them, and one kid in particular threw a hook shot a few inches off half-court and it went in! I was stunned and the other kids were floored as well. Naturally, he tried it again merely two minutes after and didn't make it. Never attempt a sequel so soon after. Build up again, and then do it. After checking on the kid that had fallen on the blacktop, I enthusiastically complimented the star player on his shot. I love watching basketball (and only shooting hoops. No full-on games), and that was great basketball. There was no showmanship ahead of the shot. He just concentrated and did it.
After I had collected all the basketballs, one kid from that game limped up to me, having twisted his ankle, and he wanted to go to the health office in the front office. He got into the golf cart next to me, we went to the office, and I walked him in. Later, I found a jacket left near the office, brought it in to put into the lost and found pail, and went into the health office to see how he was doing, telling the woman working there about his great feats as part of that game. He was a great player as well. Devotion to the game is what I like to see first, and all of those kids had it.
Later in the day, while walking around the campus yet again, I looked at the cement blocks near the library with the poles planted that hold up part of the walkway roof, and I couldn't see how the golf cart could drive through that space, even though Liz and John, the head campus supervisor, had done it before. I went back to where the golf cart was, across from the campus supervisor office, put in the key and drove to that part. And it was like the space had widened. I drove through that easily.
I did two circuits around the campus, then parked it where it was, and a little later, drove it around again. I wanted the practice, and I did well. And since John was sitting in the health office at that time while it was lunchtime for the woman there, no one needed the golf cart, so there was my chance.
Those were the major parts of the day. I have other ideas for potential careers in Henderson, but I'm seriously considering this for a full-time career. I have easy access to strong recommendation letters, I have the experience, and I have a feeling that since you have to make your life work in whatever way you're looking for, being that you live in the desert, being a campus supervisor would be even better. And I wouldn't mind helping with traffic crossings at the end of the day, the roads being easier there. Traffic crossings at the end of the day at La Mesa are crazy. Those who pick up the kids are in a rush, don't care about others, very nearly run you over since they're not paying attention, and it's frustrating. I have the feeling it may not be that way there.
This is the good life. I have opportunities to read before I start work, during lunch, and during the day, walking around the campus, I can think about my writing. In fact, I thought of the title of this entry while walking past the classrooms in the 200 section of the school (Room 222, 234, and so forth), and spent some time thinking of the arrangement I wanted for those four words. This could be where I belong.
Because my hours for this particular campus supervisor, Alex, were 9:30 to 3:30, I had time in the morning to go online and read. On Thursday, I spent those two hours (Dad, Meridith and I get to school at 7:30 or a little past) online, trying to catch up on the latest transcripts of arguments before the Supreme Court in its new term, which I've vowed to follow at length because of my interest in the institution. SCOTUSblog (http://www.scotusblog.com/) provides transcripts in .pdf form at day's end when there are arguments before the court, and I've just found out that The Oyez Project (http://www.oyez.org/) provides the audio, along with transcript follow-along. I think I'll wait at the end of each argument week for the audio because I'd like to read the transcript as the audio goes along. I'd like to listen to the justices' questions, vocal inflections, as well as those of the people arguing these cases.
But on Thursday morning, I finished reading the transcript of Maples v. Thomas, which SCOTUSblog, on its page of the case, puts in plain English: "Whether a defendant is prohibited from arguing in federal that his death sentence is unconstitutional because his lawyer missed a filing deadline in state court."
My maternal grandfather was a lawyer, passionate and dedicated, and though I don't remember a great deal about him, I picked up on this somehow, just as I did with a brief interest in boxing (He loved boxing) that led me to write recaps of fantasy boxing matches years ago when the Internet wasn't as advanced as it is now. However, I've no intention of following my grandfather. I'm happiest as a reader and writer and the Supreme Court is one of many interests.
Thursday was without radio calls from various members of the school administration to bring kids to the office. I walked around during the day, made sure everything was ok, supervised the kids during brunch (15-minute break) and lunch, made sure they got to class when the bell rang between each period, and made sure they left as swiftly as possible at the end of the day. But because my body wasn't used to such activity, I was completely worn out after the day was done. At Walmart Supercenter, where we went to pick up a few things, I felt like everything in me had been scooped out and I was left with a hull of myself. Zombie feeling.
I've started something new whenever I have this job. I love it, but I also make sure to pick out one thing to look forward to when I get home. Yesterday, it was dinner from Wienerschnitzel. Meridith and I went in and we ordered dinner for all of us to bring home, and I ordered a pastrami sandwich and ultimate chili cheese fries, which includes diced onions and sour cream. I had been good with my diet throughout the day, and this was worth it. Wienerschnitzel produces some satisfying chili cheese fries. It's a solid comfort food, even when you're not looking for comfort. Today, I looked forward to a shower in the evening. And it was worth it, naturally.
Today made all the difference. My body knew what was to come, since I had gone to bed at 12:30 a.m. again (I made no attempt to try to go to bed earlier, since I had to make my lunch for the day and shave beforehand), and I was ready. I had my Cheerios in the toy racecar in which you open the back and put them in; I had my Silk Very Vanilla soymilk, my favorite lemon yogurt, a few slices of Swiss and Provolone cheese, previously-frozen strawberries, blueberries and blackberries now thawed out in a plastic container; spinach, cherub tomatoes, and carrot chips in another plastic container; two rice cakes in a plastic baggie, and a Quaker oatmeal raisin granola bar. I gathered it all in a plastic bag and we were all off to work.
I spent time online after we got to school like I did yesterday, except for after the bell rang. Since the special education class that Meridith's an aide for was in Dad's classroom for first period, there aren't as many kids during that time, so I had a computer for myself. This morning, full up, so I went upstairs to the teachers' lounge to lie on the couch and read through most of Books by Larry McMurtry.
The newest feature in the teachers' lounge, right in front of that couch are book racks for teachers to bring in books they don't want anymore, for others to take. When I was substituting for Liz, one of the other campus supervisors (I was substituting these two days for Alex, who's also a football coach at Canyon High), I took my fair share of books then, including Night Fall by Nelson DeMille, All in One Place by Carolyne Aarsen, and someone must have been giving away their John Grisham collection, because I found The King of Torts, The Brethren, and A Painted House. It was funny finding all those Grisham books on the shelves (Bleachers was also there, but football doesn't interest me) because in 3rd grade, Mr. Dexter called my parents in for a conference because I was bringing John Grisham novels to class to read. And I could read them.
Yesterday on those racks, I spotted Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden, Stiltsville by Susanna Daniel (set in 1969 Biscayne Bay, Florida), a much cleaner copy of Love in Mid Air by Kim Wright (I had ordered it online and received it in the mail, and after bringing that better copy home, I put the other one in the Goodwill box), and The Broker by John Grisham. Of course I grabbed all of them. Today, the same Nora Roberts and two Sue Grafton novels still sit on those racks. But the next time I'm called in, I'm hoping there's more great possibilities like those finds.
Before I continue fawning over this wonderful day, there are two cabinets in the school library, one under the magazine racks and a bigger one next to those racks with the labels "Discarded Books." These are books that are no longer needed in the school library and are free to take. Being that books are my life, these are wonderful portals, and in the smaller cabinet, when I was substituting for Liz, I found All Creatures Great and Small and All Things Wise and Wonderful by James Herriott. Today, substituting for Alex, I found The Cherokee Trail by Louis L'Amour, and Goodbye, Mr. Chips by James Hilton, both with "Accelerated Reader" labels on them. Good enough for me!
Lying on the couch, I read a good portion of Books, and marveled at where I was in my life. Before work, I got to read. I stopped at a few points in the book to revel in that. I got to read, since I was starting at 9:30, and it was 8:30. All I want to do in my life is read and write, so this fits easily.
After I signed in on my time card and wrote down the hours, and picked up a walkie-talkie from the head campus supervisor's office, I walked around campus, and my mind went right back to thinking about Las Vegas, about Henderson, about how I can reinvent myself once I'm there. I intend to remain as I am now, but no one knows who I am. No one knows what I'm about, and I can strive to make the best impressions every time. In Henderson, I'd be entirely different from the person I was in Santa Clarita, happier, and from the person I was in Florida, much more grown up, but only in age.
That's what I love about this job: I can think about anything. I've had random song lyrics come to mind, I've thought about if I'd want to date again (I'm not sure I'd want to give up all this reading time), I've mulled over my writing projects, especially my new one which has me very excited. It's a solo foray into 1930s movie history, but not what's typically known. I've thought about possible angles for it, and that unlike What If They Lived?, whose format was already set for me (Phil Hall, my co-writer, who created it, already had everything laid out when he asked if I wanted to join him), I have to write an outline for this book. But I don't mind it because that's the skeleton for the book. Everything else to do with the book will emanate for that. It'll be fun. And it'll get me closer to editing, which I enjoy more than writing. I like to write, but I love to move around words, sentences, rewrite paragraphs, and shape a book to become what I'd want to read.
There were a few calls for a campus supervisor today, two kids going home, one dismissed curtly by a P.E. teacher who wanted me to take him to the principal's office, and another to be taken to see one of the assistant principals. Some kids are easy to talk to as we walk, some I can sense that silence is best as we walk to the office. It's easy to know.
Because Liz wasn't there today (she always seems to take Fridays off), I drove the golf cart to the basketball court with the mesh basketball bag hooked in the back, giving out the basketballs and taking IDs in exchange at brunch and lunch. There wasn't much action on the court at brunch. The only interesting part had been a kid giving me his backpack as collateral for a basketball. I'm ok with that, because if a kid wants to play basketball, my favorite sport, he's going to have the chance to play.
But at lunch, holy god! There was a 4-on-4 game going on that was the most intense, the most talented I have ever seen in the years I've been a substitute campus supervisor at La Mesa. These kids played hard, one kid fell on the blacktop, but was ok, and they were laser-coordinated. There was a clear love of the game among all of them, and one kid in particular threw a hook shot a few inches off half-court and it went in! I was stunned and the other kids were floored as well. Naturally, he tried it again merely two minutes after and didn't make it. Never attempt a sequel so soon after. Build up again, and then do it. After checking on the kid that had fallen on the blacktop, I enthusiastically complimented the star player on his shot. I love watching basketball (and only shooting hoops. No full-on games), and that was great basketball. There was no showmanship ahead of the shot. He just concentrated and did it.
After I had collected all the basketballs, one kid from that game limped up to me, having twisted his ankle, and he wanted to go to the health office in the front office. He got into the golf cart next to me, we went to the office, and I walked him in. Later, I found a jacket left near the office, brought it in to put into the lost and found pail, and went into the health office to see how he was doing, telling the woman working there about his great feats as part of that game. He was a great player as well. Devotion to the game is what I like to see first, and all of those kids had it.
Later in the day, while walking around the campus yet again, I looked at the cement blocks near the library with the poles planted that hold up part of the walkway roof, and I couldn't see how the golf cart could drive through that space, even though Liz and John, the head campus supervisor, had done it before. I went back to where the golf cart was, across from the campus supervisor office, put in the key and drove to that part. And it was like the space had widened. I drove through that easily.
I did two circuits around the campus, then parked it where it was, and a little later, drove it around again. I wanted the practice, and I did well. And since John was sitting in the health office at that time while it was lunchtime for the woman there, no one needed the golf cart, so there was my chance.
Those were the major parts of the day. I have other ideas for potential careers in Henderson, but I'm seriously considering this for a full-time career. I have easy access to strong recommendation letters, I have the experience, and I have a feeling that since you have to make your life work in whatever way you're looking for, being that you live in the desert, being a campus supervisor would be even better. And I wouldn't mind helping with traffic crossings at the end of the day, the roads being easier there. Traffic crossings at the end of the day at La Mesa are crazy. Those who pick up the kids are in a rush, don't care about others, very nearly run you over since they're not paying attention, and it's frustrating. I have the feeling it may not be that way there.
This is the good life. I have opportunities to read before I start work, during lunch, and during the day, walking around the campus, I can think about my writing. In fact, I thought of the title of this entry while walking past the classrooms in the 200 section of the school (Room 222, 234, and so forth), and spent some time thinking of the arrangement I wanted for those four words. This could be where I belong.
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Another Day, More Dollars
The head campus supervisor at La Mesa called the house tonight. He and another campus supervisor are going to be out for the next two days. Did I want the hours? Hell yes! 9:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. for this other campus supervisors. Six hours. And, according to the paycheck I got when I was a substitute for Liz, that's $13 an hour. A few dollars taken off as they always are by the district, but it's not a bad shaving.
So my plan for tomorrow is as follows:
- Wake up a little after 6, giving a scant few minutes over to checking my e-mail and posting on my Facebook account as I usually do, since access is blocked at the school.
- Breakfast is Cheerios in the plastic race car with the Cheerios logo on the hood, and the back opens up for the Cheerios, Silk Very Vanilla soymilk, and a banana.
- Since I report in at 9:30, less than an hour after school begins, I have time to go online in my dad's classroom, being that the class that period is small, and I can read. I'm bringing Books by Larry McMurtry, American Original: The Life and Constitution of Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia by Joan Biskupic (I've been following the new Supreme Court term, reading transcripts of the arguments and the reportage of Lyle Denniston on SCOTUSblog (http://www.scotusblog.com) and Biskupic on the USA Today website, and though I know a little about Scalia, I've become more and more curious about him), and On the Road with Charles Kuralt by Charles Kuralt, transcripts of his programs, with photos. I'm reading Books, so that'll be first in my reading time. At 259 pages, it's relatively short, and I may start the Scalia one towards the end of the work day tomorrow.
- I then do what I usually do throughout the day, making sure the kids get to class, walking around, making sure that everything's ok, supervising the kids at lunch along with the rest of the campus supervisors, and whatever comes around tomorrow. Each day differs slightly. Keeps it interesting, though to me, it's always interesting.
- I got some great news from Meridith that we're getting dinner from Wienerschnitzel tomorrow which, for me, means a pastrami sandwich (I liked it when I had it last time) and ultimate chili cheese fries, with sour cream and diced onions. Wienerschnitzel cares about good chili cheese fries and this is the last time I'll break my diet for a while. Plus, I'll be good for the entire day, and it's nice to have at the end of the day. Something as enjoyable as the previous parts of the day will likely be.
It's nice to have these two days slide right into the weekend. Money earned on a Friday. Can't beat that.
So my plan for tomorrow is as follows:
- Wake up a little after 6, giving a scant few minutes over to checking my e-mail and posting on my Facebook account as I usually do, since access is blocked at the school.
- Breakfast is Cheerios in the plastic race car with the Cheerios logo on the hood, and the back opens up for the Cheerios, Silk Very Vanilla soymilk, and a banana.
- Since I report in at 9:30, less than an hour after school begins, I have time to go online in my dad's classroom, being that the class that period is small, and I can read. I'm bringing Books by Larry McMurtry, American Original: The Life and Constitution of Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia by Joan Biskupic (I've been following the new Supreme Court term, reading transcripts of the arguments and the reportage of Lyle Denniston on SCOTUSblog (http://www.scotusblog.com) and Biskupic on the USA Today website, and though I know a little about Scalia, I've become more and more curious about him), and On the Road with Charles Kuralt by Charles Kuralt, transcripts of his programs, with photos. I'm reading Books, so that'll be first in my reading time. At 259 pages, it's relatively short, and I may start the Scalia one towards the end of the work day tomorrow.
- I then do what I usually do throughout the day, making sure the kids get to class, walking around, making sure that everything's ok, supervising the kids at lunch along with the rest of the campus supervisors, and whatever comes around tomorrow. Each day differs slightly. Keeps it interesting, though to me, it's always interesting.
- I got some great news from Meridith that we're getting dinner from Wienerschnitzel tomorrow which, for me, means a pastrami sandwich (I liked it when I had it last time) and ultimate chili cheese fries, with sour cream and diced onions. Wienerschnitzel cares about good chili cheese fries and this is the last time I'll break my diet for a while. Plus, I'll be good for the entire day, and it's nice to have at the end of the day. Something as enjoyable as the previous parts of the day will likely be.
It's nice to have these two days slide right into the weekend. Money earned on a Friday. Can't beat that.
Every Book Has Two Authors
Inside the peaceful bliss that was Crown Books in West Hills yesterday, I couldn't pick up every single book and read every first page, first because not every book interested me and second, I didn't have that much time. I never looked at my watch when I got there, never glanced at it while I was browsing, but I'm sure I must have spent an hour and a half to two hours there. Not every book could be mine.
I noticed, though, relying heavily on the copy printed on the back of paperback, and on the paper flaps of hardcover books that every book has two authors. There is the author you know, whose latest book you pick up, curious if you'll have the same pleasureable experience you had with the work that got you hooked on them in the first place. Then there are those authors you don't know much about, but either the title attracts you or the cover or, indeed, the copy describing what the book is about. We don't know who those particular writers are. They work for whatever publishing company put out the book, probably working in marketing, and they have to condense that entire book into succinct sentences that can pull in potential readers, can make them buy that book. That's the business they're in, and maybe they're looking to become novelists or non-fiction writers too. Judging by some of the copy I read, whoever they are, they should.
The first paperback book I picked up from a table heavy with paperbacks that joined a harcover Anna Quindlen book called Thinking Out Loud: On the Personal, the Political, the Public and the Private (Quindlen's easy. I'll read anything she writes and I don't need the invisible writer's copy to tell me to read her) was On a Night Like This by Ellen Sussman. The copy on the back reads:
"Blair Clement is a struggling single mother with a teenage daughter, a job as a chef, and a tragic secret that will test all of her emotional resources. Luke Bellingham has fulfilled his early promise and is one of the country's most acclaimed screenwriters. The two haven't laid eyes on each other for decades, not since they went to the same West Coast high school.
Now, for a class reunion, Luke impulsively contacts the woman who has long intrigued him. And before she knows what hit her, Blair is faced with the decision of her lifetime: what to do when the right man comes along...but at the wrong time."
The keywords for me in this copy were "chef" (My sister's an aspiring one, and I'll read anything food-related), "screenwriters", and this reunion between the two. I'm curious about what will happen. Obviously the copy doesn't give away everything because then there may not be a point in reading the book, though I think I would anyway, because writing style interests me as well, the way this author, Ellen Sussman, chooses to tell her story.
Because of that copy, I turned to the first page: "Blair lifted the man's arm and slid out from under him. She tucked a pillow back in her place, and he embraced it easily. She smiled at that. Men. She gathered her clothes from the floor and tucked them under her arm, picked up her shoes, stopped in the doorway. She looked back at the man, his long, lean body curled away from her, his hair a tousled mess, his face half buried in the pillot. I could climb back into bed and stay there awhile, she thought. She closed the door quietly behind her."
Copy and first paragraph together. I'm in. And that's why I bought it.
The same happened with Bed Rest by Sarah Bilston, a novel concept for a novel:
"Quinn "Q" Boothroyd is a young British lawyer married to an American and living in New York City. She's checked off most of the boxes on her "Modern Woman's List of Things to Do Before Hitting 30," and her busy working life has been relatively painless. But when her doctor tells her she must spend the last three months of her pregnancy lying in bed, Q is thrown into a tailspin. Initially bored and frustrated, Q soon fills her days by trying to reconnect with her workaholic husband, provide legal advice for her sweet Greek neighbor, forge new emotional bonds with her mother and sisters, and figure out who will keep her stocked up in cookies and sandwiches.
Q experiences adventures on the couch she never would have encountered in the law firm and learns a lot about herself and what she wants out of life--and above all, about the little one growing inside her."
I hope the name is used for a better reason than just for the simple fact that Bilston may be a Bond fan, being that in the novels, there was Major Boothroyd, the weapons master known as "Q" and certainly as well known in the movies too. To me, that feels too easy, like there wasn't a great deal of thought about the name beyond Quinn. But I'm willing to try this.
I didn't need to read all the copy on the back cover of Do Bald Man Get Half-Price Haircuts?: In Search of America's Great Barbershops by Vince Staten. I wanted to read it just because of the title alone, and the first sentence of the second paragraph of the copy that states: "Staten visited more than three hundred barbershops, in towns ranging from Chowchilla, California, to Mount Airy, North Carolina."
That's all I need!
And with those who work at publishing companies, wise are the ones who find the right critical quotes to put on the backs of books. I picked up Maybe the Moon by Armistead Mapuin, because I had seen it listed on the inside page of every successive Tales of the City novel that I read. And because of my experience of reading those books, which tug at me for a re-read every few months, I decided to see what this one was about.
On the back of this paperback edition was a quote from Publishers Weekly which began: "Though Cadence Roth, the heroine of Maupin's captivating novel, is only 31 inches tall, her impact on the reader's emotions is enormous..."
Stop, stop, stop. That's all I need to know. Now I'm curious about Cadence Roth. But just to be sure, I turned to the first page:
"THE DIARY WAS RENEE'S IDEA. SHE RAN ACROSS THIS NOTEBOOK at Walgreens last week and decided on the spot that it was time for me to start writing things down. Just so you'll know, it's a Mr. Woods notebook, the spiral kind, with a green cardboard cover and the little bastard himself gazing wistfully from his hole in the tree trunk. Renee took this as a major omen. That evening over dinner she made such a solemn ceremony out of giving it to me that I felt like Moses on Mount Sinai. Since then, so help me, she hasn't stopped peeping at me sideways, watching my every move, waiting breathlessly for the muse to strike."
Not only do I want to read this book as soon as possible (Books by Larry McMurtry is next, and today I received The New Yorker Stories by Ann Beattie, and my Ann Beattie obsession is not going away until I exhaust her entire bibliography, and by then, it'll probably remain on "simmer"), but I feel like I should check in on Mrs. Madrigal again. That pull is back.
I appreciate those whose job it is to write that copy that'll market the book, or picking out the quotes by critics that will best represent the book because otherwise, I would still be at Crown Books at this very moment, reading every first page, seeing if something clicks and yanks me in. It's a great place to be, and it's where I would live if I had the opportunity (though with less dust because when I walked out with my 10 books in a plastic bag, I got a slight headache from my sinuses getting used to fresh air again, clearing out that atmosphere). But I'd rather be reading for long hours, books that I know I absolutely cannot go without. Crown Books is an incredible way station for traveling readers looking for their next destinations, and well-written copy on the backs of many books and the flaps of many book jackets makes the experience worthwhile. But one thing I know from years of reading is that you can't put your faith entirely in that copy. It's only meant as a bridge to the book. The rest of the effort is yours and if the book turns out not to be good, it's not the copy's fault. The journey just didn't work out, and there's always opportunities for others.
I noticed, though, relying heavily on the copy printed on the back of paperback, and on the paper flaps of hardcover books that every book has two authors. There is the author you know, whose latest book you pick up, curious if you'll have the same pleasureable experience you had with the work that got you hooked on them in the first place. Then there are those authors you don't know much about, but either the title attracts you or the cover or, indeed, the copy describing what the book is about. We don't know who those particular writers are. They work for whatever publishing company put out the book, probably working in marketing, and they have to condense that entire book into succinct sentences that can pull in potential readers, can make them buy that book. That's the business they're in, and maybe they're looking to become novelists or non-fiction writers too. Judging by some of the copy I read, whoever they are, they should.
The first paperback book I picked up from a table heavy with paperbacks that joined a harcover Anna Quindlen book called Thinking Out Loud: On the Personal, the Political, the Public and the Private (Quindlen's easy. I'll read anything she writes and I don't need the invisible writer's copy to tell me to read her) was On a Night Like This by Ellen Sussman. The copy on the back reads:
"Blair Clement is a struggling single mother with a teenage daughter, a job as a chef, and a tragic secret that will test all of her emotional resources. Luke Bellingham has fulfilled his early promise and is one of the country's most acclaimed screenwriters. The two haven't laid eyes on each other for decades, not since they went to the same West Coast high school.
Now, for a class reunion, Luke impulsively contacts the woman who has long intrigued him. And before she knows what hit her, Blair is faced with the decision of her lifetime: what to do when the right man comes along...but at the wrong time."
The keywords for me in this copy were "chef" (My sister's an aspiring one, and I'll read anything food-related), "screenwriters", and this reunion between the two. I'm curious about what will happen. Obviously the copy doesn't give away everything because then there may not be a point in reading the book, though I think I would anyway, because writing style interests me as well, the way this author, Ellen Sussman, chooses to tell her story.
Because of that copy, I turned to the first page: "Blair lifted the man's arm and slid out from under him. She tucked a pillow back in her place, and he embraced it easily. She smiled at that. Men. She gathered her clothes from the floor and tucked them under her arm, picked up her shoes, stopped in the doorway. She looked back at the man, his long, lean body curled away from her, his hair a tousled mess, his face half buried in the pillot. I could climb back into bed and stay there awhile, she thought. She closed the door quietly behind her."
Copy and first paragraph together. I'm in. And that's why I bought it.
The same happened with Bed Rest by Sarah Bilston, a novel concept for a novel:
"Quinn "Q" Boothroyd is a young British lawyer married to an American and living in New York City. She's checked off most of the boxes on her "Modern Woman's List of Things to Do Before Hitting 30," and her busy working life has been relatively painless. But when her doctor tells her she must spend the last three months of her pregnancy lying in bed, Q is thrown into a tailspin. Initially bored and frustrated, Q soon fills her days by trying to reconnect with her workaholic husband, provide legal advice for her sweet Greek neighbor, forge new emotional bonds with her mother and sisters, and figure out who will keep her stocked up in cookies and sandwiches.
Q experiences adventures on the couch she never would have encountered in the law firm and learns a lot about herself and what she wants out of life--and above all, about the little one growing inside her."
I hope the name is used for a better reason than just for the simple fact that Bilston may be a Bond fan, being that in the novels, there was Major Boothroyd, the weapons master known as "Q" and certainly as well known in the movies too. To me, that feels too easy, like there wasn't a great deal of thought about the name beyond Quinn. But I'm willing to try this.
I didn't need to read all the copy on the back cover of Do Bald Man Get Half-Price Haircuts?: In Search of America's Great Barbershops by Vince Staten. I wanted to read it just because of the title alone, and the first sentence of the second paragraph of the copy that states: "Staten visited more than three hundred barbershops, in towns ranging from Chowchilla, California, to Mount Airy, North Carolina."
That's all I need!
And with those who work at publishing companies, wise are the ones who find the right critical quotes to put on the backs of books. I picked up Maybe the Moon by Armistead Mapuin, because I had seen it listed on the inside page of every successive Tales of the City novel that I read. And because of my experience of reading those books, which tug at me for a re-read every few months, I decided to see what this one was about.
On the back of this paperback edition was a quote from Publishers Weekly which began: "Though Cadence Roth, the heroine of Maupin's captivating novel, is only 31 inches tall, her impact on the reader's emotions is enormous..."
Stop, stop, stop. That's all I need to know. Now I'm curious about Cadence Roth. But just to be sure, I turned to the first page:
"THE DIARY WAS RENEE'S IDEA. SHE RAN ACROSS THIS NOTEBOOK at Walgreens last week and decided on the spot that it was time for me to start writing things down. Just so you'll know, it's a Mr. Woods notebook, the spiral kind, with a green cardboard cover and the little bastard himself gazing wistfully from his hole in the tree trunk. Renee took this as a major omen. That evening over dinner she made such a solemn ceremony out of giving it to me that I felt like Moses on Mount Sinai. Since then, so help me, she hasn't stopped peeping at me sideways, watching my every move, waiting breathlessly for the muse to strike."
Not only do I want to read this book as soon as possible (Books by Larry McMurtry is next, and today I received The New Yorker Stories by Ann Beattie, and my Ann Beattie obsession is not going away until I exhaust her entire bibliography, and by then, it'll probably remain on "simmer"), but I feel like I should check in on Mrs. Madrigal again. That pull is back.
I appreciate those whose job it is to write that copy that'll market the book, or picking out the quotes by critics that will best represent the book because otherwise, I would still be at Crown Books at this very moment, reading every first page, seeing if something clicks and yanks me in. It's a great place to be, and it's where I would live if I had the opportunity (though with less dust because when I walked out with my 10 books in a plastic bag, I got a slight headache from my sinuses getting used to fresh air again, clearing out that atmosphere). But I'd rather be reading for long hours, books that I know I absolutely cannot go without. Crown Books is an incredible way station for traveling readers looking for their next destinations, and well-written copy on the backs of many books and the flaps of many book jackets makes the experience worthwhile. But one thing I know from years of reading is that you can't put your faith entirely in that copy. It's only meant as a bridge to the book. The rest of the effort is yours and if the book turns out not to be good, it's not the copy's fault. The journey just didn't work out, and there's always opportunities for others.
Truth in Books
If you're planning to read The Borrower by Rebecca Makkai, it may be best to skip this entry. Even though the end is hinted at at the beginning, the end isn't as vague, and it's what I quote from at length here because it imparts the truth about what books can do:
"Because what it's come down to, after that whole messy spring, that whole tortured summer, all the time since, is this: I no longer believe I can save people. I've tried, and I've failed, and while I'm sure there are people out in the world with that particular gift, I'm not one of them. I make too much of a mess of things. But books, on the other hand: I do still believe that books can save you.
I believed that Ian Drake would get his books, as surely as any addict will get his drug. He would bribe his babysitter, he'd sneak out of the house at night and smash the library window. He'd sell his own guinea pig for book money. He would read under his tented comforter with a penlight. He'd hollow out his mattress and fill it with paperbacks. They could lock him in the house, but they could never convince him that the world wasn't a bigger place than that. They'd wonder why they couldn't break him. They'd wonder why he smiled when they sent him to his room.
I knew that books could save him because I knew they had so far, and because I knew the people books had saved. They were college professors and actors and scientists and poets. They got to college and sat on dorm floors drinking coffee, amazed they'd finally found their soul mates. They always dressed a little out of season. Their names were enshrined on the pink cards in the pockets of all the forgotten hardbacks in every library basement in America. If the librarians were lazy enough or nostalgic enough or smart enough, those names would stay there forever."
"Because what it's come down to, after that whole messy spring, that whole tortured summer, all the time since, is this: I no longer believe I can save people. I've tried, and I've failed, and while I'm sure there are people out in the world with that particular gift, I'm not one of them. I make too much of a mess of things. But books, on the other hand: I do still believe that books can save you.
I believed that Ian Drake would get his books, as surely as any addict will get his drug. He would bribe his babysitter, he'd sneak out of the house at night and smash the library window. He'd sell his own guinea pig for book money. He would read under his tented comforter with a penlight. He'd hollow out his mattress and fill it with paperbacks. They could lock him in the house, but they could never convince him that the world wasn't a bigger place than that. They'd wonder why they couldn't break him. They'd wonder why he smiled when they sent him to his room.
I knew that books could save him because I knew they had so far, and because I knew the people books had saved. They were college professors and actors and scientists and poets. They got to college and sat on dorm floors drinking coffee, amazed they'd finally found their soul mates. They always dressed a little out of season. Their names were enshrined on the pink cards in the pockets of all the forgotten hardbacks in every library basement in America. If the librarians were lazy enough or nostalgic enough or smart enough, those names would stay there forever."
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