I found myself in San Francisco this weekend caught completely by surprise at having the best time of my life. It really snuck up on me. There I was, surrounded by beautiful women (Vicky), fellow writers who wanted to know what I thought, actors who admired my work, great food, funny conversation… It was simply amazing.
Then, I came home.
And I realize that real life never stops. I realize that this wonderful ride has to end at some point. I do.
In fact, let me drip a little more reality in before getting back to the wonderfulness so you know I’m not completely full of shit. I have only a few more unemployment checks remaining. In the past five months, I’ve applied for over 70 jobs – 70 that I’ve kept track of – with no response. Zero. Not a phone call. Nothing. For some reason I do not know, my career as a marketing professional appears to have come completely full stop. I will very soon have to take anything I can get: Costco, Target, whatever. I’ll have to do it or lose my home. I know that.
On top of that, my last book (Sleepwalker) received nothing but yawns and disgust from all the agencies and publishers I sent it to. Things are not looking great for me as a novelist.
So, why the hell am I so upbeat?
You know what they say: There’s no talking to an idiot.
No. Wait. That should be: Hope springs eternal.
I just finished my new mystery novel, Once Removed. Not only is it a lot of fun, it is a more sophisticated blend of romance and mystery and family drama. It takes my books to the next level. The next book I write will be another horror novel, my third. Hell, I never thought I’d write my first! The concept, which I won’t get into now, is far above a lot of stuff I see out there. It is really good – and I’m not really a fan of my own horror writing to begin with and I’m saying that. It will take me to that next level.
I’m getting better. I can feel it. Maybe it’s because I just spent a weekend in San Francisco with people who admire my work; I don’t know. It could also be the fact that I now spend an enormous amount of my time writing. You know, like a writer.
Check this out. I just finished the first draft of Once Removed in just over a month. Tomorrow, I’ll start working on my next play. Next week, when I finish the play, I’ll go back and work on rewriting and polishing Once Removed so it’s ready to submit to agencies and publishers. Then, I’ll do the same to the play. Then, I’ll start the next book. This will all happen before April!
That kind of schedule would have been unthinkable for me as recently as two years ago. I am now living and thinking – functioning – as a writer. And, yes, it will all be snatched out of my hands when my unemployment benefits run out in April.
It sucks.
That said, I want to get as much out of it as I can. Yes, this year, I want to write two more books. I also want to write a sequel to Wormfood Island when it comes out. I want Wormfood Island to sell well enough to justify a sequel. I have four more plays in my mind, ready to spring forth. I can do all this this year, easily, if I get the opportunity.
I am looking for that opportunity. I am looking for part-time writing jobs, temp writing jobs, contract writing jobs – hell, I’ll take all kinds of part-time jobs if they give me the opportunity to write.
I am ready to take that next step in my life.
Next month, I have a play being considered for full production in the 2012 season of an LA theater. In April, I have a short play being produced in Hollywood. This sounds like a dream and it kind of is. Sadly, it is not yet the kind of dream that makes money.
And it all comes down to money.
…
This weekend, when asked how I kept up this momentum of mine at the age of 45, I replied, “It doesn’t take any talent or skill. All it takes is blind stupidity. Think of any other job out there and imagine pursuing it for 25 years. Now, imagine someone saying that if you just got a little better they’d pay you. It wouldn’t happen. And yet, here I am.”
I got a bit of a laugh and, to some degree, I believe that.
But, you know, what I didn’t admit was the incredible love I have for what I do, the amazing thrill that comes when I finish a project, get an audience to laugh or to cry, create a book someone just can’t put down. It is an unbelievable experience and I feel fortunate to simply have made it this far.
Now, I want to go just a little farther.
(Yes, I know I'm posting this on both of my blogs but it's one of those things that really transcends both subject matters. This is my life and my love and my path - and it's Vicky's too. Vicky is an enormous part of it. Nothing makes me happer than seeing this through her eyes. I am very lucky.)
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
On Being British…
One of the reasons I went into acting was because I was so insecure about myself. There was this feeling in my gut that said if I could be other people it was better than being me. The problem, though, was that there never were enough roles, enough shows, and I ended up having to be me far too often.
My solution to this problem was to not be me even when I had to be me. In high school – yes, that long ago – I adopted a British mannerism to try and sound cool, not realizing that I only looked like a dork. The accent didn’t just stick with me; it became difficult to use my normal voice at times. I was that accustomed to “speaking British”.
Those days passed and I grew up. I met my first wife and married her. Of course, being so insecure, I would often slip into my British voice in a vain attempt at impressing her. I’m sure it wasn’t too difficult for her to see through it and she’d tell me to stop. For 15 years, she told me to stop.
So, it shouldn’t come as any surprise that, when Vicky and I got together, my inclination towards putting on my British voice had been beaten down all together? Even when she asked me to do it, I wouldn’t. Even the thought of doing the voice was just embarrassing.
Which goes to show: Each relationship you have is built on the ruins of the one before.
Vicky wanted to hear my British accent, and not the dribs and drabs I’d give her.
I decided, then, to really let her have it. On Valentine’s Day morning, I gave her a card and within, I wrote, “Today, just for you, I will be British.” And, so, I was. I held up my British accent all day: in the hotel room in the morning, when we checked out, as we drove home, when we stopped at Starbucks… the whole drive.
I’m not sure how it was but I did notice that being out of practice had taken its toll. It took me a while to find it in my mouth. Accents are, to me, a matter of what I call “mouth feel”. If it feels right, it’ll sound right. And this isn’t just any British accent we’re talking about. It is what I call my “British voice”. That means it is the most natural accent for my mouth, the one I’d use if I was British. The difference between it and some accent is the difference between a caricature and a painting.
As I say, I kept it up all day. As the day progressed, my mouth sank into the voice, dropping the affectation and adapting to the fit. I realized something, though. And that is, drives down the length of California – or anywhere – don’t really call for talking very much. While I was using the voice, there wasn’t much reason to talk. And I wanted to talk! I wanted to show off my voice for Vicky who had waited this long to hear it…
Dammit.
And then, as we neared home, with Vicky behind the wheel, my voice suddenly returned to normal as I yelled, “Shiiiiiiit!” Vicky had neglected to stop and careened into a length of stopped cars. Just before we slammed into them, she changed lanes very quickly, basically scaring the voice right out of me.
Oh well. Maybe, I’ll get more comfortable trying on other voice for Vicky in the future. Maybe this was a one day thing. Either way: Happy Valentine’s Day, Vic.
My solution to this problem was to not be me even when I had to be me. In high school – yes, that long ago – I adopted a British mannerism to try and sound cool, not realizing that I only looked like a dork. The accent didn’t just stick with me; it became difficult to use my normal voice at times. I was that accustomed to “speaking British”.
Those days passed and I grew up. I met my first wife and married her. Of course, being so insecure, I would often slip into my British voice in a vain attempt at impressing her. I’m sure it wasn’t too difficult for her to see through it and she’d tell me to stop. For 15 years, she told me to stop.
So, it shouldn’t come as any surprise that, when Vicky and I got together, my inclination towards putting on my British voice had been beaten down all together? Even when she asked me to do it, I wouldn’t. Even the thought of doing the voice was just embarrassing.
Which goes to show: Each relationship you have is built on the ruins of the one before.
Vicky wanted to hear my British accent, and not the dribs and drabs I’d give her.
I decided, then, to really let her have it. On Valentine’s Day morning, I gave her a card and within, I wrote, “Today, just for you, I will be British.” And, so, I was. I held up my British accent all day: in the hotel room in the morning, when we checked out, as we drove home, when we stopped at Starbucks… the whole drive.
I’m not sure how it was but I did notice that being out of practice had taken its toll. It took me a while to find it in my mouth. Accents are, to me, a matter of what I call “mouth feel”. If it feels right, it’ll sound right. And this isn’t just any British accent we’re talking about. It is what I call my “British voice”. That means it is the most natural accent for my mouth, the one I’d use if I was British. The difference between it and some accent is the difference between a caricature and a painting.
As I say, I kept it up all day. As the day progressed, my mouth sank into the voice, dropping the affectation and adapting to the fit. I realized something, though. And that is, drives down the length of California – or anywhere – don’t really call for talking very much. While I was using the voice, there wasn’t much reason to talk. And I wanted to talk! I wanted to show off my voice for Vicky who had waited this long to hear it…
Dammit.
And then, as we neared home, with Vicky behind the wheel, my voice suddenly returned to normal as I yelled, “Shiiiiiiit!” Vicky had neglected to stop and careened into a length of stopped cars. Just before we slammed into them, she changed lanes very quickly, basically scaring the voice right out of me.
Oh well. Maybe, I’ll get more comfortable trying on other voice for Vicky in the future. Maybe this was a one day thing. Either way: Happy Valentine’s Day, Vic.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Home of the Golden Gate…
Vicky and I heading out to San Francisco this weekend for the staged reading of Murielle’s Big Date at the Dark Room Theatre on Saturday 2/13 @ 5pm. (Come one! Come all!)
It’s been so long since I was last in San Francisco that I actually had to think back for a minute. It was my first time meeting Axel. He was giving me a hard time about what the Golden Gate Bridge looked like at night. I’d say, “I don’t know. I was dark.” He’d say, “So, you really don’t know what the color of the Golden Gate Bridge is?” And round and round we’d go. I really kinda hated Axel as I left San Francisco but, in the end, he turned out to be an okay guy.
This trip fills me with misgivings. After all, I’m still out of work and so I really shouldn’t take the extravagance. On the other hand, Vicky’s never been to San Francisco and really wants to go so I don’t have much say in it. After all, this is Vicky.
We’ll have one free day, give or take, and I’m hoping we can just walk about and see some of the town. Eat at some funky places. See some funky people. Bitch about the hills. You know, fun stuff.
The next day will be the show. I’m packing about three different shirts for the show, though I’m not sure which one to wear. Truth be told, I’m a bit nervous. If over-packing is a sign of nerves, I’m extremely nervous.
Hopefully, nobody will be asking me what the Golden Gate Bridge looks like in the dark.
It’s been so long since I was last in San Francisco that I actually had to think back for a minute. It was my first time meeting Axel. He was giving me a hard time about what the Golden Gate Bridge looked like at night. I’d say, “I don’t know. I was dark.” He’d say, “So, you really don’t know what the color of the Golden Gate Bridge is?” And round and round we’d go. I really kinda hated Axel as I left San Francisco but, in the end, he turned out to be an okay guy.
This trip fills me with misgivings. After all, I’m still out of work and so I really shouldn’t take the extravagance. On the other hand, Vicky’s never been to San Francisco and really wants to go so I don’t have much say in it. After all, this is Vicky.
We’ll have one free day, give or take, and I’m hoping we can just walk about and see some of the town. Eat at some funky places. See some funky people. Bitch about the hills. You know, fun stuff.
The next day will be the show. I’m packing about three different shirts for the show, though I’m not sure which one to wear. Truth be told, I’m a bit nervous. If over-packing is a sign of nerves, I’m extremely nervous.
Hopefully, nobody will be asking me what the Golden Gate Bridge looks like in the dark.
Monday, February 07, 2011
In-Between Jeans…
About a decade ago – yes, this goes a long way back so bear with me – I was pretty thin. Okay, it was actually only seven years, but still… I was far thinner than I was today.
I was thin because I didn’t eat. When I wanted to eat, I smoked or I drank. I was thin because I was an actor back then and you kinda had to be.
Since then, I got married and I got fat. I stopped acting but that was okay because I found myself spending a whole lot more time for my writing. (You might say I have a figure for writing.)
Now, when I use words like “thin” or “fat”, don’t get the wrong idea. I haven’t changed much and the difference in weight has only been about twenty pounds. When I was thin, I wore a 36 waist thin pair of jeans. As I got fatter, I moved from thin jeans all the way up to loose jeans – I would wear anything so long as I could still say I wore a 36 waist! I never wanted to move up to the dreaded 38.
Well, with all the jogging and cycling and walking I’ve been doing over the last year, my loose jeans have gone from just barely fitting to being… loose, actually. Actually loose! I actually have to wear a belt to keep them up! Imagine that.
Yesterday, Vicky decided I should get some new jeans. (Yes, SuperBowl Sunday – ugh!) What I ended up with were not thin jeans. I actually still have my thin jeans, which are waiting waiting waiting for that fateful day of thinness. No, but what I did get were called relaxed.
I’ve gone from loose to relaxed. Relaxed doesn’t sound nearly as loose as loose. Mind you, I’m not entirely relaxed in my relaxed jeans. They might as well be called the “See that? You’re fat” jeans.
But I’ll take relaxed.
I was thin because I didn’t eat. When I wanted to eat, I smoked or I drank. I was thin because I was an actor back then and you kinda had to be.
Since then, I got married and I got fat. I stopped acting but that was okay because I found myself spending a whole lot more time for my writing. (You might say I have a figure for writing.)
Now, when I use words like “thin” or “fat”, don’t get the wrong idea. I haven’t changed much and the difference in weight has only been about twenty pounds. When I was thin, I wore a 36 waist thin pair of jeans. As I got fatter, I moved from thin jeans all the way up to loose jeans – I would wear anything so long as I could still say I wore a 36 waist! I never wanted to move up to the dreaded 38.
Well, with all the jogging and cycling and walking I’ve been doing over the last year, my loose jeans have gone from just barely fitting to being… loose, actually. Actually loose! I actually have to wear a belt to keep them up! Imagine that.
Yesterday, Vicky decided I should get some new jeans. (Yes, SuperBowl Sunday – ugh!) What I ended up with were not thin jeans. I actually still have my thin jeans, which are waiting waiting waiting for that fateful day of thinness. No, but what I did get were called relaxed.
I’ve gone from loose to relaxed. Relaxed doesn’t sound nearly as loose as loose. Mind you, I’m not entirely relaxed in my relaxed jeans. They might as well be called the “See that? You’re fat” jeans.
But I’ll take relaxed.
Friday, February 04, 2011
All those years ago…
I received an email a few days ago from an old friend who was writing to remind me of something I did many years ago. It was 1976-77, and I was in the fourth grade. My teacher (whose name I have embarrassingly forgotten but I think it was Mrs. Coleman) was wonderful in that she allowed her students a great deal of self-expression. One way she did this was to allow me to perform sketches in front of the class.
When I say sketches, well, nothing could be further from the truth. My dad had left us a few years before and one of the few things he’d left behind was a Don Adams comedy record. It wasn’t stand-up but, rather, a crude series of audio sketches. One in particular was about an interview with a bank robber, mid-robbery. So, I took that record and corralled up a bunch of my friends and drilled them until they had their parts memorized and directed them and, before you knew it, had us all up in front of the rest of the class performing it for them. This went on for some time. Different sketches brought different casts, with me always casting myself in the lead role (of course). I took these sketches to other classes and won talent shows with it. Then, I started writing my own comedy sketches and things started to take off until – 6th grade and a new school filled with strangers. It would be four years before I performed again.
Anyway, as I say, I received this email from my old friend on a particularly awful day. My unemployment benefits are running out. My writing was getting me nothing but rejections. Things were pretty bleak. I wasn’t feeling particularly upbeat about anything. When I thought of my sketches in elementary school, I thought back on the nerd in glasses I was back then, the hyper kid who couldn’t sit still, and how much I wished someone had stopped me then and prevented me from even thinking about pursuing any kind of art.
And this just goes to show how important perspective is. My old friend wrote to tell me how he still remembers those old days in elementary school with warmth and how grateful he was that I pulled him into doing those sketches. He was very complimentary about the gift I have towards writing and how much he admires me for sticking with it.
I felt like writing back and saying, “You don’t understand. It’s not a blessing, you idiot. It’s a curse.” Then, I realized it was all a matter of perspective.
As Vicky told me, not everyone gets to pursue their passion or has the tenacity/stubbornness/gall/whatever to stick with it. What I think of as exhausting, they may see as something admirable. I don’t know. But it was nice to hear that someone saw me/sees me as more than just some loser who doesn’t know when he should quit.
When I say sketches, well, nothing could be further from the truth. My dad had left us a few years before and one of the few things he’d left behind was a Don Adams comedy record. It wasn’t stand-up but, rather, a crude series of audio sketches. One in particular was about an interview with a bank robber, mid-robbery. So, I took that record and corralled up a bunch of my friends and drilled them until they had their parts memorized and directed them and, before you knew it, had us all up in front of the rest of the class performing it for them. This went on for some time. Different sketches brought different casts, with me always casting myself in the lead role (of course). I took these sketches to other classes and won talent shows with it. Then, I started writing my own comedy sketches and things started to take off until – 6th grade and a new school filled with strangers. It would be four years before I performed again.
Anyway, as I say, I received this email from my old friend on a particularly awful day. My unemployment benefits are running out. My writing was getting me nothing but rejections. Things were pretty bleak. I wasn’t feeling particularly upbeat about anything. When I thought of my sketches in elementary school, I thought back on the nerd in glasses I was back then, the hyper kid who couldn’t sit still, and how much I wished someone had stopped me then and prevented me from even thinking about pursuing any kind of art.
And this just goes to show how important perspective is. My old friend wrote to tell me how he still remembers those old days in elementary school with warmth and how grateful he was that I pulled him into doing those sketches. He was very complimentary about the gift I have towards writing and how much he admires me for sticking with it.
I felt like writing back and saying, “You don’t understand. It’s not a blessing, you idiot. It’s a curse.” Then, I realized it was all a matter of perspective.
As Vicky told me, not everyone gets to pursue their passion or has the tenacity/stubbornness/gall/whatever to stick with it. What I think of as exhausting, they may see as something admirable. I don’t know. But it was nice to hear that someone saw me/sees me as more than just some loser who doesn’t know when he should quit.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Oxymorons for the 21st century...
(first in a series… that I’ll probably forget about continuing…)
Liberal Democrat
Free Press
Facebook Friend
Liberal Democrat
Free Press
Facebook Friend
Thursday, January 27, 2011
My greatest fear…
Let me start this with a brief primer: Vicky is wonderful and I love her more than I can tell you. She supports me completely. She’s my biggest fan. What more can I ask for?
Got it?
So, let me jump to the chase. Things have gone from bad to worse on the job front and I am seriously floundering. It’s pretty bad – but that’s not the worst part.
Vicky is experiencing a time in her professional life that can’t be beat. She is experiencing victory after victory and I couldn’t be more proud of her. Meanwhile, life is taking one big fat dump after another on me. It’s really difficult to get out of bed some days because things just keep getting worse.
What does this have to do with my greatest fear? It’s like this: one of these days it will be perfectly understandable for Vicky to want someone who isn’t so terribly unfortunate in his career, someone with a job, say. When that day comes, it would be perfectly understandable for her to cut her losses and move on.
I’m in this position through no fault of my own but there’s no denying how horrible my luck has been. I am terribly afraid my one bit of luck remaining, that being the fact that Vicky always comes home to me, is going to take a dive, too.
I don’t write this because I want feedback or advice. I just want to put that out there because it is eating away at my insides and maybe getting it out will help.
Got it?
So, let me jump to the chase. Things have gone from bad to worse on the job front and I am seriously floundering. It’s pretty bad – but that’s not the worst part.
Vicky is experiencing a time in her professional life that can’t be beat. She is experiencing victory after victory and I couldn’t be more proud of her. Meanwhile, life is taking one big fat dump after another on me. It’s really difficult to get out of bed some days because things just keep getting worse.
What does this have to do with my greatest fear? It’s like this: one of these days it will be perfectly understandable for Vicky to want someone who isn’t so terribly unfortunate in his career, someone with a job, say. When that day comes, it would be perfectly understandable for her to cut her losses and move on.
I’m in this position through no fault of my own but there’s no denying how horrible my luck has been. I am terribly afraid my one bit of luck remaining, that being the fact that Vicky always comes home to me, is going to take a dive, too.
I don’t write this because I want feedback or advice. I just want to put that out there because it is eating away at my insides and maybe getting it out will help.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
A New Love in My Life
A new love has entered my life...
Meet my new niece Madelyn Noriko. She is so precious and beautiful. I just can't get enough time with her. While I haven't been able to have any children of my own (yet), I'm not any less happy for my brother and his wife. I fully intend on being the cool aunt that she love to spend time with. Monday, January 24, 2011
I am invading San Francisco… and YOU are invited!...
When I say that I am invading San Francisco, of course, I mean that my farce, Murielle’s Big Date, is getting a reading! I’ll be there. If you see me, say HI!
Murielle’s Big Date will be appearing at the Dark Room Theater on February 13th at 5pm. Writing Man Productions is putting together a staged reading of this absurd look at the reality of dating, dinner, and historic re-enactments. It should be a lot of fun.
If you can’t make it, please tell anyone you know who can. Spread the word… PLEASE!
I’ll see you after the show.
Murielle’s Big Date will be appearing at the Dark Room Theater on February 13th at 5pm. Writing Man Productions is putting together a staged reading of this absurd look at the reality of dating, dinner, and historic re-enactments. It should be a lot of fun.
If you can’t make it, please tell anyone you know who can. Spread the word… PLEASE!
I’ll see you after the show.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
My unemployment story…
I haven’t talked about this in a while, mostly because I don’t want to get maudlin. I know you probably read about it; it’s out there. I’m unemployed. The longer I’m unemployed things in my life evolve and I realized I hadn’t really been talking about them. Then, I read a review of the new film, The Company Men.
It inspired me to write an update on my situation when I read the line, “If two highly skilled and qualified people are making more money than two underperforming but lesser paid employees, guess which two get the axe.” That’s essentially what happened to me. In my case, there were two people in the department and one needed to be laid off. I was paid more but had much more experience and know-how. My co-worker was paid less. I was chosen for extermination. I still speak to my ex-co-worker and hear her complain about how they make her work and how she can’t fart around. Meanwhile, I’m unemployed – that’s what I call empathy.
In the past two years, I’ve gone through every high and low. I’ve applied for hundreds of jobs for a handful of interviews. In those interviews, I’ve been made to feel like shit, as though my situation must be my fault. I’ve been given plenty of false hope, practically having jobs promised to me. I’ve grown so desensitized that I think if I did get employed I wouldn’t believe it.
Meanwhile, there’s my lovely wife, Vicky. She’s doing great and I am very proud of her. Fortunately, I outgrew that dumb instinct that says the man has to make more than the woman a long time ago. I know she’s got her head on straight in the business world and this is her time. More than that, I realize she’s using her fortune to my advantage.
Vicky has encouraged me to use my time off to work on my writing career and that just makes me so happy. In my life, I’ve never really had someone go to bat for me before. Granted, I still work on finding a job, just in case. I work temp jobs. I take any opportunity that comes my way, which has helped extend my unemployment benefits.
In the last two years, I haven’t gone two weeks without working on a new project. I’ve written several books and more plays. More than that, though, Vicky has taken an active role in helping me get the word out to agents, publishers, and theater folk. The results have been measurable. My first book is being published this year. If that was the only result it would be amazing, but there’s more. I recently took a look at the responses my work is getting and word is getting out. I now have over a dozen agents and publishers who have asked to see my books. For my plays, that number increases four-fold! That means people are seeking me out. My friend, Eric, calls it “momentum”. I call it “luck” and I hope it’ll hold.
Unemployment has been rough, no lie. We are living on a razor’s edge financially and things are not easy. When my unemployment runs out, I may be working at Target or the first minimum wage job that takes me. But to know my wife loves me enough to encourage me now when times are hard tells me she’ll be there in the future, too. I’ll take the first job that comes my way but the progress I’m seeing with my writing may may mean I won’t need to.
Either way, I know others have it far worse and I’m a pretty lucky guy, all things considered.
It inspired me to write an update on my situation when I read the line, “If two highly skilled and qualified people are making more money than two underperforming but lesser paid employees, guess which two get the axe.” That’s essentially what happened to me. In my case, there were two people in the department and one needed to be laid off. I was paid more but had much more experience and know-how. My co-worker was paid less. I was chosen for extermination. I still speak to my ex-co-worker and hear her complain about how they make her work and how she can’t fart around. Meanwhile, I’m unemployed – that’s what I call empathy.
In the past two years, I’ve gone through every high and low. I’ve applied for hundreds of jobs for a handful of interviews. In those interviews, I’ve been made to feel like shit, as though my situation must be my fault. I’ve been given plenty of false hope, practically having jobs promised to me. I’ve grown so desensitized that I think if I did get employed I wouldn’t believe it.
Meanwhile, there’s my lovely wife, Vicky. She’s doing great and I am very proud of her. Fortunately, I outgrew that dumb instinct that says the man has to make more than the woman a long time ago. I know she’s got her head on straight in the business world and this is her time. More than that, I realize she’s using her fortune to my advantage.
Vicky has encouraged me to use my time off to work on my writing career and that just makes me so happy. In my life, I’ve never really had someone go to bat for me before. Granted, I still work on finding a job, just in case. I work temp jobs. I take any opportunity that comes my way, which has helped extend my unemployment benefits.
In the last two years, I haven’t gone two weeks without working on a new project. I’ve written several books and more plays. More than that, though, Vicky has taken an active role in helping me get the word out to agents, publishers, and theater folk. The results have been measurable. My first book is being published this year. If that was the only result it would be amazing, but there’s more. I recently took a look at the responses my work is getting and word is getting out. I now have over a dozen agents and publishers who have asked to see my books. For my plays, that number increases four-fold! That means people are seeking me out. My friend, Eric, calls it “momentum”. I call it “luck” and I hope it’ll hold.
Unemployment has been rough, no lie. We are living on a razor’s edge financially and things are not easy. When my unemployment runs out, I may be working at Target or the first minimum wage job that takes me. But to know my wife loves me enough to encourage me now when times are hard tells me she’ll be there in the future, too. I’ll take the first job that comes my way but the progress I’m seeing with my writing may may mean I won’t need to.
Either way, I know others have it far worse and I’m a pretty lucky guy, all things considered.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Day off with my lady...
So, what kind of day did Vicky and I have yesterday?
Yesterday was the day we decided I would take one day each week and not work. (More on that over at the Ken La Salle blog.) But what do you do with a whole day not working? Well, Vicky was able to help me with that.
In the morning, we went down to the OC Swap Meet. We stopped for a little breakfast at Mimi’s first and I got the Pain Perdu breakfast, which is really the way God (if there was one and I was his/her/it’s spokesman) would do french toast. We sat and enjoyed coffee together and discussed our careers and Vicky’s forthcoming niece and it was completely relaxing long before we even got the food. When we got the food, Vicky got the Florentine crepes with a little potatoes and I got the pain perdu… and the eggs… and the potatoes… and the sausage… and the bran muffin… I was a pig.
Anyway, after breakfast we hit the Swap Meet. For those who haven’t gone, it’s an enormous parking lot filled with people selling all kinds of crap – most of which are sun glasses – and you get to walk it. Think of shopping on the Internet but in reverse. I didn’t care, though, because I saw it as a day in which I would get to walk with Vicky and share the day at her side. I really enjoy hanging out with Vicky and count myself lucky for that. I’ve been in other relationships where the “like” factor is excruciatingly low; one or both of us just did not like the other, though we were very much in love – yeah, no fun. The great thing about Vicky is how we’ve always liked each other and our love just gets stronger every year.
But enough mush. Vicky had gone to the Swap Meet expressly to pick up her brother a speaker – cause her brother has far too much money, the bastard. Fortunately, he’s getting a kid and that will be the end of that. After we bought it and agreed to pick it up on our way out, we started walking. Most of it was very pleasant – and then there were the smokers. Listen, I have nothing against smoking. If you want to smoke, please go ahead. But consider where you’re at when you do it. Try not to smoke around crowds of children, for instance. That might be nice. Times like that make me very grateful I quit, so I don’t have to admit to being one of those…
Vicky bought me my first pair of Vans since, well, the 1980’s. I liked the checked ones but Vicky said I was trying too hard to be young. Actually, I was just trying to get the ones I liked but, as it turned out, we had bigger issues than that. The issues were my feet. Damn, they’re big! I had to buy a size 13 and they only had one size 13 shoe. Turned out, I liked it. In fact, I’m wearing them now as I write. Vicky stopped by this jewelry shack that basically specialized in ugly jewelry. I played Switzerland as she bought herself a ring. As long as she was happy, I was fine.
The Swap Meet ate up a bit of our day but there was still plenty of time to go home and work. Vicky would have none of that. So, I actually played a video game for a while! Shocking! You see, up until a couple of years ago – maybe less – before I really made writing the driving force in my life, I would sit and play a video game for several hours every day or so. It was lovely, honestly. I’d forgotten.
So, having a day off was nice. I actually find myself looking forward to next Sunday. Mind you, I’ve got a week until then.
Back to work…
Yesterday was the day we decided I would take one day each week and not work. (More on that over at the Ken La Salle blog.) But what do you do with a whole day not working? Well, Vicky was able to help me with that.
In the morning, we went down to the OC Swap Meet. We stopped for a little breakfast at Mimi’s first and I got the Pain Perdu breakfast, which is really the way God (if there was one and I was his/her/it’s spokesman) would do french toast. We sat and enjoyed coffee together and discussed our careers and Vicky’s forthcoming niece and it was completely relaxing long before we even got the food. When we got the food, Vicky got the Florentine crepes with a little potatoes and I got the pain perdu… and the eggs… and the potatoes… and the sausage… and the bran muffin… I was a pig.
Anyway, after breakfast we hit the Swap Meet. For those who haven’t gone, it’s an enormous parking lot filled with people selling all kinds of crap – most of which are sun glasses – and you get to walk it. Think of shopping on the Internet but in reverse. I didn’t care, though, because I saw it as a day in which I would get to walk with Vicky and share the day at her side. I really enjoy hanging out with Vicky and count myself lucky for that. I’ve been in other relationships where the “like” factor is excruciatingly low; one or both of us just did not like the other, though we were very much in love – yeah, no fun. The great thing about Vicky is how we’ve always liked each other and our love just gets stronger every year.
But enough mush. Vicky had gone to the Swap Meet expressly to pick up her brother a speaker – cause her brother has far too much money, the bastard. Fortunately, he’s getting a kid and that will be the end of that. After we bought it and agreed to pick it up on our way out, we started walking. Most of it was very pleasant – and then there were the smokers. Listen, I have nothing against smoking. If you want to smoke, please go ahead. But consider where you’re at when you do it. Try not to smoke around crowds of children, for instance. That might be nice. Times like that make me very grateful I quit, so I don’t have to admit to being one of those…
Vicky bought me my first pair of Vans since, well, the 1980’s. I liked the checked ones but Vicky said I was trying too hard to be young. Actually, I was just trying to get the ones I liked but, as it turned out, we had bigger issues than that. The issues were my feet. Damn, they’re big! I had to buy a size 13 and they only had one size 13 shoe. Turned out, I liked it. In fact, I’m wearing them now as I write. Vicky stopped by this jewelry shack that basically specialized in ugly jewelry. I played Switzerland as she bought herself a ring. As long as she was happy, I was fine.
The Swap Meet ate up a bit of our day but there was still plenty of time to go home and work. Vicky would have none of that. So, I actually played a video game for a while! Shocking! You see, up until a couple of years ago – maybe less – before I really made writing the driving force in my life, I would sit and play a video game for several hours every day or so. It was lovely, honestly. I’d forgotten.
So, having a day off was nice. I actually find myself looking forward to next Sunday. Mind you, I’ve got a week until then.
Back to work…
Thursday, January 13, 2011
You are the sunshine of my life…
I’d like to talk about weather today.
Yes, I understand that’s painfully boring but please bear with me.
When I first took up cycling, it was only for a few weeks in the coolest part of summer when the temperatures were just so, not too hot and not too cool. Then, as I got more interested in it and as my goals became more elaborate, I cycled for a longer period in the year, in more months and more differences in weather. But I would watch the hardcore cyclists as they cycled in the winter and think, “I don’t know how they do that but it’s too damned cold for me.”
Somehow, though, Vicky and I have figured it out and while I’m not cycling in the snow I can now cycle when it’s 48° f where once I could only cycle after the temps hit 65° or higher. Vicky has been kind enough to purchase me a couple of long-sleeved jerseys and I’ve been smart enough to wear a long-sleeved shirt beneath it. This helped a great deal. What helped the most, though, was the thin, insulating cap that we bought for me to wear beneath my helmet. It was only around $10 and, somehow, it helps hold all of my heat in.
So, I’m cycling in the winter. This year, I’ve decided to keep a journal of all my miles (basically, it’s an Excel spreadsheet) so that I know how much I’ve covered by the end of the year. I’m guessing I hit at least 2,000… so far, I’ve ridden 20. I’ll keep you posted.
The best part of my first ride, yesterday, was that the sun finally came out. After weeks of unseasonable winter… which is to say winter… the sun shines once again on southern California. We’re not exactly baking out here but it is nice to have a bit of sunshine again.
Let’s hope that holds so I can get more cycling in.
Yes, I understand that’s painfully boring but please bear with me.
When I first took up cycling, it was only for a few weeks in the coolest part of summer when the temperatures were just so, not too hot and not too cool. Then, as I got more interested in it and as my goals became more elaborate, I cycled for a longer period in the year, in more months and more differences in weather. But I would watch the hardcore cyclists as they cycled in the winter and think, “I don’t know how they do that but it’s too damned cold for me.”
Somehow, though, Vicky and I have figured it out and while I’m not cycling in the snow I can now cycle when it’s 48° f where once I could only cycle after the temps hit 65° or higher. Vicky has been kind enough to purchase me a couple of long-sleeved jerseys and I’ve been smart enough to wear a long-sleeved shirt beneath it. This helped a great deal. What helped the most, though, was the thin, insulating cap that we bought for me to wear beneath my helmet. It was only around $10 and, somehow, it helps hold all of my heat in.
So, I’m cycling in the winter. This year, I’ve decided to keep a journal of all my miles (basically, it’s an Excel spreadsheet) so that I know how much I’ve covered by the end of the year. I’m guessing I hit at least 2,000… so far, I’ve ridden 20. I’ll keep you posted.
The best part of my first ride, yesterday, was that the sun finally came out. After weeks of unseasonable winter… which is to say winter… the sun shines once again on southern California. We’re not exactly baking out here but it is nice to have a bit of sunshine again.
Let’s hope that holds so I can get more cycling in.
Friday, January 07, 2011
Drive, I said…
Vicky and I missed out on our trip to San Francisco this weekend.
Originally, Vicky and I were supposed to go to San Francisco because a reading of my play, Murielle’s Big Date, was being staged at the Dark Room Theatre. Sadly, the date was changed. Not to fear, however. It’s still being done. The new date is February 13, 2011. If you’re in the city on that day, around 5pm-ish, we’d be happy to see you.
The downside, though, is that we had to change all of our plans. Typically, I freaked out and rushed Vicky to the phone to cancel our hotel reservations before it was too late to get a refund… you know, when we could have just changed the date. Okay, so I’m a bit nervous about money these days.
So now we’ll be heading up next month. Vicky is kind of disgusted by the $40 parking fee we have to pay every day we’re in the city so, she suggested, “Why don’t we just take the train?” I don’t tell her it’s the same train I took to get married back in the 80’s. I don’t have to. She sees that the train won’t take us into the city and we’ll have to take a bus – so, that’s out. How about flying in? Well, the cost of flying is just downright crazy. It’s cheaper to park.
Anyway, I tell her, I like driving with her. There’s something really cool to me about being in a car with Vicky for long periods of time, sharing the experience and jokes and conversation. If I could somehow lock Vicky in a room without TV and we could spend eight hours in bed together, I’d do it! But I can’t. This is the next best thing.
So, we’ll drive. We’ll park. We’ll be there.
Hope to see you, too.
Originally, Vicky and I were supposed to go to San Francisco because a reading of my play, Murielle’s Big Date, was being staged at the Dark Room Theatre. Sadly, the date was changed. Not to fear, however. It’s still being done. The new date is February 13, 2011. If you’re in the city on that day, around 5pm-ish, we’d be happy to see you.
The downside, though, is that we had to change all of our plans. Typically, I freaked out and rushed Vicky to the phone to cancel our hotel reservations before it was too late to get a refund… you know, when we could have just changed the date. Okay, so I’m a bit nervous about money these days.
So now we’ll be heading up next month. Vicky is kind of disgusted by the $40 parking fee we have to pay every day we’re in the city so, she suggested, “Why don’t we just take the train?” I don’t tell her it’s the same train I took to get married back in the 80’s. I don’t have to. She sees that the train won’t take us into the city and we’ll have to take a bus – so, that’s out. How about flying in? Well, the cost of flying is just downright crazy. It’s cheaper to park.
Anyway, I tell her, I like driving with her. There’s something really cool to me about being in a car with Vicky for long periods of time, sharing the experience and jokes and conversation. If I could somehow lock Vicky in a room without TV and we could spend eight hours in bed together, I’d do it! But I can’t. This is the next best thing.
So, we’ll drive. We’ll park. We’ll be there.
Hope to see you, too.
Tuesday, January 04, 2011
Just needing a hug…
I get peculiar when I’m sick.
Well… more peculiar. Differently peculiar.
Peculiarly peculiar.
Last Thursday, I did a great five-mile jog. The day was windy and cold and jogging felt great. When I hit the halfway point and had to turn around, it felt a bit less great as I jogged back into the wind. It felt less great still when the wind bit into my throat with icy teeth.
I got home certain I’d probably catch a chill and the inevitable cold.
I was right.
By Friday, I was feeling sick and I was sick all through the weekend. Vicky did what she usually does: tried to get me to lie down and offered to get me fluids. But there’s one thing I need when I’m sick that she isn’t too keen on. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t want to get sick, too.
The one thing I need… is hugs.
Lots of hugs.
I just want to be held tight, especially when I feel as I did the other day with body aches and pains. I just want to be held and kissed and told it’s going to be all right.
Basically, I turn into a big baby. I won’t deny it. That’s okay. Vicky does, too. And when she does, she turns into the grumpy kind of baby who just wants to be left alone. And there we are. Two different types of sickos: the love bug and the grumpy bear.
Somehow, we’ll have to work on this…
Well… more peculiar. Differently peculiar.
Peculiarly peculiar.
Last Thursday, I did a great five-mile jog. The day was windy and cold and jogging felt great. When I hit the halfway point and had to turn around, it felt a bit less great as I jogged back into the wind. It felt less great still when the wind bit into my throat with icy teeth.
I got home certain I’d probably catch a chill and the inevitable cold.
I was right.
By Friday, I was feeling sick and I was sick all through the weekend. Vicky did what she usually does: tried to get me to lie down and offered to get me fluids. But there’s one thing I need when I’m sick that she isn’t too keen on. Maybe it’s because she doesn’t want to get sick, too.
The one thing I need… is hugs.
Lots of hugs.
I just want to be held tight, especially when I feel as I did the other day with body aches and pains. I just want to be held and kissed and told it’s going to be all right.
Basically, I turn into a big baby. I won’t deny it. That’s okay. Vicky does, too. And when she does, she turns into the grumpy kind of baby who just wants to be left alone. And there we are. Two different types of sickos: the love bug and the grumpy bear.
Somehow, we’ll have to work on this…
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Vicky’s hidden talent…
I feel it’s my job to post at least one complaint about my wife online each year, so people don’t think she’s too perfect… or… just perfect…
Vicky has this gift of being able to turn on every light source (and sometimes more) in a room before leaving it. She is completely oblivious to the idea that electricity costs money. In her world, it’s not only free but an affront to the power company if you don’t use it.
So, I end up following her around, switching off light after light after light. She’ll go downstairs; I’ll turn off the lights (and sometimes more) upstairs. She’ll go upstairs; I’ll turn off the lights (and sometimes more) downstairs.
This is how it works in our house.
Thank God for this flaw – however incredibly large and annoying it may be – in Vicky’s character. Without this, she may appear perfect in my eyes.
… there is that chance…
Vicky has this gift of being able to turn on every light source (and sometimes more) in a room before leaving it. She is completely oblivious to the idea that electricity costs money. In her world, it’s not only free but an affront to the power company if you don’t use it.
So, I end up following her around, switching off light after light after light. She’ll go downstairs; I’ll turn off the lights (and sometimes more) upstairs. She’ll go upstairs; I’ll turn off the lights (and sometimes more) downstairs.
This is how it works in our house.
Thank God for this flaw – however incredibly large and annoying it may be – in Vicky’s character. Without this, she may appear perfect in my eyes.
… there is that chance…
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Another step towards vegetarian
I like to read "news" stories on Yahoo. I know that these stories aren't really news and are mostly just entertaining, but I read them all the same.
Today, a story about how our food is making us (Americans) fat caught my attention. Now, in case you don't know, I've been working hard on improving my eating habits. I still have my bad days, but they are fewer in number. I am eating more whole foods (you know, then non-processed kind) and I feel great when I do. It makes such a difference.
Back to my story, so I read this article about how our food is making us fat, and came across this in the article
Most fast-food hamburger patties begin their voyage to your buns in the hands of a company called Beef Products. The company specializes in taking slaughterhouse trimmings—heads and hooves and the like—that are traditionally used only in pet food and cooking oil, and turning them into patties. The challenge is getting this byproduct meat clean enough for human consumption, as both E. coli and salmonella like to concentrate themselves in the fatty deposits.
The company has developed a process for killing beef-based pathogens by forcing the ground meat through pipes and exposing it to ammonia gas—the same chemical you might use to clean your bathroom. Not only has the USDA approved the process, but it's also allowed those who sell the beef to keep it hidden from their customers. At Beef Products’ behest, ammonia gas has been deemed a “processing agent” that need not be identified on nutrition labels. Never mind that if ammonia gets on your skin, it can cause severe burning, and if it gets in your eyes, it can blind you. Add to the gross-out factor the fact that after moving through this lengthy industrial process, a single beef patty can consist of cobbled-together pieces from different cows from all over the world—a practice that only increases the odds of contamination.
Now, I already can hear Ken talking to back to my post...you know that I've been telling you this for years now!
Don't get me wrong, I love a good steak. I've been a meat eater my entire life and except for the past few years, with never a second thought. Now, my desire for a burger has just plummeted to negative 100. Really now, eating meat by-products that have been treated with ammonia just turns my stomach.
Today, a story about how our food is making us (Americans) fat caught my attention. Now, in case you don't know, I've been working hard on improving my eating habits. I still have my bad days, but they are fewer in number. I am eating more whole foods (you know, then non-processed kind) and I feel great when I do. It makes such a difference.
Back to my story, so I read this article about how our food is making us fat, and came across this in the article
Most fast-food hamburger patties begin their voyage to your buns in the hands of a company called Beef Products. The company specializes in taking slaughterhouse trimmings—heads and hooves and the like—that are traditionally used only in pet food and cooking oil, and turning them into patties. The challenge is getting this byproduct meat clean enough for human consumption, as both E. coli and salmonella like to concentrate themselves in the fatty deposits.
The company has developed a process for killing beef-based pathogens by forcing the ground meat through pipes and exposing it to ammonia gas—the same chemical you might use to clean your bathroom. Not only has the USDA approved the process, but it's also allowed those who sell the beef to keep it hidden from their customers. At Beef Products’ behest, ammonia gas has been deemed a “processing agent” that need not be identified on nutrition labels. Never mind that if ammonia gets on your skin, it can cause severe burning, and if it gets in your eyes, it can blind you. Add to the gross-out factor the fact that after moving through this lengthy industrial process, a single beef patty can consist of cobbled-together pieces from different cows from all over the world—a practice that only increases the odds of contamination.
Now, I already can hear Ken talking to back to my post...you know that I've been telling you this for years now!
Don't get me wrong, I love a good steak. I've been a meat eater my entire life and except for the past few years, with never a second thought. Now, my desire for a burger has just plummeted to negative 100. Really now, eating meat by-products that have been treated with ammonia just turns my stomach.
On criminals, pot holes, and global warming…
On Christmas Day, Vicky and I stayed at home. Vicky put a beautiful pork roast in her slow cooker and settled back with me to enjoy a few movies. As dinner neared, the “slow” part of slow cooking lost its allure and Vicky suggested we go out and pick up some bread, for dipping and for sauce once the roast was done.
We drove down to one of our local stores and, as we pulled into the parking lot, we witnessed a guy drive his truck into a parked car. Then, he backed up and smashed his truck into the car again.
Vicky parked safely away and we decided she’d go pick up the bread while I watched the car. (I didn’t want someone running into our car.) As she left, I watched the guy get out of his truck and look at what he’d done. Then, he drove his truck to a nearby spot, got out, and inspected his damage. Several spectators walked away and I wished I could have been that close because they had probably seen his license plate number. (My angle wasn’t right.) I thought about how I might get the number. I got out of the car and walked around a bit – when I saw Vicky.
She hadn’t gone into the store. She’d stopped at the entrance, where she had a great view of the number, and had called the police. She was giving them all the details! I was going to go to her when I saw the driver get in his truck and drive – I thought he was driving towards Vicky but he took off for the street and drove away.
I gotta hand it to Vicky for her bravery – but I wish she’d have a little more self-preservation, if you know what I mean.
Anyway, Vicky and I agreed to wait for the police. They arrived nearly right away and we both told them what we saw. In minutes, they received word that police caught the guy getting home and we were asked if we could identify him. Vicky and I didn’t hesitate. We rode in the back of separate vehicles (my first time for that) and identified the guy from within the car.
We got back and continued to give our statements. As we did this, we learned that the car that was struck belonged to the sister of one of the store’s supervisors. She was using her sister’s car. This hit awfully close to home because Vicky’s car had died the day before and we were using her sister-in-law’s car. The supervisor had no idea why her car had been struck. Vicky and I were glad we could at least show her that there were people in the world who cared, especially after all the other witnesses had just taken off. It turned out that the driver of the truck was out on parole and no one had any idea why he was hitting the supervisor’s car but it clearly did not look good for him.
Hitting a car is one thing. Hitting is twice and then driving off – another.
Vicky and I talked a lot about cynicism that night and how awful it is that so few actually care about others. This reminded me of the pot holes. The streets in our city have become riddled with potholes of late. This is mostly because voters have so short-sightedly voted for tax cuts and the politicians who support tax cuts that even simple road repair can no longer be done, leaving us with third-world streets.
It made me wonder how we’ll ever get people to care about their future, to take care of things like global warming, when they’re too selfish to pay money to have their roads fixed. The results of global warming and climate change will kill a great deal of us – and if it doesn’t get you, it’ll get your children and theirs and theirs – but if you won’t even help someone being violated on the street, if you won’t even call the cops when some thug is smashing their car into the one somebody borrowed from their sister, if you can’t be bothered to pay for simple things like decent roads or schools… what hope is there?
We drove down to one of our local stores and, as we pulled into the parking lot, we witnessed a guy drive his truck into a parked car. Then, he backed up and smashed his truck into the car again.
Vicky parked safely away and we decided she’d go pick up the bread while I watched the car. (I didn’t want someone running into our car.) As she left, I watched the guy get out of his truck and look at what he’d done. Then, he drove his truck to a nearby spot, got out, and inspected his damage. Several spectators walked away and I wished I could have been that close because they had probably seen his license plate number. (My angle wasn’t right.) I thought about how I might get the number. I got out of the car and walked around a bit – when I saw Vicky.
She hadn’t gone into the store. She’d stopped at the entrance, where she had a great view of the number, and had called the police. She was giving them all the details! I was going to go to her when I saw the driver get in his truck and drive – I thought he was driving towards Vicky but he took off for the street and drove away.
I gotta hand it to Vicky for her bravery – but I wish she’d have a little more self-preservation, if you know what I mean.
Anyway, Vicky and I agreed to wait for the police. They arrived nearly right away and we both told them what we saw. In minutes, they received word that police caught the guy getting home and we were asked if we could identify him. Vicky and I didn’t hesitate. We rode in the back of separate vehicles (my first time for that) and identified the guy from within the car.
We got back and continued to give our statements. As we did this, we learned that the car that was struck belonged to the sister of one of the store’s supervisors. She was using her sister’s car. This hit awfully close to home because Vicky’s car had died the day before and we were using her sister-in-law’s car. The supervisor had no idea why her car had been struck. Vicky and I were glad we could at least show her that there were people in the world who cared, especially after all the other witnesses had just taken off. It turned out that the driver of the truck was out on parole and no one had any idea why he was hitting the supervisor’s car but it clearly did not look good for him.
Hitting a car is one thing. Hitting is twice and then driving off – another.
Vicky and I talked a lot about cynicism that night and how awful it is that so few actually care about others. This reminded me of the pot holes. The streets in our city have become riddled with potholes of late. This is mostly because voters have so short-sightedly voted for tax cuts and the politicians who support tax cuts that even simple road repair can no longer be done, leaving us with third-world streets.
It made me wonder how we’ll ever get people to care about their future, to take care of things like global warming, when they’re too selfish to pay money to have their roads fixed. The results of global warming and climate change will kill a great deal of us – and if it doesn’t get you, it’ll get your children and theirs and theirs – but if you won’t even help someone being violated on the street, if you won’t even call the cops when some thug is smashing their car into the one somebody borrowed from their sister, if you can’t be bothered to pay for simple things like decent roads or schools… what hope is there?
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Someone should have asked…
Let me preface this by saying I am fully in support of equal rights for all. I think all of my brothers and sisters should enjoy equal rights be they straight or gay or transgendered or anything in between. That said, here’s the exception that proves the rule.
What the hell were they thinking with Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?
Listen to this hypothetical: World War Three breaks out – or any other war, we have so many – and everyone is drafted to go get killed in war. Prior to today’s signing of DADT out of the books, anyone could have said, “Oh, sorry. I’d rather not get killed. I’m gay.” No homosexual or bisexual or transgendered individual ever had to fight or die in a war. Ever.
That shit won’t fly any more.
The one loophole homosexuals (et al) had in their favor they threw away. They actually protested to have it taken away!
Could have been marriage. Could have been insurance rights. Could have been any number of a thousand other things, but the one thing – the thing that kept them alive and gave them the out no straight man (or woman) has ever had – that’s what they asked to have taken away.
I love my brothers and sisters out there, no matter their color or faith or proclivity.
… I’m just saying… that was a really stupid choice, guys.
What the hell were they thinking with Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?
Listen to this hypothetical: World War Three breaks out – or any other war, we have so many – and everyone is drafted to go get killed in war. Prior to today’s signing of DADT out of the books, anyone could have said, “Oh, sorry. I’d rather not get killed. I’m gay.” No homosexual or bisexual or transgendered individual ever had to fight or die in a war. Ever.
That shit won’t fly any more.
The one loophole homosexuals (et al) had in their favor they threw away. They actually protested to have it taken away!
Could have been marriage. Could have been insurance rights. Could have been any number of a thousand other things, but the one thing – the thing that kept them alive and gave them the out no straight man (or woman) has ever had – that’s what they asked to have taken away.
I love my brothers and sisters out there, no matter their color or faith or proclivity.
… I’m just saying… that was a really stupid choice, guys.
Monday, December 20, 2010
The best Christmas story… until…
Vicky and I were at a Christmas brunch the other day, held by one of her employers. (All comments to the effect that I’m a lazy bastard for not working when my wife works two jobs – duly noted.)
The folks running the brunch were having everyone stand up and tell a story about themselves, one at a time, which was a great way of getting to know one another. When my turn came, I told the story about how Vicky and I chose out wedding date.
I said, “Vicky and I were on the phone one night, just talking around the subject of marriage. Not talking about it, just circling round and round. She said, I wouldn’t want to get married in the summer. Too hot. I said, I wouldn’t want to get married in the winter. Too cold. We agreed sometime in between would be nice, such as September or October. But I wouldn’t want to get married in October because my birthday’s in October. Vicky said we couldn’t get married at the beginning of September because that would conflict with labor day. It would have to be sometime in between, say the third week or so. Sure, Vicky agreed. Like the weekend of the 25th, for instance. Then, we both stopped talking and there was a long pause. I asked, Did we just set a date?”
It’s a great story. People love it and it really shows how much Vicky and I wanted to be together.
Just one problem, though.
Vicky stood up and said, “Ken tells that story really well… except our wedding date is on the 24th, not the 25th.”
The folks running the brunch were having everyone stand up and tell a story about themselves, one at a time, which was a great way of getting to know one another. When my turn came, I told the story about how Vicky and I chose out wedding date.
I said, “Vicky and I were on the phone one night, just talking around the subject of marriage. Not talking about it, just circling round and round. She said, I wouldn’t want to get married in the summer. Too hot. I said, I wouldn’t want to get married in the winter. Too cold. We agreed sometime in between would be nice, such as September or October. But I wouldn’t want to get married in October because my birthday’s in October. Vicky said we couldn’t get married at the beginning of September because that would conflict with labor day. It would have to be sometime in between, say the third week or so. Sure, Vicky agreed. Like the weekend of the 25th, for instance. Then, we both stopped talking and there was a long pause. I asked, Did we just set a date?”
It’s a great story. People love it and it really shows how much Vicky and I wanted to be together.
Just one problem, though.
Vicky stood up and said, “Ken tells that story really well… except our wedding date is on the 24th, not the 25th.”
Friday, December 17, 2010
Where there’s smoke, our alarms won’t catch it…
Vicky was cooking several weeks ago… okay, maybe it was a month. Anyway, not to call my wife a bad cook but she kept setting off our smoke alarms. (She's really not a bad cook! Please don't stop cooking, Vic!)
Rathan than stand there with a magazine, waving the – let’s call it “smoke” – away so the alarm would stop, I just took them down out of the reach of the smoke.
I haven’t put them up since.
I’m sure that it probably would have been wise to put them back up. They could probably, I don’t know, warn me in case of a fire or something… but I get so busy…
Today, they started chirping their “Hey fucko, I’m outta battery power” chirp. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason for the chirp but I’m very busy… or something. Anyway, I popped the battery out of one to shut it up but I couldn’t get the second one open.
It’s still down there, chirping.
And I’ve realized I’m the laziest man ever to walk the face of the earth. Thankfully, I still have the energy to blog about it…
Rathan than stand there with a magazine, waving the – let’s call it “smoke” – away so the alarm would stop, I just took them down out of the reach of the smoke.
I haven’t put them up since.
I’m sure that it probably would have been wise to put them back up. They could probably, I don’t know, warn me in case of a fire or something… but I get so busy…
Today, they started chirping their “Hey fucko, I’m outta battery power” chirp. I’m sure there’s a perfectly good reason for the chirp but I’m very busy… or something. Anyway, I popped the battery out of one to shut it up but I couldn’t get the second one open.
It’s still down there, chirping.
And I’ve realized I’m the laziest man ever to walk the face of the earth. Thankfully, I still have the energy to blog about it…
Monday, December 13, 2010
Marketing…
Last night, Vicky and I went to Jeff’s housewarming party for his new apartment… apartmentwarming, I guess?... Anyway, it was nice. Jeff had decorated the place beautifully and the company was nice and he liked the gift we bought for him.
Jeff had a bunch of desserts and finger-foody stuff laid out. On the way home, Vicky realized we’d eaten plenty of… well, crap… but we hadn’t eaten any real food. She said she felt like she needed to put something real in her stomach and, so, we decided to stop by Denny’s.
There should be a number you can call when you decide to go to Denny’s… to talk you out of it.
We were seated and looked at menus. Both of us decided to get the “Super Bird” sandwich. I realized they call it the “Super Bird” sandwich because “Fried Turkey” sandwich sounds gross. Turns out, it is gross. It’s a fried turkey sandwich. What the hell did I expect???
Jeff had a bunch of desserts and finger-foody stuff laid out. On the way home, Vicky realized we’d eaten plenty of… well, crap… but we hadn’t eaten any real food. She said she felt like she needed to put something real in her stomach and, so, we decided to stop by Denny’s.
There should be a number you can call when you decide to go to Denny’s… to talk you out of it.
We were seated and looked at menus. Both of us decided to get the “Super Bird” sandwich. I realized they call it the “Super Bird” sandwich because “Fried Turkey” sandwich sounds gross. Turns out, it is gross. It’s a fried turkey sandwich. What the hell did I expect???
Friday, December 10, 2010
For those of you keeping track…
The big story out of Washington this week has been President Obama’s caving to the Repugs, the rich and powerful, the special interests, call them what you will, to extend Shrub’s tax bonanza on the riches 2% of America. I had previous stated that I would stand by Obama as long as he conducted himself in the upright manner with which he had conducted his campaign of 2008. Now, there have been plenty of opportunities to say he veered but never has he gone so straight off the map than now.
It doesn’t take any courage to stand up for the rich. It takes no strength of character to defend people who can make you rich and do you favors. Turning your back on the helpless is not that hard. It was Obama’s mandate to defend the helpless and to stand up against the powerful. By granting the richest 2% more money they don’t need, Obama has lost my support.
Worse still, however, have been the craven mutterings from his administration, suggesting that if we don’t back up a windfall of money for the rich we’ll all suffer a worse recession than the one we already have. Somehow, the suggest, that if we don’t keep doing favors for the wealthiest and most powerful we will be smitten by their ire.
Oh really? Well, fuck off.
We deserve a man with character and back-bone in Washington. Someone who is not afraid to fight for the good of all Americans and not just the powerful few. I’m sorry, Mr. President, but you have lost my respect. I might be alone on this, but somehow I don't think so.
It doesn’t take any courage to stand up for the rich. It takes no strength of character to defend people who can make you rich and do you favors. Turning your back on the helpless is not that hard. It was Obama’s mandate to defend the helpless and to stand up against the powerful. By granting the richest 2% more money they don’t need, Obama has lost my support.
Worse still, however, have been the craven mutterings from his administration, suggesting that if we don’t back up a windfall of money for the rich we’ll all suffer a worse recession than the one we already have. Somehow, the suggest, that if we don’t keep doing favors for the wealthiest and most powerful we will be smitten by their ire.
Oh really? Well, fuck off.
We deserve a man with character and back-bone in Washington. Someone who is not afraid to fight for the good of all Americans and not just the powerful few. I’m sorry, Mr. President, but you have lost my respect. I might be alone on this, but somehow I don't think so.
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
Here Comes The Apocalypse… All Over Again!...
Turns out the Rapture has now been scheduled for May 21, 2011, so it looks like we only have so much time to mock these idiots…
1) See you on May 22!
2) I knew my first wedding anniversary foretold some horrible event but I just thought it was my first wedding!
3) Good thing it’s on a weekend so we can celebrate!
4) Is there still time to buy a dress?
Now, for those of you who don’t understand sarcasm, the point is this: For as long as mankind has been around to foretell it’s future, there have been men (and women) who’ll fall for such nonsense. Religious texts should never be read as fact because, as shown here, it can be misinterpreted so stupidly. Bullshit, as it turns out, is easy to misinterpret.
If you buy into religion, you’re buying one of the world’s most profitable lies. Wise up and Rise up.
1) See you on May 22!
2) I knew my first wedding anniversary foretold some horrible event but I just thought it was my first wedding!
3) Good thing it’s on a weekend so we can celebrate!
4) Is there still time to buy a dress?
Now, for those of you who don’t understand sarcasm, the point is this: For as long as mankind has been around to foretell it’s future, there have been men (and women) who’ll fall for such nonsense. Religious texts should never be read as fact because, as shown here, it can be misinterpreted so stupidly. Bullshit, as it turns out, is easy to misinterpret.
If you buy into religion, you’re buying one of the world’s most profitable lies. Wise up and Rise up.
Sunday, December 05, 2010
Priorities...
Funny how the Repugnicans are insisting the Wikileak guy get caught... They're so up in arms about the truth getting out...
But they were just fine letting Osama bin Laden get away...
But they were just fine letting Osama bin Laden get away...
Friday, December 03, 2010
I can hear Alacrity...
For those of you who don’t know Alacrity, he’s my cat. I got him a lifetime ago – well, very nearly a lifetime for cats, at least – in 1995! He was once a cute, little white puffball. Now, he’s an old man with an attitude.
Every morning, he sits downstairs and meows and meows. He’s the feline equivalent of the old man who sits on his porch and yells at kids, “Get off my lawn!” And I’m the human equivalent of the old man who yells at his cat to shut up… because I yell at my cat to shut up. Doesn’t work, though. He keeps on howling.
We’ve ruled out any health issues. He eats and runs and scampers about most of the rest of the day… but once the wee small hours of the morning hit: Meow! Meow! Meow! (How cool would a dyslexic cat be? “Mewo! Mewo! Mewo!”)
I can’t get too mad at Alacrity. I know he’s old and just a pain in the ass. He’s outlived Bandoo and Othello – yeah, our house was a fun place during their passing… But I sure wish I knew what he was saying.
Vicky thinks he wakes up in the middle of the night, after all the people and the other animals have gone upstairs and to bed, and his meowing is his way of asking, “Where is everybody? Where’d everybody go?” It’s the feline equivalent of a “senior moment”…
Yeah. That fits.
Every morning, he sits downstairs and meows and meows. He’s the feline equivalent of the old man who sits on his porch and yells at kids, “Get off my lawn!” And I’m the human equivalent of the old man who yells at his cat to shut up… because I yell at my cat to shut up. Doesn’t work, though. He keeps on howling.
We’ve ruled out any health issues. He eats and runs and scampers about most of the rest of the day… but once the wee small hours of the morning hit: Meow! Meow! Meow! (How cool would a dyslexic cat be? “Mewo! Mewo! Mewo!”)
I can’t get too mad at Alacrity. I know he’s old and just a pain in the ass. He’s outlived Bandoo and Othello – yeah, our house was a fun place during their passing… But I sure wish I knew what he was saying.
Vicky thinks he wakes up in the middle of the night, after all the people and the other animals have gone upstairs and to bed, and his meowing is his way of asking, “Where is everybody? Where’d everybody go?” It’s the feline equivalent of a “senior moment”…
Yeah. That fits.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
You’re only as good as the last friend you lost…
I’m going to write about friends today. Before I do, however, I want to tell you about this wallet I found.
I was out walking the dogs a few days ago and, just about where Shipoopi was about to poop, there was this wallet in the grass. Nobody was around and there weren’t any signs as to who it might belong to, such as being in front of a car. I knew if I didn’t pick it up someone would, so I did. The wallet had no money in it, very little actually. It did have some ID, membership and credit cards. There was a letter inside, which I didn’t read. There was also a list of phone numbers, like a list of co-workers.
The first thing I did was to look up the addresses on the ID cards. Neither panned out. One belonged to a high school and the other, which I only learned after I drove to it, was an apartment manager’s office address. Dead end. The folks on the phone number list didn’t know the owner of the wallet so that was out, too.
Finally, I Googled the name. It’s a fairly unique name and I was fortunate to hit a Facebook page right away. I emailed the person and, sure enough, I found my lost wallet owner.
I’m supposed to meet the person sometime today to return the wallet.
I say all this because I feel it’s important to show at least one way in which I’m not a complete prick. Vicky would probably tell me I don’t need such an example, that I’m a good person and those who think differently are the pricks.
Maybe.
But I recently lost my best friend and, for the second time in as many years, I had someone I thought would be my friend for life tell me I was a total louse. Things like that tend to get to me. I try not to be a louse but I know I’m human and, therefore, could be a louse without knowing it.
My immediate response is to rationalize this with the knowledge that anyone who thinks I’m a louse is obviously not a friend, thus minimizing my loss. And yet, I can’t help wonder what it is about life that turns those I once loved against me. I could say it’s the other person. I could say it’s me. I think the truth lies somewhere else, kind of like the way divorces end up – or, at least, the way mine did.
There’s just no explaining it. You find someone who doesn’t think you’re a louse.
And you do things like returning lost wallets to remind yourself that, despite what others may think, you aren’t the bad person they think you are.
I was out walking the dogs a few days ago and, just about where Shipoopi was about to poop, there was this wallet in the grass. Nobody was around and there weren’t any signs as to who it might belong to, such as being in front of a car. I knew if I didn’t pick it up someone would, so I did. The wallet had no money in it, very little actually. It did have some ID, membership and credit cards. There was a letter inside, which I didn’t read. There was also a list of phone numbers, like a list of co-workers.
The first thing I did was to look up the addresses on the ID cards. Neither panned out. One belonged to a high school and the other, which I only learned after I drove to it, was an apartment manager’s office address. Dead end. The folks on the phone number list didn’t know the owner of the wallet so that was out, too.
Finally, I Googled the name. It’s a fairly unique name and I was fortunate to hit a Facebook page right away. I emailed the person and, sure enough, I found my lost wallet owner.
I’m supposed to meet the person sometime today to return the wallet.
I say all this because I feel it’s important to show at least one way in which I’m not a complete prick. Vicky would probably tell me I don’t need such an example, that I’m a good person and those who think differently are the pricks.
Maybe.
But I recently lost my best friend and, for the second time in as many years, I had someone I thought would be my friend for life tell me I was a total louse. Things like that tend to get to me. I try not to be a louse but I know I’m human and, therefore, could be a louse without knowing it.
My immediate response is to rationalize this with the knowledge that anyone who thinks I’m a louse is obviously not a friend, thus minimizing my loss. And yet, I can’t help wonder what it is about life that turns those I once loved against me. I could say it’s the other person. I could say it’s me. I think the truth lies somewhere else, kind of like the way divorces end up – or, at least, the way mine did.
There’s just no explaining it. You find someone who doesn’t think you’re a louse.
And you do things like returning lost wallets to remind yourself that, despite what others may think, you aren’t the bad person they think you are.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Don't ask, do tell?...
I would think that repealing "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" would be as simple as calling it the "Kill All The Gays in War Provision of 2010". How could the neo-cons argue with that? After all, isn't that what they want?
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Recovering the Self, the Slide-Show...
It was a privilege to see publication of something this personal and meaningful to me. I hope you enjoy it. You’ll see my familiar face on page 4. If you’re interested and able, please pick up a copy at Amazon or from the link on the slideshow. Be sure to drop a note or comment if you enjoy it.
Recovering the Self, Issue 5
View more presentations from Ernest Dempsey.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Hangover… over…
It’s nice to finally feel like myself again… you know, to no longer be hung-over. It’s especially nice given that I did it to myself on Saturday and today’s Wednesday. (Crap…)
The time has come to take stock, to reassess, to be honest about things and… yeeesh.
First up, I did not need to smoke on Saturday. That’s four days ago and I can still taste it. (And, yes, I’ve brushed my teeth many times.) It left this disgusting, awful… I can’t describe it. It’s a feeling like I should just as well be dead, basically. I’m glad I stopped and wish I’d never picked up those two – yes, just two – cigarettes. Yick.
The other thing that comes to mind is how infernally fat I am. I say “infernally” because it burns me up! With all the cycling and jogging and walking and whatever else, I should not be fat. Fortunately, I have a physical coming up (when I told Sean this, he asked, “Rubber glove physical?”) and I can talk to my doctor about it. It’s not that I’m active… so I’m thinking it might be because I’m a pig. That might have something to do with it; I’m not entirely sure.
Next, if I haven’t said it already, I am so lucky to have Vicky. Let me tell you, she took such great care of me – and I’m not the kind of guy who likes to be in that position. Oh, I like to be pampered, just like any guy, but I hate completely falling apart. I’m not a fan of that. Vicky was so wonderful, though, and just stepped up in a way I know I didn’t deserve. Lucky = Ken.
I’ve also come to realize that the last two years for all of their awfulness have been incredibly beneficial to me as a writer. I have grown demonstrably, significantly… and lots, too. If it wasn’t for the past couple of years and the incredible support Vicky has given me, I would never have had the opportunities to grow that I’ve had, and I am so very grateful.
And so, I come out of this hangover with a sense of relief, yes, but urgency as well. I want to kick the tires and get back in gear with my health and my life. A detour in debauchery was enough. I don’t need any more of that.
Not to mention, the impression Vicky does of me vomiting violently is enough to last her years…
The time has come to take stock, to reassess, to be honest about things and… yeeesh.
First up, I did not need to smoke on Saturday. That’s four days ago and I can still taste it. (And, yes, I’ve brushed my teeth many times.) It left this disgusting, awful… I can’t describe it. It’s a feeling like I should just as well be dead, basically. I’m glad I stopped and wish I’d never picked up those two – yes, just two – cigarettes. Yick.
The other thing that comes to mind is how infernally fat I am. I say “infernally” because it burns me up! With all the cycling and jogging and walking and whatever else, I should not be fat. Fortunately, I have a physical coming up (when I told Sean this, he asked, “Rubber glove physical?”) and I can talk to my doctor about it. It’s not that I’m active… so I’m thinking it might be because I’m a pig. That might have something to do with it; I’m not entirely sure.
Next, if I haven’t said it already, I am so lucky to have Vicky. Let me tell you, she took such great care of me – and I’m not the kind of guy who likes to be in that position. Oh, I like to be pampered, just like any guy, but I hate completely falling apart. I’m not a fan of that. Vicky was so wonderful, though, and just stepped up in a way I know I didn’t deserve. Lucky = Ken.
I’ve also come to realize that the last two years for all of their awfulness have been incredibly beneficial to me as a writer. I have grown demonstrably, significantly… and lots, too. If it wasn’t for the past couple of years and the incredible support Vicky has given me, I would never have had the opportunities to grow that I’ve had, and I am so very grateful.
And so, I come out of this hangover with a sense of relief, yes, but urgency as well. I want to kick the tires and get back in gear with my health and my life. A detour in debauchery was enough. I don’t need any more of that.
Not to mention, the impression Vicky does of me vomiting violently is enough to last her years…
Monday, November 22, 2010
Today we lay to rest…
The drinking career of Ken “the liver” La Salle. It was a good run, exceeding 25 years of serious drinking. Heck, the drinking career may show up for an appearance now and then, but it will never see the kind of drinking it once enjoyed…
So… here’s what happened.
Vicky and I were on our way to Justin’s 40th birthday party Saturday night and I was… just not feeling it. Have you ever been there? On your way to a party and you realize you’re just not up to it like you thought you were? So, we got there and I thought, “Maybe I’ll have a beer and that will loosen me up.”
Before I take another step, I want to mention something I didn’t realize until much later. I’ve been out of work for nearly two years. I’ve been on dozens of interviews that just haven’t worked out. I’ve worked several shitty temp jobs but the worst one is the one I’m doing right now, because I’m having a hell of a time getting them to pay me. That’s right; I might not see my money. On top of that, I can’t get anything going with my writing career – even the book deal is in limbo at this point. I just don’t know where I am.
Put this all together and, in hindsight, I realize that drinking might not have been the smartest thing to do.
And, I was hanging with Paula. Paula, for those who don’t know, is one of those people who are so much fun to hang out with until you realize she’s talked you into donating both of your kidneys to a neighborhood kid with a rusty knife and a strange hobby. We refer to what happens with Paula at a party “the Paula Vortex”. Those who get sucked into the Paula Vortex generally don’t get out undamaged.
So… two beers, a bottle of wine, and many glasses of Jack Daniels… and cigar and two cigarettes (that I know of) later… it occurred to me that I might have done some damage to myself.
And then the puking began.
At the party.
On the street.
In Vicky’s car as she drove me home. (The words "I don't know what I would do without Vicky" do not scratch the surface...)
Never in my life have I experienced this level of blind, stinking drunk – nor will I ever again. I'm 45. It's time.
Besides, I’m still hung over today.
So, we lay to rest the drinking career of one Ken “is that my foot I’m barfing” La Salle. We wish it well and hope for fuck’s sake that we never see it again…
So… here’s what happened.
Vicky and I were on our way to Justin’s 40th birthday party Saturday night and I was… just not feeling it. Have you ever been there? On your way to a party and you realize you’re just not up to it like you thought you were? So, we got there and I thought, “Maybe I’ll have a beer and that will loosen me up.”
Before I take another step, I want to mention something I didn’t realize until much later. I’ve been out of work for nearly two years. I’ve been on dozens of interviews that just haven’t worked out. I’ve worked several shitty temp jobs but the worst one is the one I’m doing right now, because I’m having a hell of a time getting them to pay me. That’s right; I might not see my money. On top of that, I can’t get anything going with my writing career – even the book deal is in limbo at this point. I just don’t know where I am.
Put this all together and, in hindsight, I realize that drinking might not have been the smartest thing to do.
And, I was hanging with Paula. Paula, for those who don’t know, is one of those people who are so much fun to hang out with until you realize she’s talked you into donating both of your kidneys to a neighborhood kid with a rusty knife and a strange hobby. We refer to what happens with Paula at a party “the Paula Vortex”. Those who get sucked into the Paula Vortex generally don’t get out undamaged.
So… two beers, a bottle of wine, and many glasses of Jack Daniels… and cigar and two cigarettes (that I know of) later… it occurred to me that I might have done some damage to myself.
And then the puking began.
At the party.
On the street.
In Vicky’s car as she drove me home. (The words "I don't know what I would do without Vicky" do not scratch the surface...)
Never in my life have I experienced this level of blind, stinking drunk – nor will I ever again. I'm 45. It's time.
Besides, I’m still hung over today.
So, we lay to rest the drinking career of one Ken “is that my foot I’m barfing” La Salle. We wish it well and hope for fuck’s sake that we never see it again…
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Why I’m up this morning…
I woke up this morning with an overwhelming certainty in my head. Now, I’ve done this before and every time I’ve been wrong. Rather than get out of bed and follow that feeling of certainty, I felt it would be prudent to weigh the certainty with a bit of caution.
I couldn’t have dreamt this all up out of whole cloth, I thought. Certainly, some of what I was so certain about had to be true.
Rather than beat around the bush of certainty, I guess I should just tell you what I was so certain about. I woke up in my house, with my stuff moved into the spare room upstairs – as it has been for months now – and realized that with my brother, Keith, staying with us that was pretty darned rude. After all, where would he sleep?
In my half-asleep brain, I rationalized that I probably hadn’t moved everything into the spare room overnight. Still, I reasoned, it was rude to make him sleep on the sofa downstairs, the only other place he could sleep. So, I got up. I got dressed. I went downstairs to apologize for…
This is when I realized that not only was Keith not on the sofa, Keith had never stayed with us. Not only had I dreamt it all up out of whole cloth, I had dreamt up the rationalization and had sleepwalked (yet again) because of it.
There’s nothing more disturbing that knowing that you can function at your rational best and still be completely irrational. After all, what is sleepwalking if not irrational?
I just thought I’d share this story for anyone out there who thinks sleepwalking is somehow goofy or made up. No, it’s real and it’s seriously disturbing. It’s enough to keep you up at night.
I couldn’t have dreamt this all up out of whole cloth, I thought. Certainly, some of what I was so certain about had to be true.
Rather than beat around the bush of certainty, I guess I should just tell you what I was so certain about. I woke up in my house, with my stuff moved into the spare room upstairs – as it has been for months now – and realized that with my brother, Keith, staying with us that was pretty darned rude. After all, where would he sleep?
In my half-asleep brain, I rationalized that I probably hadn’t moved everything into the spare room overnight. Still, I reasoned, it was rude to make him sleep on the sofa downstairs, the only other place he could sleep. So, I got up. I got dressed. I went downstairs to apologize for…
This is when I realized that not only was Keith not on the sofa, Keith had never stayed with us. Not only had I dreamt it all up out of whole cloth, I had dreamt up the rationalization and had sleepwalked (yet again) because of it.
There’s nothing more disturbing that knowing that you can function at your rational best and still be completely irrational. After all, what is sleepwalking if not irrational?
I just thought I’d share this story for anyone out there who thinks sleepwalking is somehow goofy or made up. No, it’s real and it’s seriously disturbing. It’s enough to keep you up at night.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
You normally have to wait until Christmas before you hear this kind of crap…
“I got you three Christmas gifts,” Vicky told me on the phone the other day. I hadn’t bought her any. This was because I’m still out of work and out of money. Stupid money!
This is what I was thinking about when I woke up this morning: stupid money. And then, I turned to Vic and began considering all those years when I had stupid money but didn’t have Vicky. There were those years when I was chasing after my ex. There were those years when I had the occasional date but, pretty much, no one special. Then, Vicky came along.
We often joke about how rotten her luck was to marry a guy who has been perpetually out of work. My luck has been about as rotten as you can imagine; it seems that as soon as I get a job, the company goes under!
I spend some time looking over at my bride this morning as she slept and considered how lucky I am – and what a dope I am for not being able to buy her anything she wants. That’s just how I am. If I had stupid money, there’s nothing I wouldn’t get Vicky.
But I guess her best gift to me is how understanding she’s been through all of this, that somehow she considers herself the lucky one.
… which makes that four gifts.
Shit. I gotta score some cash and get her something nice!
This is what I was thinking about when I woke up this morning: stupid money. And then, I turned to Vic and began considering all those years when I had stupid money but didn’t have Vicky. There were those years when I was chasing after my ex. There were those years when I had the occasional date but, pretty much, no one special. Then, Vicky came along.
We often joke about how rotten her luck was to marry a guy who has been perpetually out of work. My luck has been about as rotten as you can imagine; it seems that as soon as I get a job, the company goes under!
I spend some time looking over at my bride this morning as she slept and considered how lucky I am – and what a dope I am for not being able to buy her anything she wants. That’s just how I am. If I had stupid money, there’s nothing I wouldn’t get Vicky.
But I guess her best gift to me is how understanding she’s been through all of this, that somehow she considers herself the lucky one.
… which makes that four gifts.
Shit. I gotta score some cash and get her something nice!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
The sole purpose is just to save a bad, old joke...
What has two legs and bleeds profusely?
Half a cat
Half a cat
Friday, November 12, 2010
Moncure…
I don’t think I’ve really mentioned Moncure on this or any of my other blogs. Without rehashing a lot of ancient history, Moncure was an adult male at a time when so few adult males had a positive influence in my life, my teen years. He was the person who became my goal as an adult, my template for what an adult man should be.
Then, I grew up.
Life turned out a whole lot messier than anyone had ever so much as suggested and now I’m 45, unemployed, overweight, and without a whole lot of accomplishments beneath my belt.
So, when I found Moncure on Facebook about a year or so ago, I thought (in that neurotic way I do), “What have I done with my life? How is my life significant enough to be worthy of speaking to him again?” I thought that I had to achieve great things to fit that mold of what an adult man should be… and I hadn’t.
Then, Myth of the Cubicle was produced in Hollywood. My first book is being published next year. (WORMFOOD ISLAND, coming in summer 2011 from Northern Frights Publishing!) Somehow, it didn’t feel like enough.
I woke up at 2:30 this morning from the most vivid dream. Another one of my novels, No More Blue Roses, had been published and turned into a movie. Vicky and I were attending the premiere at a small art house cinema in LA, we were getting out of the car, when who got out of the car parked in front of ours but Moncure and his wife.
I said to Vic, “Hold on. This could be significant.”
Somebody mentioned to Moncure as we shook hands that I was the author of the book the movie was based on and Moncure mumbled through, “The patterns of history weave in lines that are difficult to comprehend but nonetheless meaningful.”
And I said “Hi,” using his first name and gave a big, cheesy grin.
He smiled as well. “Ken La Salle, you miserable son of a bitch.”
The four of us hurried to the premiere but it had already started. The theater was filled with a girls’ volleyball team and an overflow of rowdy kids; we could only see the movie through the doors. It had been filmed in black and white and spoken in French – not dubbed, a French filmmaker had made it in French… and in the 1940s, for some reason.
It was all very confusing.
I got out of bed and thought, “Ken, your mind is trying to tell you something. Just go to Facebook and send him an email.” And I did.
I’m too old for “should have beens” and if I keep trying to measure up to me every expectation, my life will be filled with nothing but “not good enough.” I’m glad I finally found the courage to give myself a break.
Tuesday, November 09, 2010
Friends… this is what happens…
- One Tim decided he didn’t like me anymore or something. I’ll never know because he cut off contact without so much as a “piss off”.
- Another Tim turned his back on me while insisting he was my best friend all the while. Finally, I got sick of it and knocked him off my list.
- Rich can’t be bothered with me.
- Rob hasn’t had the time of day for me in years.
- The only friend I have left is Sean, and he’s married to a psychotic FOB who can’t let him off the leash for a second.
Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Sick week…
I got sick this week.
Okay, it’s not really much to write about but the thing is… I’m going to anyway.
This began Halloween night as we were giving out gifts. Now, I hadn’t slept an entire night’s sleep in around two weeks so I figured I was due for “The Great Crash” at any time. The Great Crash is what happens when you don’t sleep for a while… You crash. Your body says “To hell with you” and just shuts down. Sometimes, it comes as a relief. Other times… well…
It began with the shakes and my body got wobbly. We started running out of candy and Vicky was going to go out and get more but – well – she was enjoying giving the candy to the kids so much. I didn’t want to ruin that for her. So, I went. I dashed to the store, picked up some candy, came back… and there were no more trick-or-treaters that night… the little bastards…
Anyway, I started to feel like hell and I knew I was crashing. So, I went to bed.
That was Sunday. Now, it’s Wednesday and I’m just beginning to feel a little better. Vicky, meanwhile, has been certain that I have more than sleep withdrawal, or whatever; she thinks I have some full-blown disease. She got me juice and she’s looked after me. (I’m pretty sure she would have picked me up some ice cream, but I didn’t want to push it.) She’s wonderful for taking such good care of me but I’ll be fine. This is just part of being me.
Oh… one other thing!
Election day was yesterday.
Now, before I start mentioning how this was the year of the idiot, I think I’d rather mention something about Vicky. You see, I’ve recently become far too cynical to enjoy elections. I use to. I use to be a political animal and always watch the returns and analysis every year. Vicky, on the other hand, just did her duty and went on with her life, wondering why I watched politics like a sport.
Well, something has changed this year. As I mention, I’ve become too cynical. I watch the American people vote against their best interest (such as poor people supporting candidates who spout off against the “death tax”… morons…) and, as you can see, I get pissed. But not Vicky. Last night, she became the political animal. “Turn on the news,” she said as she came in from work. “We gotta watch the results.”
Times like this I couldn’t love her more.
Okay, it’s not really much to write about but the thing is… I’m going to anyway.
This began Halloween night as we were giving out gifts. Now, I hadn’t slept an entire night’s sleep in around two weeks so I figured I was due for “The Great Crash” at any time. The Great Crash is what happens when you don’t sleep for a while… You crash. Your body says “To hell with you” and just shuts down. Sometimes, it comes as a relief. Other times… well…
It began with the shakes and my body got wobbly. We started running out of candy and Vicky was going to go out and get more but – well – she was enjoying giving the candy to the kids so much. I didn’t want to ruin that for her. So, I went. I dashed to the store, picked up some candy, came back… and there were no more trick-or-treaters that night… the little bastards…
Anyway, I started to feel like hell and I knew I was crashing. So, I went to bed.
That was Sunday. Now, it’s Wednesday and I’m just beginning to feel a little better. Vicky, meanwhile, has been certain that I have more than sleep withdrawal, or whatever; she thinks I have some full-blown disease. She got me juice and she’s looked after me. (I’m pretty sure she would have picked me up some ice cream, but I didn’t want to push it.) She’s wonderful for taking such good care of me but I’ll be fine. This is just part of being me.
Oh… one other thing!
Election day was yesterday.
Now, before I start mentioning how this was the year of the idiot, I think I’d rather mention something about Vicky. You see, I’ve recently become far too cynical to enjoy elections. I use to. I use to be a political animal and always watch the returns and analysis every year. Vicky, on the other hand, just did her duty and went on with her life, wondering why I watched politics like a sport.
Well, something has changed this year. As I mention, I’ve become too cynical. I watch the American people vote against their best interest (such as poor people supporting candidates who spout off against the “death tax”… morons…) and, as you can see, I get pissed. But not Vicky. Last night, she became the political animal. “Turn on the news,” she said as she came in from work. “We gotta watch the results.”
Times like this I couldn’t love her more.
Friday, October 29, 2010
The most important thing…
“You may need to do a signing where I work,” Vicky said. (Actually, she said the name of where she worked but we’ll let her keep her privacy this once.)
Sometimes I have a tough time deciding which blog to post to. I mean, there’s the writing blog and the personal life blog (and don’t think I haven’t been tempted to bring back MY SIDE as a political blog). In the case of this entry, I’m writing about both my writing and my personal life – Vicky in particular. And Vicky always trumps everything, so…
When Vicky and I first started dating, I told her all about my artistic background, my writing and my acting. She told me about her ex, the musician, and how well that worked out… no, it didn’t. She said, “Just don’t ever expect me to be a fan. I love you for you, not for what you can do.”
But if there’s one thing a guy needs – especially a writer guy – especially THIS GUY – if there’s one thing I need is a woman who loved what I do as well as who I am. So, I was very disappointed by all this… but I hoped…
So, the years passed and I wrote book after book and play after play and Vicky read them or saw them on stage (the plays, not the books) and slowly she came around as a fan. Not only is she a fan but she’s become a very important part of what I do. She proofreads my work, which I need very much! She’s my biggest booster. She’s become my partner in ways nobody else has ever been. And I’m grateful for that.
So, when Vicky said, “You may need to do a signing where I work,” it was because she has so many people she works with looking forward to reading Wormfood Island that they don’t just want the book; they want a signed copy of the book! Of course, I told her I’d be happy to do a signing anywhere she’d like. Heck, I’ll be travelling up and down the west coast!
But it means so much to me that she’s become an ardent fan, someone who loves my work and is looking forward to what’s next as much as I am. That’s what sharing my life means to me.
Sometimes I have a tough time deciding which blog to post to. I mean, there’s the writing blog and the personal life blog (and don’t think I haven’t been tempted to bring back MY SIDE as a political blog). In the case of this entry, I’m writing about both my writing and my personal life – Vicky in particular. And Vicky always trumps everything, so…
When Vicky and I first started dating, I told her all about my artistic background, my writing and my acting. She told me about her ex, the musician, and how well that worked out… no, it didn’t. She said, “Just don’t ever expect me to be a fan. I love you for you, not for what you can do.”
But if there’s one thing a guy needs – especially a writer guy – especially THIS GUY – if there’s one thing I need is a woman who loved what I do as well as who I am. So, I was very disappointed by all this… but I hoped…
So, the years passed and I wrote book after book and play after play and Vicky read them or saw them on stage (the plays, not the books) and slowly she came around as a fan. Not only is she a fan but she’s become a very important part of what I do. She proofreads my work, which I need very much! She’s my biggest booster. She’s become my partner in ways nobody else has ever been. And I’m grateful for that.
So, when Vicky said, “You may need to do a signing where I work,” it was because she has so many people she works with looking forward to reading Wormfood Island that they don’t just want the book; they want a signed copy of the book! Of course, I told her I’d be happy to do a signing anywhere she’d like. Heck, I’ll be travelling up and down the west coast!
But it means so much to me that she’s become an ardent fan, someone who loves my work and is looking forward to what’s next as much as I am. That’s what sharing my life means to me.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Job for now…
I’m just as surprised as anyone to hear me announce that I got a job… so let’s not overdue it. I got a temp job, a contract job. Wooooo… uh, I guess…
I’m not complaining, nor will I. I’m working part-time as a tech-writer, redesigning manuals and quick start guides. It’s not a mental marathon but it is a semi-steady paycheck and I’ll take it.
I really should have more to say at this point…
… so, let me see… In keeping with the theme of the new job, I should also mention I got my free copies of Recovering The Self today (see the side-bar to order yours TODAY!). One copy goes to me and the other to my mom (order your copy of Recovering the Self TODAY!). I’m probably going to bring hers over this weekend (but you can order your copy of Recovering the Self TODAY!).
(… too much?)
This coincides with some muchly-needed house cleaning I’ve been doing lately. Actually, it’s not house cleaning. It’s in-box cleaning. I am what you might call an email packrat. You might also call me a slob; isn’t that right, Vicky? (Don’t get her started!) I’ve been holding on to emails for nearly a decade and, liking round numbers, I thought 2010 would be a good year to clear them out.
So, I’m reading them as I clear them… divorce in 2000… near-suicide in 2002… I’m just finishing 2002 and thinking, “Geez, Ken… don’t ever do that again.” By “that”, I’m referring to the horrible depression I was in… and all the horribly depressed emails I sent out. I couldn’t believe how – let’s just say it – pathetic I sounded.
But, you know, I’m proof that things get better… for some people… others die – but nobody wants to hear about your crap in the meantime!!! Since those bad days, I’ve tried to refocus my life on the positive aspects: my lovely wife, the things my talent allows me to write, a good bicycle ride now and then. Sure, there are days when disappointment gets the best of me and then I realize how much worse things could be.
And then, I get a job. And then, I get published. It ain’t bad… for now, at least…
I’m not complaining, nor will I. I’m working part-time as a tech-writer, redesigning manuals and quick start guides. It’s not a mental marathon but it is a semi-steady paycheck and I’ll take it.
I really should have more to say at this point…
… so, let me see… In keeping with the theme of the new job, I should also mention I got my free copies of Recovering The Self today (see the side-bar to order yours TODAY!). One copy goes to me and the other to my mom (order your copy of Recovering the Self TODAY!). I’m probably going to bring hers over this weekend (but you can order your copy of Recovering the Self TODAY!).
(… too much?)
This coincides with some muchly-needed house cleaning I’ve been doing lately. Actually, it’s not house cleaning. It’s in-box cleaning. I am what you might call an email packrat. You might also call me a slob; isn’t that right, Vicky? (Don’t get her started!) I’ve been holding on to emails for nearly a decade and, liking round numbers, I thought 2010 would be a good year to clear them out.
So, I’m reading them as I clear them… divorce in 2000… near-suicide in 2002… I’m just finishing 2002 and thinking, “Geez, Ken… don’t ever do that again.” By “that”, I’m referring to the horrible depression I was in… and all the horribly depressed emails I sent out. I couldn’t believe how – let’s just say it – pathetic I sounded.
But, you know, I’m proof that things get better… for some people… others die – but nobody wants to hear about your crap in the meantime!!! Since those bad days, I’ve tried to refocus my life on the positive aspects: my lovely wife, the things my talent allows me to write, a good bicycle ride now and then. Sure, there are days when disappointment gets the best of me and then I realize how much worse things could be.
And then, I get a job. And then, I get published. It ain’t bad… for now, at least…
Friday, October 22, 2010
Little Victories…
Any time you get something published, it’s a little victory. In this case, though, there’s a bit more to the story.
Little Victories is about the work I’ve done in cobbling my life together in the past decade. For those who haven’t bought into the mass-delusion that there’s no such thing as regrets, I discuss how you actually learn to live with them.
Initially, I had not considered writing anything like this. I had sent my book on success, Climbing Maya, to Loving Healing Press. While they like the book, they’re not sure – so they asked me to write for their magazine, Recovering the Self, instead.
So, here’s the plan. Recovering the Self (volume 2, number 4), featuring Little Victories, is now on sale at Amazon as well as other Internet money-suckers. If you buy it, I thank you. I also ask for you to drop the publisher a note, either through the magazine or whatever website you purchase it from, telling them how much you liked my article and would like to see Climbing Maya in print.
I thank you.
Little Victories is about the work I’ve done in cobbling my life together in the past decade. For those who haven’t bought into the mass-delusion that there’s no such thing as regrets, I discuss how you actually learn to live with them.
Initially, I had not considered writing anything like this. I had sent my book on success, Climbing Maya, to Loving Healing Press. While they like the book, they’re not sure – so they asked me to write for their magazine, Recovering the Self, instead.
So, here’s the plan. Recovering the Self (volume 2, number 4), featuring Little Victories, is now on sale at Amazon as well as other Internet money-suckers. If you buy it, I thank you. I also ask for you to drop the publisher a note, either through the magazine or whatever website you purchase it from, telling them how much you liked my article and would like to see Climbing Maya in print.
I thank you.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Let have a holiday for gay teens who kill themselves!...
Today is Gay Teen Suicide Awareness Day.
I’m going to repeat that so the fuckedupedness can sink in.
Today is Gay Teen Suicide Awareness Day.
You have your Arbor Day. You have your Independence Day. And now, you have your Gay Teen Suicide Awareness Day.
Listen, I’m all for equal rights and I don’t think anyone should be offing themselves but this business of having a holiday and this business of wearing purple shirts is the biggest load of shit in an already shitty situation.
People should look after each other every day of the year. Bullying should not be tolerated by or towards any group – not that I honestly think it can be stopped. And no color clothing can stop anything. Pink can’t stop breast cancer. Purple can’t stop suicide. Periwinkle Blue cannot stop people from acting like idiots, which is why I’ve decided to throw away all of my periwinkle blue underpants.
… I’m just saying…
I’m going to repeat that so the fuckedupedness can sink in.
Today is Gay Teen Suicide Awareness Day.
You have your Arbor Day. You have your Independence Day. And now, you have your Gay Teen Suicide Awareness Day.
Listen, I’m all for equal rights and I don’t think anyone should be offing themselves but this business of having a holiday and this business of wearing purple shirts is the biggest load of shit in an already shitty situation.
People should look after each other every day of the year. Bullying should not be tolerated by or towards any group – not that I honestly think it can be stopped. And no color clothing can stop anything. Pink can’t stop breast cancer. Purple can’t stop suicide. Periwinkle Blue cannot stop people from acting like idiots, which is why I’ve decided to throw away all of my periwinkle blue underpants.
… I’m just saying…
Monday, October 18, 2010
Birthday this weekend…
I was trying to think of what to call this when a great song by Steve Forbert, Autumn This Year, popped into my head… so blame him…
I turned 45 this year… only a couple of days ago. Vicky says I don’t look a day over 44 11/12s, but I feel the age, believe me. I feel it when I go jogging and my bad leg says, “Remember all those good times you had abusing the shit out of me?” There’s my mistake. I didn’t know legs held shit. I feel when I look in the mirror and realize it’s the brown hairs I can start counting… backwards…
But most of all, I felt my age this weekend as we spent it up in wine country around Paso Robles. We made a great excuse for not being amongst friends and family, taking off and staying in Cambria, one of our favorite little towns. We had a wonderful time – no so wonderful that I didn’t want to get home and start working on a new book but, still, a wonderful time.
As we often do with long drives (we drove to Cambria and back), Vicky and I had selected an audiobook to listen to and this time it was A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. I love the movie but had never read the book. Always one to outdo me, Vicky had read the book and also loved the movie. Still, we both wanted to listen to it and it was a treat the whole weekend.
But then came Saturday evening. We had spent the whole day winery-hopping amongst some amazing hillsides and some of the prettiest country you could ever wish to be in and Vicky was returning us to Cambria – I was far too drunk, I mean, relaxed to drive. We made a stop at Jack Creek Farms for some cider. I have to link it because we just love this place. It’s nothing, really, but that’s what makes it so wonderful.
Then, Vicky kept driving. She hadn’t really been drinking because she was the designated driver this time out. Hey, it was my birthday! But all that wine turned my mind to a darker place, a place that made me feel a lot older than my graying head or limping leg ever could.
I thought, “So… 45, huh?” I thought about some of the people I’ve lost and wondered where they were and why they couldn’t celebrate with me. Particularly, I thought about one reader up north… my ex… and I pondered for the millionth time how that went wrong – because it’s a celebration, why not fuck that up by being morose, right?
And Vicky drove on.
We came to a country rode we knew would wind well out of our way and give us some great scenery before taking us back to Cambria. I suggested Vicky take it and she did. We left this four-lane road for what could only very generously be called… well, a road. It took us through hillsides and meadows and beneath the bows of some great, old trees. It also took us by a lot of farms, ranches, what have you – and there were cows.
Now, Vicky loves cows… seasoned just right… but, no, she loves living cows. She gets excited when we see them and I always threaten to take her to a petting zoo. So, we’re driving next to all these cows and Vicky is going, oh, two miles an hour, saying, “Hello, cow!” And, when one looks at her, she giggles with glee.
And that totally fucked up my morose mood… the bitch.
It didn’t stop me from reflecting on the past, people in the past, and where they are in the present… but I had to admit to Vicky that she takes a lot of shit from me in the form of baggage. I came loaded with more issues than – well, we were in an antique store this weekend that had literally boxes of old Playboys but let’s not stretch the analogy, okay? – and, so, I had to thank Vicky for that.
And for being my best friend.
And for letting me get all saucy while she was the designated driver.
I turned 45 this year… only a couple of days ago. Vicky says I don’t look a day over 44 11/12s, but I feel the age, believe me. I feel it when I go jogging and my bad leg says, “Remember all those good times you had abusing the shit out of me?” There’s my mistake. I didn’t know legs held shit. I feel when I look in the mirror and realize it’s the brown hairs I can start counting… backwards…
But most of all, I felt my age this weekend as we spent it up in wine country around Paso Robles. We made a great excuse for not being amongst friends and family, taking off and staying in Cambria, one of our favorite little towns. We had a wonderful time – no so wonderful that I didn’t want to get home and start working on a new book but, still, a wonderful time.
As we often do with long drives (we drove to Cambria and back), Vicky and I had selected an audiobook to listen to and this time it was A Tree Grows In Brooklyn. I love the movie but had never read the book. Always one to outdo me, Vicky had read the book and also loved the movie. Still, we both wanted to listen to it and it was a treat the whole weekend.
But then came Saturday evening. We had spent the whole day winery-hopping amongst some amazing hillsides and some of the prettiest country you could ever wish to be in and Vicky was returning us to Cambria – I was far too drunk, I mean, relaxed to drive. We made a stop at Jack Creek Farms for some cider. I have to link it because we just love this place. It’s nothing, really, but that’s what makes it so wonderful.
Then, Vicky kept driving. She hadn’t really been drinking because she was the designated driver this time out. Hey, it was my birthday! But all that wine turned my mind to a darker place, a place that made me feel a lot older than my graying head or limping leg ever could.
I thought, “So… 45, huh?” I thought about some of the people I’ve lost and wondered where they were and why they couldn’t celebrate with me. Particularly, I thought about one reader up north… my ex… and I pondered for the millionth time how that went wrong – because it’s a celebration, why not fuck that up by being morose, right?
And Vicky drove on.
We came to a country rode we knew would wind well out of our way and give us some great scenery before taking us back to Cambria. I suggested Vicky take it and she did. We left this four-lane road for what could only very generously be called… well, a road. It took us through hillsides and meadows and beneath the bows of some great, old trees. It also took us by a lot of farms, ranches, what have you – and there were cows.
Now, Vicky loves cows… seasoned just right… but, no, she loves living cows. She gets excited when we see them and I always threaten to take her to a petting zoo. So, we’re driving next to all these cows and Vicky is going, oh, two miles an hour, saying, “Hello, cow!” And, when one looks at her, she giggles with glee.
And that totally fucked up my morose mood… the bitch.
It didn’t stop me from reflecting on the past, people in the past, and where they are in the present… but I had to admit to Vicky that she takes a lot of shit from me in the form of baggage. I came loaded with more issues than – well, we were in an antique store this weekend that had literally boxes of old Playboys but let’s not stretch the analogy, okay? – and, so, I had to thank Vicky for that.
And for being my best friend.
And for letting me get all saucy while she was the designated driver.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Another reason why I’m not a children’s book author…
I’m considering packaging all of these together as a book of post-post-post-nursery rhymes, with appropriately inappropriate artwork to go with it…
Three Magical Ice Cubes
Three magical ice cubes were rolling down the road one day
Two of the ice cubes were having lots of fun at play
The smartest of the ice cubes said, “Crap, we’re gonna melt!”
And then the sun killed them – killed them – seared their flesh with agonizing pain until ice cube blood and ice cube entrails (which looks very much like water to you and me) were splattered, evaporating on the ground…
Three Magical Ice Cubes
Three magical ice cubes were rolling down the road one day
Two of the ice cubes were having lots of fun at play
The smartest of the ice cubes said, “Crap, we’re gonna melt!”
And then the sun killed them – killed them – seared their flesh with agonizing pain until ice cube blood and ice cube entrails (which looks very much like water to you and me) were splattered, evaporating on the ground…
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Another thought about what makes Vicky so great…
So, Vicky and I were out driving last night. We’d just seen the Long Beach Symphony play. Fantastic show. Vicky was craving Pinks, so we were on the freeway for a while. And I was telling her what I decided to write next.
My next project is going to be a return to some very personal writing for me. From my first book, I’ve developed this style where I will take truths and characters and feelings and reflections on my own life and put them in a reality of my own choosing. This often makes for some really good story telling and I enjoy it.
The problem with this kind of writing, though, is where I often find my best stories. These are usually drawn from the part of my life that has caused me so much pain, and the provider has universally been the memory of my ex-wife. If there’s one thing I hate telling Vicky, it’s that I’m going to do that. I fear that she thinks I’m pining for something I had, when in reality it’s another opportunity for me to turn this horrible loss into… well, into cash.
I fear that Vicky will think this means I don’t love her.
But what I realized last night (I’ve been up all night working on rewrites to a new play, in case you’re wondering) is just how much Vicky really gets it. In fact, this realization has kind of blown me away. I mean, for the longest time, I didn’t get it! Just thinking about writing anything in any way related to my ex sent me running for the hills. It took me time to understand that the thing I do well is to take my pain and use it. It’s what I call “using your loss without reliving your loss”.
The last thing I want to do is hurt Vicky. And it means so much to me to know that I won’t.
My next project is going to be a return to some very personal writing for me. From my first book, I’ve developed this style where I will take truths and characters and feelings and reflections on my own life and put them in a reality of my own choosing. This often makes for some really good story telling and I enjoy it.
The problem with this kind of writing, though, is where I often find my best stories. These are usually drawn from the part of my life that has caused me so much pain, and the provider has universally been the memory of my ex-wife. If there’s one thing I hate telling Vicky, it’s that I’m going to do that. I fear that she thinks I’m pining for something I had, when in reality it’s another opportunity for me to turn this horrible loss into… well, into cash.
I fear that Vicky will think this means I don’t love her.
But what I realized last night (I’ve been up all night working on rewrites to a new play, in case you’re wondering) is just how much Vicky really gets it. In fact, this realization has kind of blown me away. I mean, for the longest time, I didn’t get it! Just thinking about writing anything in any way related to my ex sent me running for the hills. It took me time to understand that the thing I do well is to take my pain and use it. It’s what I call “using your loss without reliving your loss”.
The last thing I want to do is hurt Vicky. And it means so much to me to know that I won’t.
Saturday, October 09, 2010
Where I’m at right now…
This is something I don’t talk about as much as I used to and, honestly, don’t think about as much as I should. Being unemployed, I guess I assume I should have plenty of time to do that but as it turns out I’m working harder than I did at my last “real job”. (It didn’t help that nobody knew what they were doing there…)
So, where am I right now?
I just got another unemployment benefits extension. That comes with mixed feelings. At once, I’m relieved and disgusted. I’m happy to be able to provide a little money (while Vicky does most of the providing) but I wish it didn’t have to be this way.
I actually had a great interview yesterday – but I’ve had so many of those in the past couple of years, I know it could mean nothing.
More than that, though, there’s a part of me that thinks, “This gives me ____ number of weeks in which to keep working at selling my writing.” My life has really become about my writing. I don’t play video games or watch movies or TV. Most days, I spend the majority of my time working on my writing. And I’m not complaining about that; it’s really kind of a dream… but I hate getting unemployment checks to support it.
I ran into a friend at the store the other day (Paula) who, I guess, just assumed I’d collected a fat advance on my royalties. Sadly, that’s not how it works. I’ve got to get some books sold before I start seeing those royalties.
So, I keep working and working at selling other things. And, now that my PC is working, I’m ramping up towards starting another new project – dog only knows what.
Of course, none of this would even be possible if not for Vicky. Heck, she’s even going to start proofreading my new book, Sleepwalker, for me so I can start working on selling that, too! We’re an industry over here! But, more than that, I know she’s got my back and that she’s my biggest fan and that feels good. It helps me breathe a bit.
Where am I? I guess, in a way, I’m a place I’ve always wanted to be. I’ve got a book coming out next year. I’m doing work I love.
… I just need the money… always the tricky part.
So, where am I right now?
I just got another unemployment benefits extension. That comes with mixed feelings. At once, I’m relieved and disgusted. I’m happy to be able to provide a little money (while Vicky does most of the providing) but I wish it didn’t have to be this way.
I actually had a great interview yesterday – but I’ve had so many of those in the past couple of years, I know it could mean nothing.
More than that, though, there’s a part of me that thinks, “This gives me ____ number of weeks in which to keep working at selling my writing.” My life has really become about my writing. I don’t play video games or watch movies or TV. Most days, I spend the majority of my time working on my writing. And I’m not complaining about that; it’s really kind of a dream… but I hate getting unemployment checks to support it.
I ran into a friend at the store the other day (Paula) who, I guess, just assumed I’d collected a fat advance on my royalties. Sadly, that’s not how it works. I’ve got to get some books sold before I start seeing those royalties.
So, I keep working and working at selling other things. And, now that my PC is working, I’m ramping up towards starting another new project – dog only knows what.
Of course, none of this would even be possible if not for Vicky. Heck, she’s even going to start proofreading my new book, Sleepwalker, for me so I can start working on selling that, too! We’re an industry over here! But, more than that, I know she’s got my back and that she’s my biggest fan and that feels good. It helps me breathe a bit.
Where am I? I guess, in a way, I’m a place I’ve always wanted to be. I’ve got a book coming out next year. I’m doing work I love.
… I just need the money… always the tricky part.
Tuesday, October 05, 2010
On the money and the wasting of the money…
I’m no stranger to wasting money. (There’s an understatement. Remind me to tell you about my old comic book collection someday.) But the wasting of the money that I’ve been wasting… no… hold on… but the money of the wasting that I’ve been money… no…
… I’ve been wasting a ton of money lately and it’s driving me crazy!
Here’s a good example: the PC I’m writing on right now. Because my PC got a virus, I had to buy a bunch of new software. Actually, that’s not true. You see, I tried to save a buck on Windows and Office and I ended up being without the proper disks to reinstall the software if I ever needed to. (You’ll find that the biggest wastes come from trying too hard to save a buck.) So, I was without Windows when my PC got a virus and, thus, screwed. And I didn’t have Office so I couldn’t reinstall that, either.
Thankfully, my dearest, darling, goodest friend in the world – JENN – helped me get Windows 7 and Office 2010. (You bet, I’m sucking up! I haven’t sent her the check, yet!) When it finally came in, I realized that the money I’m spending on that could have all been saved had I not tried so hard to save a buck in the first place… dammit…
But not every waste comes from trying to save, sometimes sheer stupidity steps in to help me out.
Case in point: my gym membership. I was out on the SART (Santa Ana River Trail) this evening for my evening jog (which I did because it was too damn cold and wet to cycle), and I realized that between the cycling on the trial and the jogging on the trail I haven’t seen the gym in nearly a year! Nearly a year!
And this is what a great scam gyms are. They have us convinced… okay, they have me convinced that I need to keep paying even if I don’t go because I’ll never get such a great deal on membership again! Think about it. I’m paying money every month… for something I never use… because I may never get such a good deal ever – IT’S JUST CRAZY!!
Mind you, I’ll have to talk to Vicky about this when she gets home. She’s the financial brain in the family… she’s also the one who keeps telling me not to cancel my gym membership…
… I’ve been wasting a ton of money lately and it’s driving me crazy!
Here’s a good example: the PC I’m writing on right now. Because my PC got a virus, I had to buy a bunch of new software. Actually, that’s not true. You see, I tried to save a buck on Windows and Office and I ended up being without the proper disks to reinstall the software if I ever needed to. (You’ll find that the biggest wastes come from trying too hard to save a buck.) So, I was without Windows when my PC got a virus and, thus, screwed. And I didn’t have Office so I couldn’t reinstall that, either.
Thankfully, my dearest, darling, goodest friend in the world – JENN – helped me get Windows 7 and Office 2010. (You bet, I’m sucking up! I haven’t sent her the check, yet!) When it finally came in, I realized that the money I’m spending on that could have all been saved had I not tried so hard to save a buck in the first place… dammit…
But not every waste comes from trying to save, sometimes sheer stupidity steps in to help me out.
Case in point: my gym membership. I was out on the SART (Santa Ana River Trail) this evening for my evening jog (which I did because it was too damn cold and wet to cycle), and I realized that between the cycling on the trial and the jogging on the trail I haven’t seen the gym in nearly a year! Nearly a year!
And this is what a great scam gyms are. They have us convinced… okay, they have me convinced that I need to keep paying even if I don’t go because I’ll never get such a great deal on membership again! Think about it. I’m paying money every month… for something I never use… because I may never get such a good deal ever – IT’S JUST CRAZY!!
Mind you, I’ll have to talk to Vicky about this when she gets home. She’s the financial brain in the family… she’s also the one who keeps telling me not to cancel my gym membership…
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Computers and the not working of… them…
My computer is still broke.
That’s pretty much my whole life right now. I can look for work on Vicky’s Mac, which is very helpful, but when it comes to doing any research for writing or working on submitting my writing or just plain checking out my favorite sites… um, no.
It got worse yesterday, too. It didn’t need to but it did. Suddenly, I couldn’t print, either. GREAT!
Vicky’s been positively enjoying it. It’s either the “watching me squirm” part or the “rubbing in how superior her Mac is” part… I’m not sure.
This has opened up an enormous amount of time – because I haven’t heard anything on any jobs no matter how many I’ve applied for… dammit. I find myself watching a whole lot of TV… and hating it. I take naps… and hate it. I would go out and get some exercise but the temps have been in the thousands of late so that is right out.
So, when Vicky comes home tonight and asks how I ate the rest of the ice cream… well, now you know…
Friday, September 24, 2010
The journey…
Today is the fifth anniversary of the day Vicky and I got married.
Happy Anniversary, Vic.
Every year, I try to express how I’m feeling at the time about my marriage. Every year is different. This year, I think about the strain I’m putting on things by not being employed and all I can think is… shit…
And then, I think about the journey.
In five years, Vicky and I have been through a lot and I’m happy to say we’ve gone through it all together. We always have each other’s back and we’re always looking out for each other. I consider myself incredibly fortunate to have Vicky with me on this journey.
And when I start thinking about the journey, I realize how my lack of employment is only a small part of it. After all, this year I saw my first play produced in Hollywood. I’m having an article published next month. My first book is being published next year. Vicky's been a huge part of this. Thanks to Vicky’s encouragement and support, I’m constantly producing more books and plays and things get a little better all the time.
No, they’re not great. Unemployment sucks. But it’s all part of the journey.
I feel very fortunate to have a wife who supports me at times like this, when things pretty much suck. And who’s to say that in the coming years things won’t get better as a result?
It’s only been five years. The next five could hold any number of things. They might be great and they might suck; it’s probably going to be a mix of both. That’s just life. Either way, I’m glad I’ll have Vicky there by my side.
Happy Anniversary, Vic. I love you.
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