Showing posts with label Joel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Joel. Show all posts

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Avoid the Shit Sandwiches



I spent an hour trying to figure out how to start this thing and ended up with a mopey 500 word shit sandwich, about how I've sucked at writing for the last year or so because I've become convinced I'm not that good (maybe even awful) and that has resulted in me not doing that much writing for myself (a.k.a. here). Instead of actually putting words to paper/screen, I've spent most of my time thinking about writing, which is exactly what I hate most about the majority of young writers. Enough of that though, the time has come to embark on a concerted effort to start writing more. If I am as bad as I think I am, I'm only going to get better if I start doing my thing. What I'm hoping is that quantity will turn into quality.

So, here's my return to posting...take seventeen trillion. I figure I'll start things off easy, mention a few things that have happened during the early parts of 2009, and my thoughts on them. I may or may not write more about these things in the future.

Christmas Camera

I got a digital camera for Christmas!!! Pretty cool, eh? I haven't really used it that much so, but I fully intend to. I want to catalog the degenerates that lurk in the darkest corners of L.A.-proper's few remaining arcades. Besides photographing mole-men-like arcade denizens, I also plan to tape a series of interviews (I'm thinking 200-300 hours worth of content) that will be used as fodder for a murder mystery set in the not so glamourous world of high stakes Street Fighter II Turbo tournaments. Anyone interested in joining me?

John Updike, 1932-2009


John Updike passed away at the end of January. I loved him. If you haven't read him you'll probably fall in love with him too. Few writers have ever strung words together better, effortlessly portraying the ugly and mundane aspects of life in such a beautiful way. He was also one of the best sport writers I've ever read (though few consider him one). No one has better captured what it's like to play a sport (see the first few pages Rabbit, Run) and his essay on Ted Williams's final home game is a heartbreaking work of staggering genius, just like most of his writing.

Failing to Get Past Page 50 in a Novel


I haven't been able to get past page 50 of a novel in what feels like forever. Ridiculous, right? Totally. But I've started quite a few since 2009 arrived. The latest attempt, was my third at Journey to the End of the Night by Louis-Ferdinand Celine. I got to page 25. It was pretty good though. Lot's of ellipses which I dug. I like that Celine manages to capture the speed and beat of unfocused thought. I can especially appreciate it, since I'm just as unfocused as his main character, Bardamu (see my inability to get more than 3 chapters into this book, even though I like it). I don't like Celine's rampant anti-semitism though. It's not really present in the book, but when I read a book I like to supplement it with articles about the author (not book reviews though, they're shit, and ain't no one whose going to tell me how I'm going to think about what I'm reading). Maybe this is one of the reasons I struggle to finish anything other than a short story or a comic book. Another could be that because as soon as I start reading something, I start thinking about all the other books I'm not reading that might be better than what I am reading, no matter how good it is.

I'd like to add that I have been able to start and finish a few books this year, just no novels, which I note here because they are the type of book nearest and dearest to my heart. One of the books I did finish really struck me though, and that book was...

Scott Pilgrim Vol. 5

WOW!!! This book (a graphic novel) is astounding, amazing, fantastic, not-quite-life-changing-but-almost, and just about every other possible hyperbolic positive adjective that you can think of. Bryan Lee O'Malley's entire epic has been one of my favorite reading experiences of the century, but this one just blew me away. When I've had more distance and can better--or at least more even handedly--relate why this is book is so good, I will.

Kogi

Like taco trucks? Like Korean barbaque? Now imagine if they were mixed together, that's Kogi. The results? Fantastic. Both Chau and I will readily attest.

Celebrity Sightings

Ryan Gosling and I like to walk around with our hands in each others' back pockets. We're that close, only closer.

Joel's Return


Having Joel back is pretty cool, I guess. Actually it's pretty awesome. I missed having someone to talk to about basketball/books/writing while he was gone. His return has also meant games of G-E-I-C-O and is a big part of why I'm writing this today.

Also if you click on the link to his sister's blog in his latest post, you'll find that it has a content warning you have to click through before viewing it.

***

Alright, I think that's all for now. But more will soon follow. That's right, soon.

Sunday, May 11, 2008

Wilson's Big Fat Oil Slick




Nick: If you were an animal what kind of animal would you be?
Me: Probably a retarded labrador retriever with a terrible closed head injury. And like only three legs.

*****

Foreward:

Note 1: I looked inside last night. For the first time, in a long time, I did not like what I saw. This realization led to a long night and many self inflicted debates.

Note 2: Two Months Ago, gripped by heroism and defiance towards the status quo, I formulated an idea. It was one I held very close to me. I am utterly unable to express it to people.

Since I am so weird, fucked up, maligned, awesome, handsome, adventurous, caring, beautiful I felt that the only way to cope with pressing matters was to merge them into one. If only I could somehow incorporate being jilted. I'd be the triple threat!

Anyway... Here is my horrible night and the first experimental chapter of Franklin & the Woods (which will be my second novel after the Worldbeating events of this summer).

Quit being such quitters.

*****

Out in the Woods where the World is very big
Lies a quiet little town where all is very small



"Dad, I have to go to the bathroom." Franklin piped up from the cramped back seat of the little yellow car as it wound its way through the dusty yellow roads of the Gargantuan Mountains.
Dad couldn’t look back; the road was curvaceous to the point that it demanded all his attention. 

Besides, even if he looked back, he wouldn’t have been able to see Franklin. The car was heaped with all of their possessions.

"Can you hold it? We're almost there."

Franklin wasn't sure he could. His bladder was about to burst. This was the first warning sign. He’d made an accident in the car on several prior occasions and was quite embarrassed by it. He couldn’t abide an accident now. Not today, not on the first day of his future. A wet cushy spill that makes Dad angry and Pants soggy was surely a bad omen. Franklin knew a lot about omens because he knew a lot about a lot of things. For his money, he was probably one of the smartest eight year olds in the world. He could discuss both Hawaii and Rocket Ships in great detail.

He also knew embarrassment. Heaping piles of shame and guilt sprang up from nowhere, making him small, making him tired. He knew the feeling well because, well, he peed his pants a lot. Becoming nervous or agitated, Franklin's eight year old body knew only one way to mark the occasion: with an unanticipated spray of urine.

*****

In the Pink Lay-Z-Boy that once sat before the fireplace, Dad held Franklin in his comfortable lap, looking down with hard and serious eyes. "Franklin, you might not like this, but we're moving. I know you love the city, but we can’t stay here anymore. We have to do something new."

The words danced a shivery quiver down Franklin's spine. Why were they moving? What was this small town in the woods? Would there be friends? Most importantly, would he finally have a dog? He didn't know how to feel, so he felt wet instead. Dad picked him up, helped change his pants, and began to pack. All their things fit so well in the cardboard boxes. It made perfect sense to Franklin. Cardboard boxes could be anything if you looked hard enough. Looking at the boxes: he saw all he knew. The stamp collection, the roller skates, the model train set. His entire life was there, stored in neat, organized containers. Franklin wondered if it was really that simple. Franklin wondered how he would look in a box.

****

The teeny tiny little town of Plumsville lies in the thick of the Great Forest in the great ridges of the Gargantuan Mountains. It was as far from the City as could possibly be. Dad told him so. He said that he grew up here and never even knew what a taxi was? Either the town was weird or Dad was stupid. Everyone knew what a taxi was!

Though it is a small town, there is a person for every job and a job for every person. As the locals used to say “People have Purpose it Coatesville.”

It was true. Living in such a small, sacred town imbibed the citizens of Plumsville with a pride and panache all their own. Every one lived a good clean life and said hello to their neighbors, what more could they ask for?

Cut off from the world by a moat of thick green forestation, a collection of sprawling trees and sloping paths, it was unlike anything Franklin had ever seen. Used to the high rises and urban bustle of dear, sweet Pittsburgh, he was shocked to learn that anything was so lush and vibrant. He'd never thought outside the city. His imagination was limited to Pittsburgh. Whether an astronaut or professional baseball player, one fact was non negotiable, the entire universe of Franklin’s imagination took place in Pittsburgh. He wondered why. He could turn a box into a submarine but couldn't leave Pittsburgh.

*****

"Dad, plllllllllleeeeease?"

Dad was unresponsive but the car did the talking, pulling over to the side of the road, sending gravel up in droves, before coming to an aggravated stop. Dad put the car in park and got out, opening the door for Franklin (who was unable to in the face of child safety locks). Franklin climbed out, eager to pee, pleased not to pee his pants in the back seat of the car (yet again). It was a long, hard journey so far, but now that he was outside a strange calm had overcame him. The air was hugs, the sounds were kisses. Who knew a place could feel so good. Looking into the woods, the brisk colloquium of Pines, he couldn't help but smile. He knew everything would be ok. He knew he wanted to run.

Franklin set off at a sprint but Dad reached out a meaty paw and stopped him by the collar. He was always a brute, posturing and preening in gestures of male dominance. Setting a strong example for his waifish son to replicate. "Franklin. Just a second."

"But I have to pee."

"You can pee in a second, Franklin."

"BUT I HAVE TO PEE NOW."

"That's fine. I know you need to pee in private but don't wander too far. The woods beautiful, but very dangerous as well. There are a lot of creatures in the woods. Don't get too afraid."

"I'm not afraid of any creatures."

"Well, that may be so, but mother nature is not to be taken lightly. Just stay close, ok? I know 
I’ve had some tough times in these woods, I wouldn’t want you to do the same.”

Franklin gave a weak little nod, confused at Dad's serious tone. He was always so soft, so pleasant, that it startled him to see his Father become so stoic, so serious. He would have dwelt on this for many more moments but nature called as shrill as it possibly could.

He set off for into woods, a fleeting euphoria floating slyly overhead. It would all be ok. This new town would be his town soon. He wouldn't miss Mom forever.

Stepping into the first rung of trees Franklin was shocked to see darkness swallow all, enveloping the entire woods in the hug of it's shadow. Franklin was always afraid of the dark but not now. This dark didn't forebode or threaten. It was absence. Clean, pure, void. A place where nothing could go wrong.

Not wanting to turn back, fears of accidents flitting about his head.

Franklin found a friendly tree to urinate on. As he peed he realized this was the first friendly tree he’d ever met. Were the other trees unfriendly? Or. Did he not know how to approach trees that weren't this one? Maybe, he'd never know. Maybe Dad knew. He finished his business and put his pee pee away. It was time to go back to the car, back to the new house, the new home, the new school. The new was waiting, impatient as hell and screaming for him to hurry.
Steps were taken towards the car. The steps were solid and steady but felt a bit off. They were headed in the right direction, but obviously argued against this distinction. He knew the car, dad, their story. This was something new, maybe a bit scary, but warranting an exploration. He listened to his legs and walked on. It might not be pleasant, but he would learn something. He was Franklin: the smartest eight-year-old in the world.

Up ahead: a cavalcade of shadows, dancing and moving about, beckoning him, asking him, daring him. Could he go? He didn’t know! But if he did, he just might grow.

The wind flew through Franklin's feet, carrying him with both the moment and the spirit. Off he went! A true worldbeater! In this mode nothing could hold him. ABSOULUTE POTENTIAL WAS TASTED! As fast as could be! The little boy and the woods! It felt like swimming. His small cool frame blew through the air, refreshed by every breath. He’d need a towel.

He knew he couldn't trust it. He could love this feeling but not follow it. He knew it was a risk. But more than any trepidation and fears a calm shot through Franklin. He was safe here.
Franklin reached a dark clearing, near pitch black. He looked around and saw nothing. A brief jangle came from above, startling him. Maybe it was a bird. Owls would love a place like this. An abode all creepy and filled with mice. Franklin turned to walk back to Dad and their new home. The way back was gone. He was here to stay.

The rustle of the trees grew louder and louder, shifting in both pitch and modulation. It almost seemed as if words were being formed.

Franklin was afraid. He knew this was a good place, he was glad to be here, but part of him knew it wasn't right. Such big feelings can sneak inside and overtake you. He didn't want to be a vehicle, he yearned for complete control.

He couldn't take any more darkness. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine the brightest and most beautiful light in the entire world. It crossed his mind for a fleeting moment, enough to grasp a glimmer of image. He had it, but not for long. Darkness swelled once again.
The limbs and length of tree reached forward. The hoots and howls of the creatures came from all directions. It built and built, getting scarier and scarier before stopping suddenly, as if to pave the way.

"Welcome to the woods Little Prince. We've been waiting for you."

Screams. Sprints. Runs. He couldn't get back to the car soon enough. Though fleeing in terror, eager to replicate the world he knew, one fact was set in stone: He couldn't get back to the woods soon enough.

For the first time in his, Franklin felt full. Scared as fuck, but full nonetheless.