Kids

Some nights, like tonight, I want to sit outside Eden and Judah's room and tape their little voices. I can't really understand what they're saying or singing but I want to bottle up their toddler timbre for posterity.

Age Ain't Nothin' But a Number, pt. 2

A little over a year ago, I set some goals for myself, things to reach before my thirtieth birthday. You can read all about it here: http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=3098027218151989275#editor/target=post;postID=2349222430713671562

They basically boiled down to things related to the number 30.

1. Lose thirty pounds by thirty.

I managed 20, which I still feel pretty proud about and my doctor is happy about. I'd love to cut another twenty this year (which is apparently a more manageable deal than 30...)

2. Thirty percent of my thesis published.

I officially blew this one out of the water when I signed a fancy contract with Grey Sparrow Press to publish all of them. This year I'd like to sell 30 copies. Just kidding. I'd like to sell at least 300. Are you in?

3. 30k.

I wanted to make 30k this year. I may have, but I can't be sure until tax season. This is still a goal of mine; not necessarily the 30k, so much as a real, full-time job that I like. Right now I'm teaching sporadic classes. And last night I put in my first bid for a painting job. Weird.

4. Complete a record.

Nope. But I'm more than 30% there. And I have drums tracked for a second record with my new fabulous band, which I never set a goal to have...

5. Novel.

Boom. I finished my first draft last week. I'm sure it's lousy and needs a ton of editing and it's only 40,000 words, but it's done. I'm pretty impressed with myself.

What I did for my big 3-0 was schedule a super-duper show for myself. It was Saturday night at the 400 Bar. I thought it would be a fantastic birthday bash and I would ask a few local bands that I love and they would say "Yes!" and it would be easy and awesome. The easy part didn't work out (anyone who's ever booked a show won't be surprised), but I think the awesome part did. In the last year, I can legitimately say I've quit playing for audience adoration; I play with three guys that are excellent friends of mine and they help me make the songs sound like they do in my head and I love that more than I've ever loved making music. And if someone else enjoys it, then great, but it's peripheral to me.

And I've been thinking about the best thing about turning thirty: I think I'm a much better human than I was at twenty. Not that I've arrived or that I've kicked all my bad habits or that I don't have growing to do, but on the whole, I'd much rather hang out with me now then a twenty-year-old incarnation of myself. So at least something is going right. And I would give most of the credit to Sarah and the babies...

Audiobooks, Pt. 2

Last night I went to the Brandi Carlile concert at the Minnesota Zoo. My friend Jessi is a member of the street team and though she lives in Nashville she managed to acquire a ticket. The show was fantastic. I expected a maximum effort songstress out of Carlile, just from listening to her on recordings, but she looks like she's not even trying. Vocally anyway. On stage she's earnest and honest and seems to be having a great time, which I appreciate. I'm not a big female vocalist fan (no gender issues, just a preference) but she was superb.

After the show, a bunch of us were waiting around for Jessi (who was backstage; doing something important?) and I mentioned that if anyone wanted to leave now (before Jessi returned) they could ride with me but they'd have to listen to an audiobook. (Richard Ford's The Sportwriter, if you didn't read yesterday's post. Jessi's reaction (later): Boooring.) My sister chimed in that I need to listen to Chuck Klosterman's Killing Yourself to Live, to which I responded, "I've already read that."

I'm not much of a rereader. Or a rewatcher for that matter. I think Sarah could watch the same dozen movies over and over for the rest of her life. The desert island scenario paralyzes me. I have movies and books that I like, but few that I've read more than once. The Great Gatsby, Of Mice and Men, Carver short stories. Sick day movies when I was a kid: Goonies and, oddly, Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves. But for the most part, I think part of me is so overwhelmed with the sheer number of books available that I don't want to waste time rereading something when I could read something new. I like to think of it as my deep appreciation for lifelong learning, for the pursuit of more things to experience and think about and appreciate. But as I was listening to Richard Ford's narrator talk about the attributes of athletes that he appreciates most, I got to thinking: Am I choosing quantity over quality? Not that I'm reading/watching an immense quantity, but still. Anyway: Your thoughts on rereading/rewatching?

Audiobooks

I'm on my second in two weeks. Richard Ford's The Sportswriter. Sounds like its being read by a film noir private eye, but I like it. It fits the book. And it's nice to be able to 'read' a book while in traffic. Or mowing the lawn.

My reading pace has dropped off significantly since grad school, which is to be expected I suppose. I also blame two things. One Steig Larssen: I wanted some puffier post-school reading and everyone had raged about The Girl With The ... books. The first one was fine, he's a brilliant plotsmith and his characters (in the first one anyway) are at the least interesting. But the second book was pretty weak and the third one was terrible. But I slogged through. The curse of the trilogy: it's a real thing.

The other thing I'd like to blame (since I'm obviously blameless here) is the Kindle. How about a hand for the ease of technology? A million books in one place? Unreal. Except that I'm the type of person that likes to watch the progress and then revel in the end. And the percentage bar just doesn't do it for me like real-life page turning. I'll still use the Kindle--it's so SIMPLE--but I think I'll start going to the library again for the weight of paper. And for audiobooks.

Writers block?

Try making lists. Recently worked for me. I think it puts your head into, like, an aerobic mode. Gets the gray matter pumping or something.

Do your work.

The War of Art

I started an audio book today. Not the kind of thing I usually do, but I'm teaching a new class (Public Speaking!) and I have to drive an hour through traffic to get there, so it seems a better use of my time than listening to sports radio rants. The book is The War of Art by Steven Pressfield, the guy who wrote The Legend of Bagger Vance. It's kind of a writing craft and self-help book rolled into one, which probably sounds terrible to you. But for me, at the stage of writing I'm in, is brilliant.

His main idea revolves around the idea of resistance, that resistance is what keeps us from doing exactly what we ought to be, what we love to be doing. For instance, writing this blog is probably resistance. I should be working on this book (it's not going to write itself, right?). But I've been stuck in such a rut (read: not writing) that any sort of writing is helping me jostle off the rust. So I'll go back to the other writing--the work--in a moment, but in the meantime, if you feel stuck--in writing or otherwise--think about heading to the library for The War of Art. Or buy it, if that's your thing.

One of my favorite things that he's said, one that's still kicking around in my head, is that fear shouldn't be a bad thing, but it ought to be thought of as an indicator. It's resistance's best weapon and whatever it is that we fear, we must move toward. And I fear writing a lousy book. Or never actually finishing it. Or the worst: not being able to write a great story because of my own shortcomings. Does that make sense? Like I have a great story living and breathing inside me, but I'm just too ... whatever ... to get it out in the right shape. It seems impossible. He mentions all creative endeavors are like that, like pregnancy; though in the moments before birth it may seem impossible, for a baby to, you know, fit, women have been doing it for aeons and will continue to do it until the end of time.

Now, excuse me, while I go try to birth something.

Virtual Reality

Read this:

http://gawker.com/5914621/the-long-fake-life-of-js-dirr-a-decade+long-internet-cancer-hoax-unravels

What? Seriously. 71 fake people? 11 years? I'm astounded.

I've been obsessed since the kids woke me up this morning and I read this, one eye open, over a bowl of crack (read: Golden Puffs). And as I've thought about it more, throughout the day, it's grown more bizarre on one hand and less on the other. For one thing, the charlatan didn't monetize the sting at all. In fact, after being busted she apparently gave money back. Along with the fact that she spent money on those bracelets (side note: Those rubber bracelets won't be looked back on kindly. I have slap bracelets in mind, but I'm sure there's a more apt comparison). So she makes nothing off of all her hard work. You can say: Well, she got attention, which is probably what she wanted. Maybe. But pretty diluted attention. And the cost/benefit analysis is lousy.

The thing that strikes me as less bizarre is that all of this has the ring of reality TV to me. Except that people weren't told that it was fake. I tried to articulate this to Sarah earlier and it didn't make any sense, but it seems to me that the crime this girl committed is that she presented something that wasn't true as true. Isn't that what reality TV is? But we're all in on it (sort of) so it's fine. I don't know. I guess it's just not that surprising when I think about entertainment in general now.

But maybe I'm just saying that. Hey. Maybe I'm not even real.

In all, it makes me think of virtual reality. You know, like the kind that got talked about in the late eighties that was supposed to take over the world? You wear the big helmet and experience a different plane of existence. It feels like we have that now, just minus the big helmet. Like we live on a new plane of existence. And maybe the rules are cloudier than ever.