On Hanukkah, which my family and I celebrate, the world doesn't stop because not everyone is Jewish.
On Christmas, most of the world feels like it stops, but not all, because I'm not Christian or any other denomination that celebrates Christmas.
But on Thanksgiving, the entire world feels like it stops. There is no work for anyone to do, but I say this because neither I nor any other member of my family is an employee at the mercy of any of the corporations and companies that do their damndest to squeeze the ever-loving profits out of Black Friday, with some stores already open during Thanksgiving.
Thanksgiving here is just me, Meridith, Mom, Dad, Tigger, Kitty, and our finches, Mr. Chips and Gizmo. We don't have to cook a great deal since it's just us, so there's one big dish of stuffing, two dishes of candied yams with marshmallows (since Mom likes them a lot), and either a turkey or the massive breast of a Butterball turkey, as it was this year. This also means that there's nothing to catch up on because we know each other, every day.
When I got up past 11 this morning, Mom and Meridith were watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in the master bedroom, and Dad was out looking for an L.A. Times. Before I even had a late breakfast, I got on the computer to see what Thanksgiving detritus there was, holiday wishes from good friends on Facebook and by e-mail, including one from Sara, always nice to see.
This day is as comfortable as stuffing. I was ticked off last night about how Sony packaged the complete series set of Married with Children, and decided right then to get a DVD storage binder for the discs so I didn't have to constantly take out DVDs to get the one I wanted and then stack them one on top of each other again. Today, I decided to go further: I'm going to get a huge DVD storage binder, perhaps with the capacity for 420 DVDs, so I can store 90% of my DVDs that way, get rid of cases I don't think I need beyond booklets that come with a few of the DVDs, so when we move, I can bring more books with me to Henderson.
There will be some exceptions, such as the complete series sets of I Love Lucy and M*A*S*H, because those are uniquely packaged, and my James Bond DVD sets, four volumes. But for movies like Unstrung Heroes, Murphy's Romance, Adventureland, My Blueberry Nights, and 84 Charing Cross Road, I don't need the DVD cases. All I want is what's on those discs. That's it. Why let those cases take up space in boxes? That's a waste, and in the new apartment, I can use that space that those DVD cases would have taken up for my books. For now, I'm researching various binders, received a strong recommendation from a Facebook acquaintance who knows what it is to store DVDs since he has hundreds, and I'll see what looks strong enough and will last for years.
Before dinner began, I finished reading the final three pages of Hopscotch and Handbags: The Essential Guide to Being a Girl by Guardian columnist Lucy Mangan, who is one of the funniest writers I've ever read, possibly the funniest, but very much in my top three. She doesn't strive to be funny, reaching for the laughs like Dave Barry does. Her thoughts are sometimes outlandish, but the laughs emanate from whatever she writes about, including womanhood in this case. Before the holiday, I thought that I would take these days to read all of that as well as My Family and Other Disasters (A collection of her columns in The Guardian) and The Reluctant Bride: One Woman's Journey (Kicking and Screaming) Down the Aisle, also by her.
But I looked at one stack of books across from the foot of my bed, on the right side of my room, and there at the top was Stranger on a Train: Daydreaming and Smoking Around America with Interruptions by Jenny Diski, about the two Amtrak trips she took throughout the United States. I decided that I wanted to travel in a book for a while. And under that one was The River Queen: A Memoir by Mary Morris, who traveled down the Mississippi in a houseboat called the River Queen. That will come after Stranger on a Train.
I don't brood as much as Jenny Diski does in the early pages of this book, but reading her descriptions of her childhood and teenage years, her reasons for being on a cargo ship from the U.K. to Tampa, Florida, the people she meets that she describes so well, I realized that I am exactly who I want to be. I am a passionate, voracious bibliophile with a job I love that I want to make full time so I can keep on reading and writing like I do now. I have books I want to write and see published, there's always movies throughout the year that I want to see (including Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol, the 3D release of Beauty and the Beast, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel, and many more throughout next year), I love to play Galaga on the Nintendo DS whenever I find the time and especially when I find an arcade machine, I love pinball, I love basketball, and I feel, even with Henderson and Las Vegas coming up in due time, that if I find someone to share my life, that'd be nice, but if not, that's ok. I don't want to push for it. I don't have that drive. I'm very comfortable with who I am. I've figured out the right blend for my life and it suits me perfectly.
In that same vein, I found that I want to read a lot more travel books (by travel writers, not the guidebooks, not yet anyway) about China, Mexico, and New Mexico. Las Vegas is a given what with the stack of books I have about it already, and hopefully being a resident soon, which will give me the most welcome opportunity to ransack the Nevada history sections at the Henderson and Clark County libraries so I can learn all about where I live and the state that I can proudly call home.
My interest in China began after reading The Last Chinese Chef by Nicole Mones and wanting to know more about its culinary history and so much more about its history in general, as well as its literature. I wanted more about Mexico after reading about Anthony Bourdain's experiences in food there in his The Nasty Bits. New Mexico is because of The Secret of Everything by Barbara O'Neal. It's because of that wonderful, wonderful novel that I want to visit there one day.
However, I recently learned that the influence of New Mexico has been in my life far longer than this past September, when I read The Secret of Everything. After Andy Rooney had put squarely in my mind the notion of becoming a writer, I discovered in my early teens a book called Wild Mind: Living the Writer's Life by Natalie Goldberg. Goldberg's advice about writing and the prompts she provided in order to provide fuel for writing made it feel like writing was about freedom, about writing whatever you wanted and not being afraid to do so. In that book, I remember reading about Taos, not even knowing where that is, though I do now. And I found out that Goldberg lives in northern New Mexico.
I need places that don't just talk about freedom, but live it. Las Vegas feels that way to me, even under the constraints of the economy right now. To me, it is about hedonism; it is about finding the pleasures that can enrich your life every day. Whatever weirdness you might be into, you could find it in Las Vegas, and you're part of keeping that freedom going there.
New Mexico feels the same way to me, but with more of a spiritual bent, more of an expansion of heart and mind through the scenery and the culture. I've got a lot more to learn about it, but it feels right to me. I don't think I want to live there, but I like knowing that it's there, and one day I will see it, greedily gulping all of it. And I hope that travel will coincide with my one major goal in life: To visit all the presidential libraries in the nation.
I didn't think about Thanksgiving like this last year because I was just rising from the dark pit of the anxiety that had so overwhelmed me from being vastly overweight, which was also brought on by so much caffeine consumption that I could have become an alternative energy source, and I had begun losing weight, but was still watching my own body so closely that I didn't consider anything else in my life.
These last months of this year and the beginning of next year are different because there is a future ahead, finally a future after eight years of living here, where there's no vivid color, no personality, no feeling that you're living well. I think more and more about Las Vegas, about Henderson, about our new apartment complex, about the Pinball Hall of Fame, about those casinos on the Strip that I haven't visited yet, about the libraries in the area, about my future career, about the Hacienda Hotel and Casino near Hoover Dam, about all that there is that will make my life better. It's pretty good now with the books I have on hand, but I want more. And Las Vegas and Henderson is more, much more.
I'm thankful for everything that you've read here, and Thanksgiving itself, the one day of the year in which the nation feels silent enough in order to do some considerable thinking, and center yourself fully, understanding who you truly are, and finally embracing it entirely, without uncertainty.
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Occupy Best Buy: Valencia, and Sony's Bullcrap
Two nights ago, Dad, Meridith and I went to Best Buy in Valencia to look at other Acer computer monitors and compare it to the new one we got to replace a Dell monitor that had been with us for a few years and was dying, based on the greens looking yellow.
Tonight, we went back with Mom for her to look at the monitors and see if we could live with the one we have. There's been a lot of debate over the past week about it, and learning that square monitors are no longer made, only widescreen ones.
Passing OSH (Orchard Supply Hardware, which is exclusively Californian) and heading to the Best Buy parking lot, we saw tents already set up for Black Friday. This is Occupy Best Buy: Valencia. They're waiting for the deals. They're certifiable. It's much colder now at night than in past weeks and they're going to brave that for a cheaply priced TV? I know it may be simplistic to consider it like this, but exactly why is the government deeming our country to be an economic shitpile? What's this then?
Two nights ago, I had looked at all the DVDs and dug into the $4.99 DVD bin, thinking about getting The Wackness and Elegy, both with Ben Kingsley, because I hadn't seen them and Ben Kingsley is one of my favorite actors. I held those DVDs and The Notebook (which was being sold for $3.99, and I was thinking about it because I like Rachel McAdams, and Sam Shepard, one of my heroes, is also in it), considering it, and then didn't need them. I'll see them some other time.
Then I spotted the complete series set of Married with Children. $44.99 for 261 episodes on 32 discs. A pretty good price. I weighed it, but decided not to get it because I've spent a good deal on books as it is, and it would be nice to let my savings account grow a little again.
Dad went into Best Buy tonight with the Sunday ad, the section with monitors covered in pen markings with Acer model numbers and other information. But he forgot the front pages, which supposedly had more monitors listed, and Meridith and I went to get another copy at the front of the store. Keep in mind that the last day this ad was valid was today, tonight for me.
Meridith found the monitors for Dad in the ad, and while she was flipping, I spotted the DVD section. She handed it to me and my heart started racing a bit: The Married with Children set I saw the other night was actually on sale for $29.99, and this was the last night for it. $29.99 for 32 discs? Yes! The chance to have my favorite episode, "Movie Show" from the 7th season, on DVD along with the Christmas episodes, the pilot, and, of course, "No Ma'am!"? Oh god yes yes yes!!!
However, I remembered how Sony had packaged complete series sets of Norman Lear shows such as Sanford and Son. The DVDs were stacked one on top of the other. After picking up the Married with Children set, I jiggled it a bit, and it sounded like it hadn't been stacked that way. Where was the room in what looked like a smaller set? Meridith thought the DVDs might be stored in thinpack cases. I asked an employee if they knew anything about how this might be packaged inside, and they didn't know. But I wasn't going to miss out on this. I wanted this badly.
We got home about 20 minutes ago, I opened the set, and I'm pissed. What is with Sony's thoroughly shitty way of packaging these complete series sets? 32 discs are stacked on top of each other in two sections. To get to season 4, for example, you have to take out DVD after DVD and place them carefully on a surface that won't scratch them. And to do this also to put that particular DVD back? Screw this!
I'm not going to return the set. Otherwise, each season set is $9.99 at Best Buy (for now) and it would cost me far more that way than this. I intend to get a storage binder for this set, to not have to deal with this every time and to make sure they're well-protected. This is one of my favorite shows and I want to have these DVDs for a long time to come. But what does Sony find so wrong with charging just a bit more to properly package these sets? Warner Bros. does a fine job with its sets, such as The West Wing and Gilmore Girls sets, and what about the refrigerator packaging that was done for the Seinfeld set? This deserved the same consideration.
Tonight, we went back with Mom for her to look at the monitors and see if we could live with the one we have. There's been a lot of debate over the past week about it, and learning that square monitors are no longer made, only widescreen ones.
Passing OSH (Orchard Supply Hardware, which is exclusively Californian) and heading to the Best Buy parking lot, we saw tents already set up for Black Friday. This is Occupy Best Buy: Valencia. They're waiting for the deals. They're certifiable. It's much colder now at night than in past weeks and they're going to brave that for a cheaply priced TV? I know it may be simplistic to consider it like this, but exactly why is the government deeming our country to be an economic shitpile? What's this then?
Two nights ago, I had looked at all the DVDs and dug into the $4.99 DVD bin, thinking about getting The Wackness and Elegy, both with Ben Kingsley, because I hadn't seen them and Ben Kingsley is one of my favorite actors. I held those DVDs and The Notebook (which was being sold for $3.99, and I was thinking about it because I like Rachel McAdams, and Sam Shepard, one of my heroes, is also in it), considering it, and then didn't need them. I'll see them some other time.
Then I spotted the complete series set of Married with Children. $44.99 for 261 episodes on 32 discs. A pretty good price. I weighed it, but decided not to get it because I've spent a good deal on books as it is, and it would be nice to let my savings account grow a little again.
Dad went into Best Buy tonight with the Sunday ad, the section with monitors covered in pen markings with Acer model numbers and other information. But he forgot the front pages, which supposedly had more monitors listed, and Meridith and I went to get another copy at the front of the store. Keep in mind that the last day this ad was valid was today, tonight for me.
Meridith found the monitors for Dad in the ad, and while she was flipping, I spotted the DVD section. She handed it to me and my heart started racing a bit: The Married with Children set I saw the other night was actually on sale for $29.99, and this was the last night for it. $29.99 for 32 discs? Yes! The chance to have my favorite episode, "Movie Show" from the 7th season, on DVD along with the Christmas episodes, the pilot, and, of course, "No Ma'am!"? Oh god yes yes yes!!!
However, I remembered how Sony had packaged complete series sets of Norman Lear shows such as Sanford and Son. The DVDs were stacked one on top of the other. After picking up the Married with Children set, I jiggled it a bit, and it sounded like it hadn't been stacked that way. Where was the room in what looked like a smaller set? Meridith thought the DVDs might be stored in thinpack cases. I asked an employee if they knew anything about how this might be packaged inside, and they didn't know. But I wasn't going to miss out on this. I wanted this badly.
We got home about 20 minutes ago, I opened the set, and I'm pissed. What is with Sony's thoroughly shitty way of packaging these complete series sets? 32 discs are stacked on top of each other in two sections. To get to season 4, for example, you have to take out DVD after DVD and place them carefully on a surface that won't scratch them. And to do this also to put that particular DVD back? Screw this!
I'm not going to return the set. Otherwise, each season set is $9.99 at Best Buy (for now) and it would cost me far more that way than this. I intend to get a storage binder for this set, to not have to deal with this every time and to make sure they're well-protected. This is one of my favorite shows and I want to have these DVDs for a long time to come. But what does Sony find so wrong with charging just a bit more to properly package these sets? Warner Bros. does a fine job with its sets, such as The West Wing and Gilmore Girls sets, and what about the refrigerator packaging that was done for the Seinfeld set? This deserved the same consideration.
Monday, November 21, 2011
The Center of My Universe is Becoming Whole Again
I have fond memories of riding the Tomorrowland Transit Authority at the Magic Kingdom in Walt Disney World, and I watch videos of it on YouTube, as well as the current incarnation with the sound turned off, since the new narration blows Mickey ear-sized chunks.
I remember the pervasive peace of Flanagan High School's 9th grade campus, all portables, not only because of my first crush, Sara, but because it felt like the world and everything in it was aligned, even in the general chaos of going from one class to another.
All that are just memories, though, even though I use the latter often when I write. I wander those grounds, thinking about if I've written what I've wanted to write in the way that I thought about writing it. In my mind, the campus is empty. I remember old acquaintances, I sit again where I used to have lunch occasionally with Sara and her friends, but I sit on those wooden walkways, managing my writing life at my own speed.
I apparently decided a long time ago that I needed a tangible center of my universe, even though I've just discovered this now. For the past few months, I've Googled "Hacienda Hotel and Casino", pulling up the website for exactly that in Boulder City, or, rather, east of Boulder City, since there's no gambling allowed within city limits. It's on Highway 93, and it's my new Walt Disney World.
That seems strange, considering how much the Strip offers, but I don't need the Strip all the time. It is merely part of the awesome freedom Las Vegas offers, a never-ending pursuit of hedonism that I fully support and hope to live by once I'm there permanently.
I first became attached to the Hacienda Hotel and Casino because of the view that takes your breath away. It truly does. There's a cliff near the casino that you can walk and with your back to it, you see a vast ocean of desert. To me, it felt like all the dreams I ever had in my life had combined to create this view.
I like the casino itself. It's 2,000% smaller than the average high-end casino on the Strip (My math isn't what it used to be, which is to say it never was, so I could be wrong), but there's a comfortable feeling to it. There's a small screening room with chairs where you can watch an old federal government film about the building of the Hoover Dam, which the Hacienda is near. I love that there's this little piece of history right there, footage of FDR dedicating it, and then when you leave, there's the card tables and the slot machines all around.
The one thing that makes the Hacienda the center of my universe is Lakeview Cinemas, which is located on the second floor and has been open and closed a few times since we were there. I've never been there, not yet anyway, but I love that here is this small two-screen movie theater, near Hoover Dam, and try finding any other movie theater location like this anywhere else. I wonder if any distribution people at any of the movie studios have ever thought about their reels going there, right in the middle of the desert bigger than anyone could ever imagine, right near an important piece of the nation's history.
It apparently closed a few months ago, maybe not doing decent business, maybe for renovations. I'm not sure of the story, and I'm not going to speculate because I love this location for a movie theater and I'm just happy to see it's opening again on Friday.
Every couple of days, I went to Lakeview Cinemas' website (http://www.lakeviewcinemas.info/), and back in September, I learned that there was a new ice machine put in. In October, new projectors and refrigeration. I always looked at the old movie schedule from June. Nothing ever changed on it since it was so buried in the past, but I marveled again and again at this movie theater, to which I'm sure people from Boulder City and hopefully other areas came. This movie theater seems to be just about the movies, nothing like the corporate chains push. You come in, you buy popcorn and soda, or a hot dog, or a cheeseburger, or White Castles, or pizza, or soft pretzels, and you go see your movie. That's it. Nothing simpler.
Generally, the movies that come to Lakeview are at that second-run point. Happy Feet 2, for example, is coming there some time in December. There's no rush here. The movies in the multiplexes right now will come, but at a cheaper rate for Lakeview. And I don't feel a driving need to see many movies on opening weekend (The only final one for 2011 for me is Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol), so this place is my ideal.
Occasionally, Lakeview gets prints of old movies, and one page of the website promises a "Clint Eastwood Film Tribute," though it doesn't say what movies will be featured, and promises "Coming This Fall! To the Hacienda." The theater was closed during most of the fall, but even if it doesn't happen, the owner, Gary Bouchard, seems to pride himself on featuring old movies on an equal plane with recent releases.
I've never met Gary, so I don't know personally what kind of guy he is, but I do like his honesty on the website, not only his updates on the progress of the renovation of "Theater 2" for example, but also the misspellings sprinkled throughout the website, such as the offer of a "Whole 14 Ince Pizza" on the menu pages. An egregious error to some, but I don't mind it. The theater will still stand. The movies will still play. However, I do want to try an "Old Fashioned Rootbear Float." Gary might be on to something if he put, say, chocolate gummy bears into the root beer float, or found bear-shaped glasses for the root beer floats. To me, the misspellings give a sense of personality, and in the desert, there needs to be a lot of personalities. It's why I can't imagine being a writer anywhere else.
On the Hacienda website (http://www.haciendaonline.com), I look at the entertainment schedule and the food specials, which never change. There's one ad I like on the site (http://www.haciendaonline.com/images/brand-new-day_lg_2011.jpg) that's obviously Photoshopped, but that's what it looks like, and it's part of what feels like home to me in Southern Nevada. You walk in, and there are many stories to be told right away, just like when you drive the Strip and you see all the people walking the sidewalks and you wonder where they're from, why they're there, what they want from their vacation. I go further with the casinos. I wonder about their construction, who built them, who was in charge of what, even who designed the bathrooms. The stories never cease, and that's how I like it.
I'll inevitably check the Lakeview Cinemas site again to see if a schedule was put up, and especially what movies are being shown. I'm not home yet, so I've got to get my taste of home, which also reminds me that I should be reading more back issues of Henderson Press, like all of them since I've only read the first issue so far. I've got to get to know my future hometown a lot better than I do right now. I know some street names, I know what surrounds our future apartment complex (A few supermarkets, restaurants, shopping centers, all good things to explore), I know the policies of the Henderson libraries, as well as the stores that are in the Galleria at Sunset, but more. Much more. When I finally get there as a resident, I want to feel like I've already been there for a while. This is the best way to start.
I remember the pervasive peace of Flanagan High School's 9th grade campus, all portables, not only because of my first crush, Sara, but because it felt like the world and everything in it was aligned, even in the general chaos of going from one class to another.
All that are just memories, though, even though I use the latter often when I write. I wander those grounds, thinking about if I've written what I've wanted to write in the way that I thought about writing it. In my mind, the campus is empty. I remember old acquaintances, I sit again where I used to have lunch occasionally with Sara and her friends, but I sit on those wooden walkways, managing my writing life at my own speed.
I apparently decided a long time ago that I needed a tangible center of my universe, even though I've just discovered this now. For the past few months, I've Googled "Hacienda Hotel and Casino", pulling up the website for exactly that in Boulder City, or, rather, east of Boulder City, since there's no gambling allowed within city limits. It's on Highway 93, and it's my new Walt Disney World.
That seems strange, considering how much the Strip offers, but I don't need the Strip all the time. It is merely part of the awesome freedom Las Vegas offers, a never-ending pursuit of hedonism that I fully support and hope to live by once I'm there permanently.
I first became attached to the Hacienda Hotel and Casino because of the view that takes your breath away. It truly does. There's a cliff near the casino that you can walk and with your back to it, you see a vast ocean of desert. To me, it felt like all the dreams I ever had in my life had combined to create this view.
I like the casino itself. It's 2,000% smaller than the average high-end casino on the Strip (My math isn't what it used to be, which is to say it never was, so I could be wrong), but there's a comfortable feeling to it. There's a small screening room with chairs where you can watch an old federal government film about the building of the Hoover Dam, which the Hacienda is near. I love that there's this little piece of history right there, footage of FDR dedicating it, and then when you leave, there's the card tables and the slot machines all around.
The one thing that makes the Hacienda the center of my universe is Lakeview Cinemas, which is located on the second floor and has been open and closed a few times since we were there. I've never been there, not yet anyway, but I love that here is this small two-screen movie theater, near Hoover Dam, and try finding any other movie theater location like this anywhere else. I wonder if any distribution people at any of the movie studios have ever thought about their reels going there, right in the middle of the desert bigger than anyone could ever imagine, right near an important piece of the nation's history.
It apparently closed a few months ago, maybe not doing decent business, maybe for renovations. I'm not sure of the story, and I'm not going to speculate because I love this location for a movie theater and I'm just happy to see it's opening again on Friday.
Every couple of days, I went to Lakeview Cinemas' website (http://www.lakeviewcinemas.info/), and back in September, I learned that there was a new ice machine put in. In October, new projectors and refrigeration. I always looked at the old movie schedule from June. Nothing ever changed on it since it was so buried in the past, but I marveled again and again at this movie theater, to which I'm sure people from Boulder City and hopefully other areas came. This movie theater seems to be just about the movies, nothing like the corporate chains push. You come in, you buy popcorn and soda, or a hot dog, or a cheeseburger, or White Castles, or pizza, or soft pretzels, and you go see your movie. That's it. Nothing simpler.
Generally, the movies that come to Lakeview are at that second-run point. Happy Feet 2, for example, is coming there some time in December. There's no rush here. The movies in the multiplexes right now will come, but at a cheaper rate for Lakeview. And I don't feel a driving need to see many movies on opening weekend (The only final one for 2011 for me is Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol), so this place is my ideal.
Occasionally, Lakeview gets prints of old movies, and one page of the website promises a "Clint Eastwood Film Tribute," though it doesn't say what movies will be featured, and promises "Coming This Fall! To the Hacienda." The theater was closed during most of the fall, but even if it doesn't happen, the owner, Gary Bouchard, seems to pride himself on featuring old movies on an equal plane with recent releases.
I've never met Gary, so I don't know personally what kind of guy he is, but I do like his honesty on the website, not only his updates on the progress of the renovation of "Theater 2" for example, but also the misspellings sprinkled throughout the website, such as the offer of a "Whole 14 Ince Pizza" on the menu pages. An egregious error to some, but I don't mind it. The theater will still stand. The movies will still play. However, I do want to try an "Old Fashioned Rootbear Float." Gary might be on to something if he put, say, chocolate gummy bears into the root beer float, or found bear-shaped glasses for the root beer floats. To me, the misspellings give a sense of personality, and in the desert, there needs to be a lot of personalities. It's why I can't imagine being a writer anywhere else.
On the Hacienda website (http://www.haciendaonline.com), I look at the entertainment schedule and the food specials, which never change. There's one ad I like on the site (http://www.haciendaonline.com/images/brand-new-day_lg_2011.jpg) that's obviously Photoshopped, but that's what it looks like, and it's part of what feels like home to me in Southern Nevada. You walk in, and there are many stories to be told right away, just like when you drive the Strip and you see all the people walking the sidewalks and you wonder where they're from, why they're there, what they want from their vacation. I go further with the casinos. I wonder about their construction, who built them, who was in charge of what, even who designed the bathrooms. The stories never cease, and that's how I like it.
I'll inevitably check the Lakeview Cinemas site again to see if a schedule was put up, and especially what movies are being shown. I'm not home yet, so I've got to get my taste of home, which also reminds me that I should be reading more back issues of Henderson Press, like all of them since I've only read the first issue so far. I've got to get to know my future hometown a lot better than I do right now. I know some street names, I know what surrounds our future apartment complex (A few supermarkets, restaurants, shopping centers, all good things to explore), I know the policies of the Henderson libraries, as well as the stores that are in the Galleria at Sunset, but more. Much more. When I finally get there as a resident, I want to feel like I've already been there for a while. This is the best way to start.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Motivational Pants
We were at Walmart Supercenter today, a Sunday. And not the average harried-parent-trying-to-make-sure-the-little-brat-doesn't-starve-so-the-school-doesn't-call-child-protective-services Sunday. This was definitely a pre-Thanksgiving Sunday. Carts so close that you could see what your temporary acquaintance was buying, and they didn't care if you were looking. They just wanted to get through, like you do.
Meridith told me that Nina, the girl I mentioned a few entries back, was behind the returns and exchanges counter, and I caught a glimpse of her after leaving the men's restroom at the front of the store, near that counter, but decided to do nothing more. I can't. Suppose she's exactly what I've been looking for, and then there's that emotional tsunami that comes with the fact that, oh yeah, I'm probably moving to Henderson, Nevada in the next few months? I can't do that. Therefore, she shall remain a beacon to me of what I want in a woman being available. However, I go only by looks on that count, since I didn't talk to her, but she looked intelligent.
I also decided that it was time to stop bullshitting and shop for pants (The past couple times we've been to Walmart Supercenter, I didn't feel like it). I have one pair that I use regularly, that fits me decently. I can't go to Las Vegas the next time on one pair, nor when the time comes to move.
So many brands, so many prices. And I wasn't going to wear light-colored denim jeans either. I like them with a blue gloom, not clawing for attention. My personality comes directly from me and my graphic t-shirts, such as Galaga, Beavis & Butt-Head, The Big Lebowski, The Jungle Book, the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland, and many others. Not my jeans.
I tried 34x30, which is to say that I got half of my left leg in one pair. 36x30 allowed me to get both legs in, and to zip up, but in order to get out of them, I had to push them down, tight as they were. I was worried that I was going to be stuck in them.
On the second reconnaissance mission for pants, after putting the rejected pile into the cart to the right of the fitting rooms, I found Wranglers, regular fit, 38x30, one pair lighter than the other, but both the darkish blue I like. Back to the fitting room and the hope for a better tomorrow, and jeans I could take home.
After discovering that the blue sweatshirt I was wearing was actually an extra large that I hadn't gotten rid of after dropping 60+ pounds, I tried on the large Fruit of the Loom blue sweatshirt I had found, but didn't like how it felt, though I think that's because of my fierce aversion to sweatshirts. I don't like them. They're uncomfortable, even after being washed. It's not a suffocating feeling, but rather that winter tries to box me in and I won't let it. I was born and raised in Florida, with humidity that makes your sweat start to sweat. In the past few weeks, I've gotten away with wearing a Fruit of the Loom white t-shirt, and then one of my graphic t-shirts over that, with a thick-enough jacket to provide more warmth. It worked when I was a campus supervisor on Friday, though it wasn't as frozen-daiquiri windy as it was today, hence why I was stuck wearing a stupid sweatshirt.
I didn't want the sweatshirt that I tried on, but I know I have to get one or two or three sweatshirts to replace the extra large ones I don't need anymore because now when I wear them, there's enough fabric to make two medium-sized sweatshirts, and that does not look good on me.
Now to the Wranglers. They fit, but only just. I could bend down and I could squat without them tearing and leaving me with only the belt loops. I could zip them up, but on one pair, there was a tiny bit of space left by the zipper at the top. It absolutely wouldn't go any further, but the zipper flap takes care of modesty for me. I could wear them, and they would be useful as a continuous reminder to lose more weight. I have been working on it, and I'm grateful that I had a few days last week at work in which I walked around a lot. Some of this weight is stubborn, though. It won't leave. I don't bother with weighing myself on the scale anymore because I follow my diet strictly during the week, I let go a tiny bit sometimes during the weekend, and it'll go up a bit and down a bit, so why should I go up and down with it too? I don't need that conflict from numbers. I got enough of that in my middle and high school math classes. I just keep on doing what I'm doing, and eat vegetables much more often than I have lately, and I'll eventually get to where I want to be.
Both pairs of Wranglers cost $31.54 ($15.77 each), which was a relief for me, because I spotted $21 price displays for some other brands of jeans and dreaded the thought of paying that, before I found the Wranglers. I bought them, and one day soon, I hope, I'll slip into them and find that they fit comfortably. What better motivation to lose even more weight than having pants that'll grow once you shrink? Well, that, and female bibliophiles in Las Vegas, I hope. But this is first and foremost for me.
Meridith told me that Nina, the girl I mentioned a few entries back, was behind the returns and exchanges counter, and I caught a glimpse of her after leaving the men's restroom at the front of the store, near that counter, but decided to do nothing more. I can't. Suppose she's exactly what I've been looking for, and then there's that emotional tsunami that comes with the fact that, oh yeah, I'm probably moving to Henderson, Nevada in the next few months? I can't do that. Therefore, she shall remain a beacon to me of what I want in a woman being available. However, I go only by looks on that count, since I didn't talk to her, but she looked intelligent.
I also decided that it was time to stop bullshitting and shop for pants (The past couple times we've been to Walmart Supercenter, I didn't feel like it). I have one pair that I use regularly, that fits me decently. I can't go to Las Vegas the next time on one pair, nor when the time comes to move.
So many brands, so many prices. And I wasn't going to wear light-colored denim jeans either. I like them with a blue gloom, not clawing for attention. My personality comes directly from me and my graphic t-shirts, such as Galaga, Beavis & Butt-Head, The Big Lebowski, The Jungle Book, the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland, and many others. Not my jeans.
I tried 34x30, which is to say that I got half of my left leg in one pair. 36x30 allowed me to get both legs in, and to zip up, but in order to get out of them, I had to push them down, tight as they were. I was worried that I was going to be stuck in them.
On the second reconnaissance mission for pants, after putting the rejected pile into the cart to the right of the fitting rooms, I found Wranglers, regular fit, 38x30, one pair lighter than the other, but both the darkish blue I like. Back to the fitting room and the hope for a better tomorrow, and jeans I could take home.
After discovering that the blue sweatshirt I was wearing was actually an extra large that I hadn't gotten rid of after dropping 60+ pounds, I tried on the large Fruit of the Loom blue sweatshirt I had found, but didn't like how it felt, though I think that's because of my fierce aversion to sweatshirts. I don't like them. They're uncomfortable, even after being washed. It's not a suffocating feeling, but rather that winter tries to box me in and I won't let it. I was born and raised in Florida, with humidity that makes your sweat start to sweat. In the past few weeks, I've gotten away with wearing a Fruit of the Loom white t-shirt, and then one of my graphic t-shirts over that, with a thick-enough jacket to provide more warmth. It worked when I was a campus supervisor on Friday, though it wasn't as frozen-daiquiri windy as it was today, hence why I was stuck wearing a stupid sweatshirt.
I didn't want the sweatshirt that I tried on, but I know I have to get one or two or three sweatshirts to replace the extra large ones I don't need anymore because now when I wear them, there's enough fabric to make two medium-sized sweatshirts, and that does not look good on me.
Now to the Wranglers. They fit, but only just. I could bend down and I could squat without them tearing and leaving me with only the belt loops. I could zip them up, but on one pair, there was a tiny bit of space left by the zipper at the top. It absolutely wouldn't go any further, but the zipper flap takes care of modesty for me. I could wear them, and they would be useful as a continuous reminder to lose more weight. I have been working on it, and I'm grateful that I had a few days last week at work in which I walked around a lot. Some of this weight is stubborn, though. It won't leave. I don't bother with weighing myself on the scale anymore because I follow my diet strictly during the week, I let go a tiny bit sometimes during the weekend, and it'll go up a bit and down a bit, so why should I go up and down with it too? I don't need that conflict from numbers. I got enough of that in my middle and high school math classes. I just keep on doing what I'm doing, and eat vegetables much more often than I have lately, and I'll eventually get to where I want to be.
Both pairs of Wranglers cost $31.54 ($15.77 each), which was a relief for me, because I spotted $21 price displays for some other brands of jeans and dreaded the thought of paying that, before I found the Wranglers. I bought them, and one day soon, I hope, I'll slip into them and find that they fit comfortably. What better motivation to lose even more weight than having pants that'll grow once you shrink? Well, that, and female bibliophiles in Las Vegas, I hope. But this is first and foremost for me.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
The Three-and-a-Half Hour Miracle, or: The Stuff Domestic Olympics are Made Of
Way early yesterday morning, I tried watching John Grisham's The Rainmaker with Francis Ford Coppola and Danny DeVito's audio commentary, but was too tired and went to bed at 2:26.
I woke up to Mom asking me if I wanted to go to work, because the sub system for the Hart School District had called and a campus supervisor was needed at La Mesa. A paycheck on a Friday, any paycheck really, is always appealing, and so I said yes, and Mom went back to Dad and said so and it was done.
I looked at the clock radio on my nightstand: 6:00. I had only slept three and a half hours, but I was awake. Different from the other times I'd woken up to go to work is that I had about an hour and 10 minutes before, so I had breakfast, made lunch, and went back and forth on taking a shower, because my hair has grown long enough to the point where I don't like to manage it, and just try to wrestle it into flatness with compulsory combing. With a shower, I regain some semblance of control.
I didn't, and it was my biggest regret of the day, because I didn't feel good about it. I had gotten it as flat as it could go, with one section of strands standing out a bit in the back, but it still nagged at me. Nevertheless, off to work Dad and I went and this was the one time I was so grateful for my hours: 9:30 to 3:30, more than I usually am, because since Dad and I got to school around 7:30, I had two hours before I had to sign in and start my day.
I spent the hour or so before the bell rang at 8:35 on a computer in Dad's classroom, looking over the Black Friday deals the Warner Bros. store had, and immediately grabbed Night Court: The Complete Second Season for $7.50, which came out to $10-something with ground shipping and tax. I found the first season at Big Lots a year and a half ago, and every time we went after, I always hoped that the second season would be there, but always no luck. This turned out to be cheaper than the $15+ it's going for on Amazon, cheaper even than the cheaper rates by sellers on Amazon Marketplace.
Then I went upstairs to the teacher's lounge, which has windows that overlook the library, though that means nothing to me since Dad's classroom is right next to the library, and I pass it in order to get to the teacher's workroom that leads to the stairs that take me up to the teacher's lounge. With me was Here's Johnny! by Ed McMahon, and my mp3 player. I propped two pillows on the arm of the couch next to the perpetually empty book racks where teachers can bring books that they're done reading, but I couldn't survive or even tolerate life if my diet was only books by Fern Michaels and Nora Roberts. I'm always disheartened when I see that, because the faculty clearly doesn't seem to be a well-read bunch (Or maybe the ones that are keep their books to themselves and when they're done with them, donate them to Goodwill like I do), and the last time I discovered a really good find was when someone gave up a lot of Grisham paperbacks, including The Broker and the The Brethren. I grabbed them all except for Bleachers, since football doesn't interest me, which is why I couldn't get through Playing for Pizza, even though I wanted to try it to see Grisham doing something different.
Here's Johnny! helped me get over the immense disappointment of Mrs. Nixon: A Novelist Imagines a Life. It's a breezy, touching, and very funny book about McMahon's 50+ years with Johnny Carson, and learning about him always being nice off camera, and leaving his work behind when he went home after the show (He didn't hang around after it was over) made him one of my heroes. I have a biography about Carson called King of the Night by Laurence Leamer that I intend to read some time this weekend, and I always Tivo Carson's Comedy Classics off of Reelz Channel, to not only admire Carson's gargantuan talent for comedy, but to study the skits as well.
It got close to 9:30, and I went back downstairs to Dad's classroom, put the book in my tote bag, went to the front office to sign in, and then went to the bathroom before going to the campus supervisors' office to get Alex R's walkie-talkie, since he was the one I was substituting for.
I love that I signed in, and then I got paid to pee. That wouldn't happen if I was a freelance writer, and I don't think I could ever be a freelance writer because you continually have to look for revenue sources, and I just want a paycheck to come in regularly so I can read a lot and write my books. I don't think the novelty of being paid to pee will ever wear off for me.
I don't like to talk much with my fellow campus supervisors. First, I'm there to do a job, get paid, and then go home. But mainly it's because I love walking around the campus when it feels empty while the kids are in class. And I did that a lot just to have something to do since there were very few calls from the office to pick up kids from classrooms. I didn't feel overly tired, but I felt snippy, so it was best to stay away from the usual conversations of what's going on lately in my life, which just seems to be asked to make conversation. I've never liked that.
While I rounded the corner of the first set of buildings on the campus, I thought more about whether I'd want a woman in my life. Two things came to mind: If she was a bibliophile to the intense degree that I am, I'd give it a chance. But also, I can't make that decision right now. I am surrounded by the sheer boredom of this valley. I don't have Hoover Dam nearby, the Strip is not a short drive to get to, the Pinball Hall of Fame cannot have all the quarters I can manage to bring at the moment, and so I cannot say whether or not I'd want the chance again because I'm not home; I'm not where I feel most comfortable. If I was, I'd certainly be more open-minded than I feel right now, so I know that it's best to wait. It's not a decision to rashly make.
I also thought a little about my books, not as much as before, because there's not much to think about now that I'm doing research for one of them. There's no fantasy aspect to it now; the work has begun and so the reality has set in. Not a bad reality, but just that in order to have another book to try to sell, I just have to do it.
Lunch was a pleasure because there was what's called Lunch Bunch, in which one of the teams of teachers at the school have lunch available for the rest of the faculty and staff. This team had a "baked potato bar," which is baked potatoes, toppings, salad, and dessert. I wasn't interested because I had brought my lunch (My favorite lemon yogurt, tuna in a flatbread wrap, spinach and shredded carrots, and an oatmeal raisin granola bar) and didn't want to be near anyone because the natural tiredness from only three-and-a-half hours' sleep was beginning to set in. In fact, when I drank from my water bottle during lunch, in which there was only one other person in the teacher's lounge, my left hand shook a bit. Lunch is always a reliable revival technique.
Later in the day, after supervising the kids at lunch, which for me means standing near the lines in which kids get their lunch from the kitchen (There's no cafeteria), I kept walking the campus, and thought about the plays I want to write, two- and three-character pieces. It felt to me like this campus, even with this valley's aversion to history, seemed weighted with memories. I remembered the first time I was a campus supervisor and was very popular among the kids who had known me when I was a tutor for the AVID program (some kind of college-bound thing) during the day in a science class and a math class, which spurred me on to do something else because I couldn't stand the rigid structure of it, how there was no room to just help out with questions the kids had about their work, instead following the program as written.
I was also thinking about the memories graduates of this school probably have, and I wondered about a play that takes place on a middle school campus, where a few 20-somethings return to the campus at night, managing not to attract the attention of the alarm system, who wander the grounds, comparing their lives now to their lives then, what they thought would happen then that didn't happen now. It's part disappoinment, part shock at the vast gulf between childhood and adulthood. Of course, that's just one of probably over 30 ideas I have for plays, though it's not a priority right now as I have three others I want to write more. The silence of the campus always does things like that to me, as well as appreciating the meditative qualities during those afternoon class periods. For me, it's the equivalent of sitting at a penny slot machine in Las Vegas and tuning out everything else, watching those reels spin and just thinking.
When Dad and I got home, I still didn't fall on my face from exhaustion. I opened the mail I got, took out books like The Pelican Brief, and three books by massively funny Guardian columnist Lucy Mangan from the United Kingdom. Dad decided it was finally time to replace our old computer monitor because the greens were looking like yellows, among other color distortions. Mom looked at how much monitors were selling for in the Office Depot circular on the website, and then Meridith, Dad and I went out not only to buy one, but to also go to $5 Friday at Pavilions, to get teriyaki wings, chicken tenders, and other things we needed.
Dinner was those teriyaki wings and chicken tenders, and it was 9 p.m. by the time I finished washing the dishes and covered the birds for the night, so it was time for me to read the comics that come by e-mail for me, such as Baby Blues, Mutts, and Pearls Before Swine, comics for the next day, and that, as well as a few book-related websites, was all I could manage. I had had it. I left the computer to Dad to hook up the new monitor, went to my room, put the first disc of the first season of Night Court in my DVD player, and that was it. By 11:10, the TV and DVD player were off, and I was in bed, fully prepared to crash hard into dreams.
Today, I feel like myself again. I've got Maps and Legends by Michael Chabon in front of me, and plan to also bring along The Pelican Brief when we go out to Kohl's and a few other places (I've realized that I can't keep delaying shopping for new pants, since I can't go out to Las Vegas next, whenever that might be, on only one pair. I hate spending that time trying them on, but I must. My weight is good, so it's not that, but it's just the boredom from such an act. Try this one on, see if it fits right, try the next one on, and the next; it feels almost robotic), and I've got a great deal of shows to watch on the Tivo in the living room. Thank god that hard crash didn't happen tonight. Tomorrow, Mom, Meridith and I have to go out early to get haircuts, and we have to leave by a little after 9 before our appointment at 10. I can easily go to bed earlier to get up earlier now because of yesterday. I feel wisps of effects from yesterday, but not as much.
I'm still amazed that I managed yesterday on three-and-a-half hours of sleep. That usually doesn't happen to me because I'm called the night before and therefore have ample time to make lunch, make sure I have the books I want in my tote bag, and go to bed earlier. In that case, I get about 5 and 1/2 to 6 hours of sleep and that turns out to be enough. I learned this was the second day Alex had been out because of the stomach flu, and that's why the automated sub system called that morning.
Sometimes the body's tested. There's no choice. And thankfully I got through quite well. Being paid for that is the best thing about it.
I woke up to Mom asking me if I wanted to go to work, because the sub system for the Hart School District had called and a campus supervisor was needed at La Mesa. A paycheck on a Friday, any paycheck really, is always appealing, and so I said yes, and Mom went back to Dad and said so and it was done.
I looked at the clock radio on my nightstand: 6:00. I had only slept three and a half hours, but I was awake. Different from the other times I'd woken up to go to work is that I had about an hour and 10 minutes before, so I had breakfast, made lunch, and went back and forth on taking a shower, because my hair has grown long enough to the point where I don't like to manage it, and just try to wrestle it into flatness with compulsory combing. With a shower, I regain some semblance of control.
I didn't, and it was my biggest regret of the day, because I didn't feel good about it. I had gotten it as flat as it could go, with one section of strands standing out a bit in the back, but it still nagged at me. Nevertheless, off to work Dad and I went and this was the one time I was so grateful for my hours: 9:30 to 3:30, more than I usually am, because since Dad and I got to school around 7:30, I had two hours before I had to sign in and start my day.
I spent the hour or so before the bell rang at 8:35 on a computer in Dad's classroom, looking over the Black Friday deals the Warner Bros. store had, and immediately grabbed Night Court: The Complete Second Season for $7.50, which came out to $10-something with ground shipping and tax. I found the first season at Big Lots a year and a half ago, and every time we went after, I always hoped that the second season would be there, but always no luck. This turned out to be cheaper than the $15+ it's going for on Amazon, cheaper even than the cheaper rates by sellers on Amazon Marketplace.
Then I went upstairs to the teacher's lounge, which has windows that overlook the library, though that means nothing to me since Dad's classroom is right next to the library, and I pass it in order to get to the teacher's workroom that leads to the stairs that take me up to the teacher's lounge. With me was Here's Johnny! by Ed McMahon, and my mp3 player. I propped two pillows on the arm of the couch next to the perpetually empty book racks where teachers can bring books that they're done reading, but I couldn't survive or even tolerate life if my diet was only books by Fern Michaels and Nora Roberts. I'm always disheartened when I see that, because the faculty clearly doesn't seem to be a well-read bunch (Or maybe the ones that are keep their books to themselves and when they're done with them, donate them to Goodwill like I do), and the last time I discovered a really good find was when someone gave up a lot of Grisham paperbacks, including The Broker and the The Brethren. I grabbed them all except for Bleachers, since football doesn't interest me, which is why I couldn't get through Playing for Pizza, even though I wanted to try it to see Grisham doing something different.
Here's Johnny! helped me get over the immense disappointment of Mrs. Nixon: A Novelist Imagines a Life. It's a breezy, touching, and very funny book about McMahon's 50+ years with Johnny Carson, and learning about him always being nice off camera, and leaving his work behind when he went home after the show (He didn't hang around after it was over) made him one of my heroes. I have a biography about Carson called King of the Night by Laurence Leamer that I intend to read some time this weekend, and I always Tivo Carson's Comedy Classics off of Reelz Channel, to not only admire Carson's gargantuan talent for comedy, but to study the skits as well.
It got close to 9:30, and I went back downstairs to Dad's classroom, put the book in my tote bag, went to the front office to sign in, and then went to the bathroom before going to the campus supervisors' office to get Alex R's walkie-talkie, since he was the one I was substituting for.
I love that I signed in, and then I got paid to pee. That wouldn't happen if I was a freelance writer, and I don't think I could ever be a freelance writer because you continually have to look for revenue sources, and I just want a paycheck to come in regularly so I can read a lot and write my books. I don't think the novelty of being paid to pee will ever wear off for me.
I don't like to talk much with my fellow campus supervisors. First, I'm there to do a job, get paid, and then go home. But mainly it's because I love walking around the campus when it feels empty while the kids are in class. And I did that a lot just to have something to do since there were very few calls from the office to pick up kids from classrooms. I didn't feel overly tired, but I felt snippy, so it was best to stay away from the usual conversations of what's going on lately in my life, which just seems to be asked to make conversation. I've never liked that.
While I rounded the corner of the first set of buildings on the campus, I thought more about whether I'd want a woman in my life. Two things came to mind: If she was a bibliophile to the intense degree that I am, I'd give it a chance. But also, I can't make that decision right now. I am surrounded by the sheer boredom of this valley. I don't have Hoover Dam nearby, the Strip is not a short drive to get to, the Pinball Hall of Fame cannot have all the quarters I can manage to bring at the moment, and so I cannot say whether or not I'd want the chance again because I'm not home; I'm not where I feel most comfortable. If I was, I'd certainly be more open-minded than I feel right now, so I know that it's best to wait. It's not a decision to rashly make.
I also thought a little about my books, not as much as before, because there's not much to think about now that I'm doing research for one of them. There's no fantasy aspect to it now; the work has begun and so the reality has set in. Not a bad reality, but just that in order to have another book to try to sell, I just have to do it.
Lunch was a pleasure because there was what's called Lunch Bunch, in which one of the teams of teachers at the school have lunch available for the rest of the faculty and staff. This team had a "baked potato bar," which is baked potatoes, toppings, salad, and dessert. I wasn't interested because I had brought my lunch (My favorite lemon yogurt, tuna in a flatbread wrap, spinach and shredded carrots, and an oatmeal raisin granola bar) and didn't want to be near anyone because the natural tiredness from only three-and-a-half hours' sleep was beginning to set in. In fact, when I drank from my water bottle during lunch, in which there was only one other person in the teacher's lounge, my left hand shook a bit. Lunch is always a reliable revival technique.
Later in the day, after supervising the kids at lunch, which for me means standing near the lines in which kids get their lunch from the kitchen (There's no cafeteria), I kept walking the campus, and thought about the plays I want to write, two- and three-character pieces. It felt to me like this campus, even with this valley's aversion to history, seemed weighted with memories. I remembered the first time I was a campus supervisor and was very popular among the kids who had known me when I was a tutor for the AVID program (some kind of college-bound thing) during the day in a science class and a math class, which spurred me on to do something else because I couldn't stand the rigid structure of it, how there was no room to just help out with questions the kids had about their work, instead following the program as written.
I was also thinking about the memories graduates of this school probably have, and I wondered about a play that takes place on a middle school campus, where a few 20-somethings return to the campus at night, managing not to attract the attention of the alarm system, who wander the grounds, comparing their lives now to their lives then, what they thought would happen then that didn't happen now. It's part disappoinment, part shock at the vast gulf between childhood and adulthood. Of course, that's just one of probably over 30 ideas I have for plays, though it's not a priority right now as I have three others I want to write more. The silence of the campus always does things like that to me, as well as appreciating the meditative qualities during those afternoon class periods. For me, it's the equivalent of sitting at a penny slot machine in Las Vegas and tuning out everything else, watching those reels spin and just thinking.
When Dad and I got home, I still didn't fall on my face from exhaustion. I opened the mail I got, took out books like The Pelican Brief, and three books by massively funny Guardian columnist Lucy Mangan from the United Kingdom. Dad decided it was finally time to replace our old computer monitor because the greens were looking like yellows, among other color distortions. Mom looked at how much monitors were selling for in the Office Depot circular on the website, and then Meridith, Dad and I went out not only to buy one, but to also go to $5 Friday at Pavilions, to get teriyaki wings, chicken tenders, and other things we needed.
Dinner was those teriyaki wings and chicken tenders, and it was 9 p.m. by the time I finished washing the dishes and covered the birds for the night, so it was time for me to read the comics that come by e-mail for me, such as Baby Blues, Mutts, and Pearls Before Swine, comics for the next day, and that, as well as a few book-related websites, was all I could manage. I had had it. I left the computer to Dad to hook up the new monitor, went to my room, put the first disc of the first season of Night Court in my DVD player, and that was it. By 11:10, the TV and DVD player were off, and I was in bed, fully prepared to crash hard into dreams.
Today, I feel like myself again. I've got Maps and Legends by Michael Chabon in front of me, and plan to also bring along The Pelican Brief when we go out to Kohl's and a few other places (I've realized that I can't keep delaying shopping for new pants, since I can't go out to Las Vegas next, whenever that might be, on only one pair. I hate spending that time trying them on, but I must. My weight is good, so it's not that, but it's just the boredom from such an act. Try this one on, see if it fits right, try the next one on, and the next; it feels almost robotic), and I've got a great deal of shows to watch on the Tivo in the living room. Thank god that hard crash didn't happen tonight. Tomorrow, Mom, Meridith and I have to go out early to get haircuts, and we have to leave by a little after 9 before our appointment at 10. I can easily go to bed earlier to get up earlier now because of yesterday. I feel wisps of effects from yesterday, but not as much.
I'm still amazed that I managed yesterday on three-and-a-half hours of sleep. That usually doesn't happen to me because I'm called the night before and therefore have ample time to make lunch, make sure I have the books I want in my tote bag, and go to bed earlier. In that case, I get about 5 and 1/2 to 6 hours of sleep and that turns out to be enough. I learned this was the second day Alex had been out because of the stomach flu, and that's why the automated sub system called that morning.
Sometimes the body's tested. There's no choice. And thankfully I got through quite well. Being paid for that is the best thing about it.
Friday, November 18, 2011
Deep Disappointment Tempered by Whatever's Next
In the September 19 issue of "The New Yorker", I read a short story by Ann Beattie called Starlight, which was an excerpt from her then-forthcoming book, Mrs. Nixon: A Novelist Imagines a Life. The excerpt, involving the taking of the final family photograph before the Nixons leave the White House was so fascinating to me because it considered what Pat Nixon might have been going through during that time, though there is no clear record of that. Beattie had apparently done a lot of research and thought about Pat Nixon's feelings, and written about the event from her perspective.
I was riveted and not only pre-ordered the book on Amazon, I also ordered Chilly Scenes of Winter, her first novel; Distortions, her first book of short stories; and The New Yorker Stories, a vast compilation of the short stories she wrote for "The New Yorker" over 30+ years.
I received Mrs. Nixon on Wednesday, and immediately dived into it, hoping that what I had found in "The New Yorker" would be spread throughout the 267 pages of this book with that purpose. I didn't.
The title alone holds more promise than Beattie, a masterful writer otherwise, produces. In her essays (which feel more like the lectures she likely gives at the University of Virginia, and I don't recall signing up for any college courses), she asks many questions about events in Pat Nixon's life, about those details that have never been known and can't possibly be known, mulling over them at length.
Instead of fully imagining various events from Pat Nixon's perspective, she lectures. And lectures. And lectures. She talks about other writers; she talks about the fiction writer's approach to writing fiction, but why do that at the expense of a potentially fascinating approach?
The feeling I get is that Beattie did all this research about Pat Nixon, read a lot of books about the Nixons in order to learn about her, wrote all the short fiction she could think of, came up short, and decided to fill out the rest of the book with these consistently annoying asides.
If Beattie wants to write a memoir ("Is what you've been reading fiction or nonfiction? Or is it my memoir, which appears--like certain weeds, I can't resist saying--only in the cracks?"), then she should, but should have stuck to what she's best at in much of her justifiably celebrated fiction. This feels like a lost opportunity, highly disappointing, and it's why out of everything in my life, I'm happiest that I will never run out of anything to read. Because I'm deeply disappointed about this book. I had hoped for what it seemed like I would be given based on that New Yorker excerpt and from the title. I wanted to see a different approach to what's usually written about public figures. What was so wrong with, say, a 10-page introduction, explaining the origins of the project, her interest in Pat Nixon, her intent, and perhaps either a brief historical blurb before each short story, giving it more context, or an appendix in the back with more information? Beattie seems so wrapped up in herself in this book that it's at times hard to find Pat Nixon.
I don't grind my teeth, but I've been feeling that for the past half an hour. Beattie could have easily made this into yet another great read, as her other books are. Does she not realize that college students aren't necessarily going to be the only ones who read this? There was a chance to do something really interesting with this, and it felt like she blew it.
Nevertheless, I must move on. I received in the mail yesterday Annie Lennox: The Biography, and though the writing seems iffy to me in the preface, I'm going to hang on because I'm a huge fan. But I'm going to move on with Here's Johnny! by Ed McMahon, owing to my newfound interest in Johnny Carson in the past year, watching and studying his skits, his monologues, and having Mom order me the Johnny Carson 2012 desk calendar when she ordered the rest of the calendars for the household (One for her, one for Dad, one for Meridith, one for the fridge). I could use a glimpse of a man who never got so wrapped up in himself.
I just hope Beattie either writes her memoir or writes another novel or set of short stories that returns her to the prestige that's been well-deserved all these years. Quickly.
I was riveted and not only pre-ordered the book on Amazon, I also ordered Chilly Scenes of Winter, her first novel; Distortions, her first book of short stories; and The New Yorker Stories, a vast compilation of the short stories she wrote for "The New Yorker" over 30+ years.
I received Mrs. Nixon on Wednesday, and immediately dived into it, hoping that what I had found in "The New Yorker" would be spread throughout the 267 pages of this book with that purpose. I didn't.
The title alone holds more promise than Beattie, a masterful writer otherwise, produces. In her essays (which feel more like the lectures she likely gives at the University of Virginia, and I don't recall signing up for any college courses), she asks many questions about events in Pat Nixon's life, about those details that have never been known and can't possibly be known, mulling over them at length.
Instead of fully imagining various events from Pat Nixon's perspective, she lectures. And lectures. And lectures. She talks about other writers; she talks about the fiction writer's approach to writing fiction, but why do that at the expense of a potentially fascinating approach?
The feeling I get is that Beattie did all this research about Pat Nixon, read a lot of books about the Nixons in order to learn about her, wrote all the short fiction she could think of, came up short, and decided to fill out the rest of the book with these consistently annoying asides.
If Beattie wants to write a memoir ("Is what you've been reading fiction or nonfiction? Or is it my memoir, which appears--like certain weeds, I can't resist saying--only in the cracks?"), then she should, but should have stuck to what she's best at in much of her justifiably celebrated fiction. This feels like a lost opportunity, highly disappointing, and it's why out of everything in my life, I'm happiest that I will never run out of anything to read. Because I'm deeply disappointed about this book. I had hoped for what it seemed like I would be given based on that New Yorker excerpt and from the title. I wanted to see a different approach to what's usually written about public figures. What was so wrong with, say, a 10-page introduction, explaining the origins of the project, her interest in Pat Nixon, her intent, and perhaps either a brief historical blurb before each short story, giving it more context, or an appendix in the back with more information? Beattie seems so wrapped up in herself in this book that it's at times hard to find Pat Nixon.
I don't grind my teeth, but I've been feeling that for the past half an hour. Beattie could have easily made this into yet another great read, as her other books are. Does she not realize that college students aren't necessarily going to be the only ones who read this? There was a chance to do something really interesting with this, and it felt like she blew it.
Nevertheless, I must move on. I received in the mail yesterday Annie Lennox: The Biography, and though the writing seems iffy to me in the preface, I'm going to hang on because I'm a huge fan. But I'm going to move on with Here's Johnny! by Ed McMahon, owing to my newfound interest in Johnny Carson in the past year, watching and studying his skits, his monologues, and having Mom order me the Johnny Carson 2012 desk calendar when she ordered the rest of the calendars for the household (One for her, one for Dad, one for Meridith, one for the fridge). I could use a glimpse of a man who never got so wrapped up in himself.
I just hope Beattie either writes her memoir or writes another novel or set of short stories that returns her to the prestige that's been well-deserved all these years. Quickly.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Regaining My Equilibrium, But Still Lopsided
Nine hours of sleep through the night, and I was back to my old self after a long day yesterday of walking nearly constantly, partly for my job, but mostly for exercise. Because having the opportunity to be a substitute campus supervisor, and have all that time when the kids are in class, I want to get as much weight off as I can. It doesn't help when I don't have work the following day, though. John, the head campus supervisor was back today, a little worse for wear as I heard (He had been out sick), and so I was home. I was hoping for more days this month as the holidays approached, and maybe that will happen on Friday. I'll get the call Thursday night, get my lunch ready, my books, and happily head off to La Mesa with my dad, in pursuit of another most welcome paycheck. And if not, hopefully what's left of next week before the holiday.
Getting my equilibrium back entailed two unusual dreams. One was walking around this massive candy store and finding this container that was filled with what looked like Oreos with part of their tops broken off and various other chocolate and candy crumbles. I thought it was what might have been deemed unusuable by whoever had made the candy, but it turned out to have been what had been chewed on and spit out by people sampling the candy. Yeah. Disgusting.
The second dream involved this narrow bookstore in which Senator John Kerry was there, for what reason I don't know. I was excited to see all the books available and saw a darkened part of the bookstore further away and snuck over there to see what was there that no one else looked at since they were so busy looking at the accessible shelves. I also wanted to ask Kerry who he thought would win the next presidential election, but I didn't get the chance. Too much of a swarm of people around, though not necessarily for Kerry.
I spent the day devouring The Nasty Bits by Anthony Bourdain, with brief stops to have lunch and get the mail. In one piece, Bourdain gushes over chef Gabrielle Hamilton, imploring her to write a book, saying that she'd make him look like a manicurist. This was 2006, her Blood, Bones & Butter came out this past March, and because of what I had read, I ordered it, $13 price be damned. I don't normally order books that are $13, but this seemed like an important exception to make.
I also had a long think, not entirely about Nina, the girl from yesterday behind the returns and exchanges counter at Walmart Supercenter (Meridith told me earlier tonight that she texted her, but hasn't heard back yet). I've been going back and forth on whether I really want someone in my life.
My favorite Supreme Court justice is David Souter, who retired in June 2009. He always struck me as a fair jurist, and not long after he retired and rushed right back home to his beloved New Hampshire, he moved out of his family farm and into a house that could stand the weight of the thousands of books he owns, which the farmhouse couldn't. He retired because he wanted to get back to his reading. He's always been a bachelor.
Is that me? Do I want what Souter has? I don't intend to emulate Souter throughout my life and certainly I have a personality far different from his. For example, he's a reserved soul, whereas I'm slightly more outgoing. Get me into a good conversation about books and my enthusiasm can be stunning.
Today was not only a good day because of The Nasty Bits. The mail came and I found one of two packages I was waiting for from Amazon, this one containing Mrs. Nixon: A Novelist Imagines a Life by Ann Beattie. Beattie researched the life of First Lady Pat Nixon through many sources, and imagined what she might have said at various events from which she could find no records, and what she might have felt. There was an excerpt of this in an issue of "The New Yorker" in which the final Nixon family photo was being taken in the White House before Nixon left office, and it was all from Pat Nixon's perspective. This is not only what made me pre-order this book, but also what made me seek out more about Ann Beattie, ordering her first novel, Chilly Scenes of Winter, and the paperback edition of The New Yorker Stories, a vast collection of the stories she's written for "The New Yorker" for 30+ years.
I will never run out of books to read. I will never run out of books to be excited about. For this month, there's also the second volume of Stephen Sondheim's lyrics from 1981-2011, with observations by him on his career and the people he worked with and his thoughts while creating these many masterpieces. I have the first volume, of course, and am psyched about this one, especially to read about what he contributed to Dick Tracy.
And I'm also excited about Best Friends, Occasional Enemies: The Lighter Side of Life as a Mother and Daughter by Lisa Scottoline and Francesca Serritella. I'd read Scottoline's previous two books of very funny essays and I love her and her daughter's easygoing style. I wasn't going to wait until eventually reaching a library in Henderson to read this one.
Then I have to wait until April for new novels from Sarah Pekkanen and Barbara O'Neal, whose The Secret of Everything made me want to know so much more about New Mexico, and want to go there one day.
While The X Factor was on tonight and I ignored it like I always do, I kept sneaking glances at Mrs. Nixon: A Novelist Imagines a Life. Finally, I had a book I'd been waiting for, that I looked up on Amazon at least every other day, always checking the release date, always wishing for it to come faster. Here it was. The possibilities that I had felt after reading that excerpt could become a much grander form with this book. All I have to do is open it and find out.
Then before I logged on to write all this, I spotted Maps and Legends by Michael Chabon in a stack on the dining room table, and decided it was finally time to read it. Once I start Mrs. Nixon, no other book will matter, but I'll save this one for after.
My reading list keeps growing every day. I know I'll never read every single book that was ever published, and probably won't accomplish all of my reading list, but I have books I want to read and that's what gets me out of bed every day, well, that and working to be published again and again. Is that enough for me?
I go back and forth on this all the time, and maybe it's just where I am right now, sitting here in Saugus, not yet in Nevada, not able to be aware yet of all there is to do there, all there is to see. Maybe there'll be someone for me there, someone who meets my non-negotiable requirement of being a bibliophile, loving books so deeply that they could not imagine a day without them. But again, my reading list. Having someone in my life means less time for books. Or I could be looking at it wrong. Having a female bibliophile in my life could enrich my reading list and my life, could steer me toward books I'd never even heard of. I'd hopefully have the discussions I'd like to have, because I am the only bibliophile in this house. My sister reads, and so does my dad, but not often because of work, and then, not as many books as I read.
Souter or not? I don't know. I think it's best to not have a fixed view about this. Las Vegas is not the kind of city to be so sure about something. To live behind that glimmering gold of the desert would remind me every day to stay open to whatever may come. Plus, I did like that burst-of-light feeling in my heart when Nina smiled slightly at me. I'm secure enough with myself not to take every glance from a woman as a sign that there may be something more. Other glances I've received, I know it wasn't that. But it felt like that this time, felt like something more. For a moment at least, before falling back into the pushme-pullyou line of thought about this, I wanted that kind of smile all the time.
That's the thing: I don't feel that great pull that other people do in wanting to find someone. It's a slight tug, and it only happens once in a while. It seems like if I find someone, ok, but if not, that's ok too.
I'll just let this keep flowing as I always have. Everything else in my life, job, writing, reading, has a plan, including when I write here (Whenever I'm in the mood), so there should be one part without one.
Getting my equilibrium back entailed two unusual dreams. One was walking around this massive candy store and finding this container that was filled with what looked like Oreos with part of their tops broken off and various other chocolate and candy crumbles. I thought it was what might have been deemed unusuable by whoever had made the candy, but it turned out to have been what had been chewed on and spit out by people sampling the candy. Yeah. Disgusting.
The second dream involved this narrow bookstore in which Senator John Kerry was there, for what reason I don't know. I was excited to see all the books available and saw a darkened part of the bookstore further away and snuck over there to see what was there that no one else looked at since they were so busy looking at the accessible shelves. I also wanted to ask Kerry who he thought would win the next presidential election, but I didn't get the chance. Too much of a swarm of people around, though not necessarily for Kerry.
I spent the day devouring The Nasty Bits by Anthony Bourdain, with brief stops to have lunch and get the mail. In one piece, Bourdain gushes over chef Gabrielle Hamilton, imploring her to write a book, saying that she'd make him look like a manicurist. This was 2006, her Blood, Bones & Butter came out this past March, and because of what I had read, I ordered it, $13 price be damned. I don't normally order books that are $13, but this seemed like an important exception to make.
I also had a long think, not entirely about Nina, the girl from yesterday behind the returns and exchanges counter at Walmart Supercenter (Meridith told me earlier tonight that she texted her, but hasn't heard back yet). I've been going back and forth on whether I really want someone in my life.
My favorite Supreme Court justice is David Souter, who retired in June 2009. He always struck me as a fair jurist, and not long after he retired and rushed right back home to his beloved New Hampshire, he moved out of his family farm and into a house that could stand the weight of the thousands of books he owns, which the farmhouse couldn't. He retired because he wanted to get back to his reading. He's always been a bachelor.
Is that me? Do I want what Souter has? I don't intend to emulate Souter throughout my life and certainly I have a personality far different from his. For example, he's a reserved soul, whereas I'm slightly more outgoing. Get me into a good conversation about books and my enthusiasm can be stunning.
Today was not only a good day because of The Nasty Bits. The mail came and I found one of two packages I was waiting for from Amazon, this one containing Mrs. Nixon: A Novelist Imagines a Life by Ann Beattie. Beattie researched the life of First Lady Pat Nixon through many sources, and imagined what she might have said at various events from which she could find no records, and what she might have felt. There was an excerpt of this in an issue of "The New Yorker" in which the final Nixon family photo was being taken in the White House before Nixon left office, and it was all from Pat Nixon's perspective. This is not only what made me pre-order this book, but also what made me seek out more about Ann Beattie, ordering her first novel, Chilly Scenes of Winter, and the paperback edition of The New Yorker Stories, a vast collection of the stories she's written for "The New Yorker" for 30+ years.
I will never run out of books to read. I will never run out of books to be excited about. For this month, there's also the second volume of Stephen Sondheim's lyrics from 1981-2011, with observations by him on his career and the people he worked with and his thoughts while creating these many masterpieces. I have the first volume, of course, and am psyched about this one, especially to read about what he contributed to Dick Tracy.
And I'm also excited about Best Friends, Occasional Enemies: The Lighter Side of Life as a Mother and Daughter by Lisa Scottoline and Francesca Serritella. I'd read Scottoline's previous two books of very funny essays and I love her and her daughter's easygoing style. I wasn't going to wait until eventually reaching a library in Henderson to read this one.
Then I have to wait until April for new novels from Sarah Pekkanen and Barbara O'Neal, whose The Secret of Everything made me want to know so much more about New Mexico, and want to go there one day.
While The X Factor was on tonight and I ignored it like I always do, I kept sneaking glances at Mrs. Nixon: A Novelist Imagines a Life. Finally, I had a book I'd been waiting for, that I looked up on Amazon at least every other day, always checking the release date, always wishing for it to come faster. Here it was. The possibilities that I had felt after reading that excerpt could become a much grander form with this book. All I have to do is open it and find out.
Then before I logged on to write all this, I spotted Maps and Legends by Michael Chabon in a stack on the dining room table, and decided it was finally time to read it. Once I start Mrs. Nixon, no other book will matter, but I'll save this one for after.
My reading list keeps growing every day. I know I'll never read every single book that was ever published, and probably won't accomplish all of my reading list, but I have books I want to read and that's what gets me out of bed every day, well, that and working to be published again and again. Is that enough for me?
I go back and forth on this all the time, and maybe it's just where I am right now, sitting here in Saugus, not yet in Nevada, not able to be aware yet of all there is to do there, all there is to see. Maybe there'll be someone for me there, someone who meets my non-negotiable requirement of being a bibliophile, loving books so deeply that they could not imagine a day without them. But again, my reading list. Having someone in my life means less time for books. Or I could be looking at it wrong. Having a female bibliophile in my life could enrich my reading list and my life, could steer me toward books I'd never even heard of. I'd hopefully have the discussions I'd like to have, because I am the only bibliophile in this house. My sister reads, and so does my dad, but not often because of work, and then, not as many books as I read.
Souter or not? I don't know. I think it's best to not have a fixed view about this. Las Vegas is not the kind of city to be so sure about something. To live behind that glimmering gold of the desert would remind me every day to stay open to whatever may come. Plus, I did like that burst-of-light feeling in my heart when Nina smiled slightly at me. I'm secure enough with myself not to take every glance from a woman as a sign that there may be something more. Other glances I've received, I know it wasn't that. But it felt like that this time, felt like something more. For a moment at least, before falling back into the pushme-pullyou line of thought about this, I wanted that kind of smile all the time.
That's the thing: I don't feel that great pull that other people do in wanting to find someone. It's a slight tug, and it only happens once in a while. It seems like if I find someone, ok, but if not, that's ok too.
I'll just let this keep flowing as I always have. Everything else in my life, job, writing, reading, has a plan, including when I write here (Whenever I'm in the mood), so there should be one part without one.
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