To read or not to read

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I’ll be speaking this evening at the Lucy Robbins Welles Library in my hometown of Newington at 7:00.  Topics for the evening will likely include my first novel, SOMETHING MISSING, my upcoming book (UNEXPECTEDLY, MILO), the writing process, and publishing in general, but since I never plan ahead and am often as surprised as my audience about what comes out of my mouth, who knows!

There may also be a few some high school students present who will be sharing their work for a couple of minutes apiece.  I recently finished a workshop at the local high school and invited any of the brave souls in attendance to join me this evening in order to read a bit of their work to the audience as well.

I hate reading from my own book.  I find it tedious and boring, and I almost always feel the same way when listening to other authors read.  I’d much prefer to listen to them talk about their lives, the ways in which they write, and the like.  I tend to love question-and-answer sessions, too, since that is where the wit of a writer are often exposed.

Or not. 

There’s nothing like watching someone attempt an unprepared response to some of the most lucid and inane questions ever formulated.  I tend to adore the question-and-answer sessions of my own readings as well, because this is where I discover what people really want to hear. 

Do you feel the same way about authors reading from their work?  Do you enjoy listening to them read for fifteen or twenty minutes at a clip, which many do?  Or would you prefer to just listen to the story about how their book came into being and what it is like being a writer?

Just curious.

It’s a room

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When did the word room get replaced with the utterly pretentious and overblown word space?

A substitute teacher entered my classroom a couple days ago and said, “This is a great space. Your students are a lucky bunch.”

“It’s not a space,” I said. “It’s a classroom.”

Someone came to our house for the first time a few weeks ago and said, “This space has a lot of potential,” referencing the under-furnished section of our home that we refer to as the living room.

I hear brides and grooms constantly referring to ballrooms as beautiful, charming or unique spaces.

I once heard a friend refer to his basement as a space with a lot of potential. 

Walk through the rotunda of the US Capitol and declare it to be an amazing space and I'll buy it.

Enter the National Cathedral and proclaim it to be an awe-inspiring space and I can live with it. 

But a basement?  A classroom? 

A living room, a bedroom, a classroom and a bathroom are assigned the moniker of room for a reason. It's what they are.

What the hell is wrong with the word room?

Witticisms or lacking wit?

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There's an iPhone application called iQuote which is essentially a database of thousands of quotations from famous and intelligent people, and one by Angelina Jolie which I am surprisingly fond of:

If I think more about death than some other people, it's probably because I love life more than they do.

I think about death a lot, too. 

The software allows me to rate each quote, email them to myself and friends, and categorize them according to my need.

I know it sounds like a simple concept, but I love it, and I use it all the time.  Whenever  I have three minutes or less to kill, I'll pop it open and gather some wisdom from years gone by.

Or become annoyed at famous people for their stupidity. 

I've decided to write to the creators of this software and attempt to have one of my own quotes included in the database, the first step on my path to Bartlett's Familiar Quotations, one of my Plan A goals.  I've assembled half a dozen for your review, culled from writing that I’ve done over the past five years.  I'd love to know which, if any, you think are worthy of submitting.

1.  Nothing convinces me about the stupidity of human beings more than driving in the vicinity of the mall on a Saturday.

2.  I am more impressed with the quality of a person’s questions than with the quality of their answers.

3.  It is all about me, but you’re welcome to occupy space.

4.  Spock said that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, but what if the many are all incredibly stupid?

5,  You can determine the effectiveness of a teacher by the frequency by which you can enter the classroom and speak to the teacher without grinding learning to a halt.

6.  If you are not delegating enough, you are not lazy enough.

Fuzzy time tables

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Earlier this year, the Spirit and Opportunity rovers, which are still sending images back from Mars, celebrated their sixth anniversary on the red planet.

The mission was slated to last only three months.

In 1997 the Mars Pathfinder mission lasted more than three months when it was originally expected to cease functioning in a week to a month.

Am I the only one who suspects that these extended mission times have more to do with NASA’s inability to calculate the expiration date of their equipment and less to do with the surprisingly well built and remarkably efficient machines?

Or even more likely, is it possible that MASA purposely underestimates the length of their missions in order to avoid the perception of failure? Perhaps Spirit and Opportunity were originally projected to last ten years, but wanting to bolster public support and increase the overall perception of the effectiveness of the agency, NASA officials underreported the expiration dates of this equipment in order to impress the general public when the machines double and triple their projected lifespan.

After all, is it really impressive for engineers to be so inaccurate when it comes to estimating the length of time that these machines will function? They are starting to sound like meteorologists.

“It’s going to snow six to twelve inches tonight,” which really means, it’s going to snow six inches, or twice that amount.

With variances like this, how could one get a forecast wrong?

Same thing with the NASA engineers: Spirit and Opportunity are going to function for three months, or possibly sixty months. I thought these guys were smart.

Am I also the only one who remembers the Viking program of the 1970’s, which also placed two landers on Mars? Though these landers were not mobile, they sent back many images of the planet and conducted a score of experiments as well, and they managed to last three and six years before finally ceasing to function, one because of a battery failure and the other due to human error in a software update.

To put that in perspective, thirty years before we landed Spirit and Opportunity, we managed to land similar craft on the surface of the planet in order to take photos and conduct experiments, and one of these machines, launched during Gerald Ford’s Presidency, managed to last longer than our current Mars missions.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m as excited as the next guy about all the recent discoveries made by this current mission, but I’m just skeptical about the time frames and not as overwhelmed with awe as many seem considering that thirty years ago, we managed to do accomplish something very similar.

How soon we forget.

Asked and answered

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Thanks to podcasting, I don’t listen to much talk radio anymore, which was once a staple of my media consumption. Granted, I listen to a string of NPR podcasts pulled right off the radio, and I listen to one or two ESPN radio shows that are re-aired as podcasts, but gone are the days of the classic talk radio show host. This means that when I do listen to one of these shows, I can’t help but notice some of the oddities connected with the media.

Specifically, I want to know why every talk show host feels the need to both ask and answer his or her own questions. Is this some communications strategy taught in broadcasting school?

In case you’re not a listener of talk radio or haven’t noticed this yet, this particular brand of stupidity sounds something like this:

“Do I think that the new healthcare bill will lower costs for the average American?  Yes.  Do I still think the bill is flawed?  Yes?  But is a flawed bill better than no bill at all?  Absolutely”

If you’re listening to sports radio, it might sound something like this:

“Do I think that Tiger Woods has a chance of winning the Masters?  Yes.  Do I think he faces an uphill battle?  Of course.  But am I rooting for him?  You bet I am. 

If you’re sitting in my car when the radio host begins this nonsense, you might hear me say something like this:

“Do I think that you’re a moron?  Yes.  Do you sound like a fool?  Absolutely?  Will I continue listening regardless of your stupidity?  Absolutely not.”

I’m saved!

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While my wife and I were serving brunch today, two Jehovah Witnesses knocked on our door.

I am grateful to the Jehovah Witnesses.  There was a time in my life when I was homeless, living in my car, and a family of Jehovah Witnesses took me into their home and gave me a room off their kitchen that I shared with a man who routinely spoke in tongues and a goat.

I know that sounds like something out of one of my books, but it’s true.

Despite their generosity and my genuine affection for anyone kind enough to offer a roof to someone in need, I enjoy tormenting Jehovah Witnesses whenever I can, simply because they are so difficult to anger or offend.  For years, I had a standing meeting with two Jehovah Witnesses in my old neighborhood, and over the years, we became genuine friends.  We would meet on Wednesday evenings for an hour, during which time they would try to save my soul while I tried my best to say outrageous things that would make their eyes bulge. 

My ex-wife thought I was crazy, but it was one of my favorite parts of the week. 

Today was no different.  After offering me some literature, inviting me to a prayer meeting, and assuring me that Jesus gave his life for mankind, I whispered, “Thank God you’re here.  I married a Jew and it’s like living with an absolute heathen.  Save me!”

Had I been a little nimbler on my feet, I would have also mentioned that our brunch guests were two gay men and their infant son.

Missed opportunity.  

Ten Word Wiki

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Ten Word Wiki is a spinoff of Wikipedia with one important distinction:  All entries must consist of exactly ten letters.  The results are often amusing and sometimes quite profound.  The site has become my newest time-waster, so click at your own risk. 

I’m completely obsessed with it. 

And I’ve even submitted my own 10 Word Wiki entry, which can be found on the site.  It is:

Project Runway: Heidi Klum making everyone else look like flat, boring nobodies.

Here is a list of ten recent favorites as well:

Bumper sticker. Literal translation: Caution, I drive like a twat.

Ten Commandments: Ten rules of life from God. Such a spoil sport.

Book: Bundles of wood pulp and pictures/words; doesn't need batteries.

Lance Armstrong: inspirational uni-testicled cycling legend. Singlehandedly invented the rubber wristband industry.

Lost (television series): It’s about time travel, fate, good/evil, heaven/hell … maybe

Nothing: Nothing would be this page if you removed 10 words.

Sarah Palin: Failed Vice Presidential candidate. Made stupidity popular again post-W.

Tim Burton: Helena Bonham-Carter's employer. Takes the cowbell approach with Gothic themes.

Intelligent: High knowledge base. Can be sexy/nerdy depending on knowledge.

Tiger Woods: World's greatest golfer. Plays a round, and then plays around.

Plan A

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I was listening to Ira Glass of This American Life discussing the concept of a Plan B for an episode of the same name. He said that in a room of one hundred people, he asked the audience to raise their hand if they were still on the path to their Plan A: the one thing that wanted to do with their life originally. Plan A could relate to a job, a lifestyle or their family. It is whatever they envisioned their lives to be as a child, a teenager, or perhaps just coming out of college. Glass wanted to know how many people had achieved their Plan A or were still on the path towards it. Just one person raised her hand. She was a twenty-three year old female college student. Many reported to already be on Plan D or E.

Glass then went on to say that he thought that most people in the world were already on Plan B, and that this was perfectly normal.

I find this tragic. I assume it's the reason that so many people suffer from dissatisfaction at their jobs.

It makes me feel quite fortunate.

As a child, I wanted to be a teacher. I can remember being eight years old, standing before a Fisher Price blackboard, teaching my younger brothers and sisters everything I knew about geography and math. I can remember writing to Santa, asking for a globe, an atlas, and some chalk to help teach my class, and I can remember unwrapping them Christmas morning. Part of it was a desire to never grow up, and the rest came from my love for working with children and the autonomy that a teacher possesses.  After a longer, more difficult journey than most, I am a teacher today, finishing my eleventh year in the classroom in June.

But in high school, I also decided that I wanted to be a writer. While I wasn’t sure if I wanted to be a journalist, a poet, or a novelist, I knew that I wanted to write. In fact, I often stated my dream as wanting to “write for a living and teach for pleasure.”

This year, with the sale of my second novel and the near completion of my third, this dream has become a reality. While I am not ready or able to return the paycheck that I receive for teaching, the economics have become such that I can now earn more from writing than I do from teaching.

My childhood dream, to become a teacher, and my teenage dream, to become a writer, have come true. Plan A has been achieved. Though I was 24 years old when I finally entered college, 28 years old when I began my teaching career, and 36 years old when I sold my first novel, I made it.

I have still other dreams to fulfill, other parts of my Plan A that I continue to pursue, but most important, I remain on the original path, working toward the goal. And I have always been on this path, even when I was managing restaurants and working for market companies. Each of these jobs were viewed as stepping stones toward my ultimate goal.

I’d hate to think that someone like Ira Glass (who I like very much) might be assuring people everywhere that Plan B is perfectly acceptable.

A new and improved Plan A is perfectly understandable. I have friends who shifted gears in life not out of necessity but because of a change in desire. A person who thought he wanted to work with computers becomes a teacher in midlife after discovering a talent he did not know he possessed. A friend who never wanted children decides to have three kids after marrying the right person. A divorcee swears off marriage for the rest of his life until the perfect girl comes along and changes his mind.

These are not examples of people shifting to Plan B or Plan C when all hope is lost.

These are examples of newly-minted Plan A's.

But to give up entirely on Plan A when it is still a burning desire strikes me as tragic and foolish. Sometimes Plan A simply requires more time, effort and suffering in order to achieve.

Sometimes Plan A is impossible to achieve but still worth the lifelong pursuit.

I don’t get it

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I know it’s hip and trendy to love Wes Anderson’s films, but I don’t. 

I thought that Rushmore was okay, The Life Aquatic was overrated, The Darjeeling Limited was slow and unfunny, and The Royal Tenenbaums was so awful that I would have walked out of the theater if I hadn’t gone with friends. 

One of the worst movies I have ever seen. 

I just don’t understand the love affair that people have with his films, and this video short illustrates my feelings precisely. 

Linguistic complaints

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Admit it. I say that someone is nearsighted, and you automatically think that the person cannot see things up close. Then, after a few seconds, you remember that you must force yourself to think counter-intuitively when it comes to vision impairment. Nearsighted people can only see things near them, and while this makes logical sense based upon the actual meaning of the word, it’s not how we think when we hear the word.

Am I alone on this one?

Feeling better about myself

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In reference to the aged audience of CBS’s Survivor, a television critic on Bill Simmon’s podcast said, “The only people watching a show that runs as long as Survivor are old people.  Young people move onto new things.”

Bill Simmons concurred.

I do as well, because I only watched the first two seasons of Survivor and then quit.  And because agreeing makes me feel good about myself.

The Ethicist: Golfing allowed on day two?

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My friend Tom asked me to address the following question as part of my new role as The Ethicist:

THE QUESTION: Is it okay to go golfing while your wife is in the hospital the day after your daughter was born?

THE ANSWER:  Of course it’s okay.  If my daughter wasn’t born in January, I would have likely been playing golf after her birth as well.  If your wife and daughter are under the care of doctors and nurses and your presence is not required, there is no reason why you cannot play a round of golf.  However, this only works if you and your wife operate under the exceptionally rare but highly recommended martial philosophy that rejects compulsory shared suffering. 

For reasons that I fail to understand, many married couples operate under the assumption that if one parent is not having fun, the other cannot.  This fervent attachment to mutually-assured destruction keeps many men and women from ever leaving the home during the first few years of their children’s lives.  Rather than heading off to a movie with a friend or for a round of golf with a couple buddies, these self-flagellating couples adopt an all-or-nothing approach to life.

Either we both see that movie or neither one of us does. 

Either we both enjoy our Sunday afternoon on the links or we both stay home.

What’s worse, it’s quite common for one parent to actually benefit from this belief simply based upon his or her personal preferences.  For example, I have a friend who has not seen the inside of a movie theater or spent a night out with his buddies in years, yet every other weekend he finds himself in the home of his in-laws, visiting on a Sunday afternoon.  Conveniently for his wife, this just happens to be one of her preferred ways of spending a weekend afternoon.  Therefore, she is fortunate enough to be able to spend her leisure time in a way that she prefers because it happens to coincide with the time that her kids can spend with their grandparents.  But since her husband’s leisure choices do not fit into the socially-acceptable construct of visiting family, he loses. 

As a result, he’s unhappy.

Just what every wife wants.  An unhappy husband.  I know it sounds ridiculous, but it happens all the time, and regardless of a spouses level of unhappiness, it rarely changes.     

So yes, go play golf.  Of course you should play.  And in a couple weeks, when your wife wants to get a manicure or meet with friends for coffee (two of my wife’s preferred leisure activities), you’ll stay home with the baby.  No need for both of you to be on baby-duty at the same time.  You must continue to enjoy life beyond your children, and this is one way to make sure that it happens.   

When I tried to ask my wife if she agreed, she answered before I had even finished the question:

“Of course he should play golf.  The hospital takes great care of moms.  Now is the perfect time for him to enjoy himself.” 

But like I said, not every person is as enlightened as my wife.  The situation works well for me, and it might work for you, but it most certainly won’t work for the majority.

MY SUGGESTION:  In this case, the ethical choice and my suggested course of action are one and the same.  Regardless of how your wife may feel about your decision to play golf, and regardless of her protests or objections, you must go play golf.  In fact, I think it is a moral imperative.  Your happiness is critical to your effectiveness as a husband and father, and therefore it should remain one of your top priorities, no matter how many newfound obligations your newborn brings. Unhappiness and embitterment must be avoided at all costs, as they will ultimately erode and destroy your your relationship with your wife and, in turn, your children.  For all the sacrifices that you will make for your family now and in the future, none should ever be made at the expense of your own happiness. 

With two spouses committed to the rejection of compulsory shared suffering, this is possible.

Rules of a gun fight

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I'm not exactly a gun fan, but this website, which lists the rules of a gunfight, is simply genius.  Funny, clever, and loaded with the truth. A few of my favorite rules include:

Forget about knives, bats and fists. Bring a gun. Preferably, bring at least two guns. Bring all of your friends who have guns. Bring four times the ammunition you think you could ever need.

Stretch the rules. Always win. The only unfair fight is the one you lose

The faster you finish the fight, the less shot you will get.

Be courteous to everyone, overly friendly to no one.

Your number one option for personal security is a lifelong commitment to avoidance, deterrence, and de-escalation.

I am not very good at that last one.

Deprived youth

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I was speaking to a group of Newington High School students yesterday about writing.  In attempting to explain the importance of twisting stereotypes and giving the reader the unexpected, I used the example of Hannibal Lecter from The Silence of the Lambs. 

Lecter was an absolute villain and a genuine cannibal, I explained, but the audience couldn’t help but like him.  In the closing scene of the movie, Lecter is preparing to kill and eat Dr. Childress, the psychologist who has tormented him for years, and even though this man is little more than an arrogant and lecherous weasel, the audience finds itself pleased that Lecter has escaped and Childress will be receiving his comeuppance at the hands of Lecter. 

Turns out no one in the class has ever seen the movie.

THE WHOLE CLASS HAD NEVER SEEN THE MOVIE.

Their teacher reminded me that they were not alive when this movie was released, but I reminded her that I wasn’t alive when films like Psycho were released but I’ve still seen them.

A whole class of high school students who have never seen Silence of the Lambs, which is, by the way, widely regarded as one of the best films ever made?

Horrifying.

I assigned them the movie for homework.

I also added that the Thomas Harris novel upon which the film was based was also excellent, as was all of his work. 

HANNIBAL, the follow-up novel to SILENCE OF THE LAMBS, was one of the only books that literally had me cringing through scenes, and there was one particular scene that made me want to take a shower after reading it.

I still get the creeps just thinking about it. 

Dregs of the Earth in my baby book

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With the birth of my daughter, I’ve recently spent some time flipping through my baby book. It’s been quite enlightening.

The best part about the baby book is that it is written by my mother, who died in 2007.  There are no home movies or audio recordings of my mother, so these words, scrawled in a baby book more than thirty years ago, are the last that I have of her. Reading them makes me wonder what her life was like back then, when life seemed so full of hope and expectation, and it breaks my heart to think that by my seventh birthday, which is when she would stop writing, her marriage was falling apart and she was finding love with a man who would ultimately ruin her.

Sometimes I think that my mother lived two entirely different lives: a life of simplicity, intellect, and vigor with my father and a life of guilt and regret and spoil with my step-father. There are many times when I wish that I could find a way into the past and warn my young mother about the awful repercussions of leaving a man who loved her.

I am sometimes so angry with her over the life that she wasted in so many ways.

But then there also are times when I smile, like this morning, after reading the list of Prominent People from the page in my baby book labeled Headlines on Baby’s Birthday. My mother listed four people who were prominent in the news in February 1971, and I’m not sure whether she intended this list to make me laugh or scratch my head in bewilderment as an adult.

The list:

Ralph Nader, who at the time was a well known consumer advocate and burgeoning political figure, but had announced his first run at the Presidency in 1971 and who would later be blamed for the disastrous election of George W. Bush after taking votes away from Democratic candidate Al Gore.

Charles Manson, the mass murderer who remains in prison to this day.

Lt. William Calley, a convicted war criminal who was responsible for ordering the My Lai Massacre in Vietnam in 1968.

Richard Nixon, the only President to resign from office following his role in Watergate

A mass murderer, a war criminal, a shamed US President, and the man who helped George Bush ascend to the Presidency?

Was my mom clueless as to what belongs in a baby book, or did she share the same spirit of dark humor that I also have?

Peeing your pants with aplomb

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Racing through the pharmacy this morning in search of batteries, I passed through the feminine hygiene products aisle, and while there, I couldn’t help but notice that there is a brand of bladder-control pads named Poise.

I’m wondering:

Does the name of this product imply that one can retain their poise despite their propensity to pee their pants?

Or does it imply that the product can return poise to a person who has lost it as a result of several embarrassing accidents?

The definition of the word poise is aplomb: great coolness and composure under strain.

Is the naming of this product supposed to provide me with the assurance that I can urinate whilst engaged in a conversation at a dinner party or while sharing a cab with a stranger in Manhattan, as the definition suggests?

I don’t care what the name of the product happena to be.  Regardless of the protection that any product may afford, urinating in public will never be a situation of poise for me, and the audacity of a company to imply otherwise is stunning.

Furthermore, if I someday suffer from an incontinence problem, I do not want to do business with a company with the gall to imply that:

a. I have lost my poise as a result of my urine-stained underwear

b. They can restore my poise through some disposable, absorbent pad

Ironically, the unacceptable audacity of Poise was illustrated by Saturday Night Live with their faux product, Oops I Crapped My Pants.