I forgot to mention: A friend called two nights ago to ask if I could cat-sit for him. I thought, Sure. No big deal. Put out some food, maybe empty the litter pan.
"There's something you should know," he said. I figured he was going to say something about the cat's not liking strangers. In the past, when J.C. and I have had people cat-sit for us, we've instructed them not to wear open-toed shoes, not to make eye contact with the beast. Get in, get out. "Seriously," we've told them. "She may look sweet, but she's sent two people to the hospital. Don't be the third."
"Our cat's diabetic," he said, "so you'll have to give her a shot."
Last night I went over there for a tutorial. I learned how to draw the insulin from the vial, how to tap out the air bubbles, where to hold the cat and where to stick him. Still, I'm a little nervous. It'd be way easier if I only had to put out some food and empty the litter pan.
In the end...I think "Insulin for Kitties" is going to be my new band name on Guitar Hero.
12.29.2006
Catching Up
I don't remember much about the 24th. We had dinner at J.C.'s aunt's house. One minor catastrophe, which involved whether or not people were going to smoke in the house; disaster for the most part was avoided.
Came home with homemade Chex mix, carmel corn, and lots of cookies and fudge.
The 25th: Brunch with my parents. My grandma--the one who we don't usually spend holidays with--came over. This is the woman who once ran into J.C. in a town about an hour from here. J.C. said, "Hi, E. I'm Chad's wife." My grandma smiled, said, "You know they got married in Vegas." She thought J.C. was my cousin's girlfriend. "It broke his parents' hearts," my grandma said. "They went out there for the wedding, but still." J.C. smiled, nodded. "And then the reception," my grandma said. "It was nice I guess, but there were a lot of people there. Maybe too many people," and then she looked at J.C. over the top of her glasses, all knowingly.
So on Christmas grandma came over and knew who everybody was, didn't diss our wedding or our reception, but when she got up to leave she was confused because she couldn't find her car. "C. drove you over," we said. "Your car's at her house." "Are you sure?" my grandma--who still quite regularly, somehow, drives to that town an hour from here--said. "I could have sworn I drove."
Came home with luggage, a Rubik's Cube, and Guitar Hero II. About Guitar Hero: Both my mom and I got one from my brother. He's been having little Guitar Hero parties for the past year or so, and he loves the game, so he wanted to get it for us. I was skeptical. We started playing Christmas morning, though, and my mom, J.C., and I quickly became, ahem, hooked. At some point, my mom said, "The whammy bar, Chad. Use the whammy bar."
Later that night, J.C. and I drank whiskey-and-egg nog and played more Guitar Hero. J.C. usually hates video games, but she was really getting into it, concentrating, letting that guitar have it. At one point, while I was mixing more drinks, she called out, "What should our band name be?" We decided on "Playing Doctor."
The 26th: An appetizer affair at J.C.'s parents' house. My father-in-law helped my nephew, D., build a squirrel feeder so that he can lure all the squirrels in the timber to one spot, where he can mow them down with his pellet gun. I said, "Isn't that illegal, D.? Baiting them?" D. paused for a second, then gave me a look. "You can't do it to deer," he said. "Nobody cares what you do to squirrels."
Came home with great books and movies, a Simpson College hoodie. Early in the evening, my mom called to ask how we were doing with Guitar Hero. I told her we'd beat the easy level but that we'd taken the day off, fearful of carpal tunnel. My mom said, "Oh, I beat the easy level, too. And I've started making money, but I just trashed my hotel room and stole some of the art, so I got charged for that. I'm low on cash, so I'm going back on the road."
Even later in the evening, J.C. and I started watching the first season of Homicide: Life on the Streets. She fell asleep, and around ten o'clock, when she stood up to go to bed, she screamed. I thought she'd stubbed her toe, but she was standing on the register vent; there was nothing she could have stubbed her toe on. She kept screaming, even after I asked her what was wrong. Eventually I learned she'd rolled her foot. She was in a lot of pain, so I put ice on it, and we decided to see how it felt in the morning. By the a.m., the bruising had started. I took her to the emergency room, worried that no one was going to believe she hurt herself by just standing up. Thankfully, no one questioned me.
The doctor guessed her foot was broken. Actually, when he first looked at it--the bruising was getting worse by the minute--he said, "Jesus Christ," which I'm guessing he would only say to someone with a foot injury, and not say, a wounded head or gouged eye. The X-rays, though, were negative. "Unfortunately," the doctor said, "it's just a sprain."
So, J.C.'s on crutches and Tylenol-3, and I feel like a mommy. I make her breakfast and pack her a lunch and drive her to school, I mean work. I pick her up. Two days of this and already she's going stir crazy, sitting at her desk all day, sitting on the couch all night. I'm trying to be as nice as I can because I'm worried that if I make one false move, I'll be at the hospital with a crutch-induced head wound. "Jesus Christ," the doctor will say. "What'd you do?"
Came home with homemade Chex mix, carmel corn, and lots of cookies and fudge.
The 25th: Brunch with my parents. My grandma--the one who we don't usually spend holidays with--came over. This is the woman who once ran into J.C. in a town about an hour from here. J.C. said, "Hi, E. I'm Chad's wife." My grandma smiled, said, "You know they got married in Vegas." She thought J.C. was my cousin's girlfriend. "It broke his parents' hearts," my grandma said. "They went out there for the wedding, but still." J.C. smiled, nodded. "And then the reception," my grandma said. "It was nice I guess, but there were a lot of people there. Maybe too many people," and then she looked at J.C. over the top of her glasses, all knowingly.
So on Christmas grandma came over and knew who everybody was, didn't diss our wedding or our reception, but when she got up to leave she was confused because she couldn't find her car. "C. drove you over," we said. "Your car's at her house." "Are you sure?" my grandma--who still quite regularly, somehow, drives to that town an hour from here--said. "I could have sworn I drove."
Came home with luggage, a Rubik's Cube, and Guitar Hero II. About Guitar Hero: Both my mom and I got one from my brother. He's been having little Guitar Hero parties for the past year or so, and he loves the game, so he wanted to get it for us. I was skeptical. We started playing Christmas morning, though, and my mom, J.C., and I quickly became, ahem, hooked. At some point, my mom said, "The whammy bar, Chad. Use the whammy bar."
Later that night, J.C. and I drank whiskey-and-egg nog and played more Guitar Hero. J.C. usually hates video games, but she was really getting into it, concentrating, letting that guitar have it. At one point, while I was mixing more drinks, she called out, "What should our band name be?" We decided on "Playing Doctor."
The 26th: An appetizer affair at J.C.'s parents' house. My father-in-law helped my nephew, D., build a squirrel feeder so that he can lure all the squirrels in the timber to one spot, where he can mow them down with his pellet gun. I said, "Isn't that illegal, D.? Baiting them?" D. paused for a second, then gave me a look. "You can't do it to deer," he said. "Nobody cares what you do to squirrels."
Came home with great books and movies, a Simpson College hoodie. Early in the evening, my mom called to ask how we were doing with Guitar Hero. I told her we'd beat the easy level but that we'd taken the day off, fearful of carpal tunnel. My mom said, "Oh, I beat the easy level, too. And I've started making money, but I just trashed my hotel room and stole some of the art, so I got charged for that. I'm low on cash, so I'm going back on the road."
Even later in the evening, J.C. and I started watching the first season of Homicide: Life on the Streets. She fell asleep, and around ten o'clock, when she stood up to go to bed, she screamed. I thought she'd stubbed her toe, but she was standing on the register vent; there was nothing she could have stubbed her toe on. She kept screaming, even after I asked her what was wrong. Eventually I learned she'd rolled her foot. She was in a lot of pain, so I put ice on it, and we decided to see how it felt in the morning. By the a.m., the bruising had started. I took her to the emergency room, worried that no one was going to believe she hurt herself by just standing up. Thankfully, no one questioned me.
The doctor guessed her foot was broken. Actually, when he first looked at it--the bruising was getting worse by the minute--he said, "Jesus Christ," which I'm guessing he would only say to someone with a foot injury, and not say, a wounded head or gouged eye. The X-rays, though, were negative. "Unfortunately," the doctor said, "it's just a sprain."
So, J.C.'s on crutches and Tylenol-3, and I feel like a mommy. I make her breakfast and pack her a lunch and drive her to school, I mean work. I pick her up. Two days of this and already she's going stir crazy, sitting at her desk all day, sitting on the couch all night. I'm trying to be as nice as I can because I'm worried that if I make one false move, I'll be at the hospital with a crutch-induced head wound. "Jesus Christ," the doctor will say. "What'd you do?"
12.24.2006
Food Network
There is a box of Ritz crackers next to the sink. I know why they're there: J.C. made scalloped corn, and the crackers are for the topping. (If scalloped corn sounds a little plebian...she also made some kind of salmon puffs, a batch of chorizo pinwheels, and an artichoke-and-goat-cheese concoction that will fill little wonton wrappers, all of which are a little more delicate and flavorful than scalloped corn. Honestly, though, I like scalloped corn, that staple of holiday banquet tables here in the Midwest, but I don't like it as much as my brother likes, say, green bean casserole. That guy, who also happens to be a chef, loves him some green bean casserole).
But I digress.
There is a box of Ritz crackers next to the sink. I glanced at it once, while I was filling a glass with water, and some small part of my brain registered the fact that Rachael Ray was on the box of Ritz crackers. I didn't think about it too much, but then, while I was brewing a late-afternoon cup of coffee, I looked at the box of Ritz crackers again, and I was like, "Rachael Ray is on the box of Ritz crackers." She's holding a tray filled with snacks, and smiling the way only Rachael Ray can smile. What bothers me more than the fact that Rachael Ray is on the box of Ritz crackers is the fact that I noticed it once without having it really register. Next thing you know, Paula Dean is going to be smiling up at me from my tube of Jimmy Dean sausage, and I won't even notice. Or Sandra Lee is going to show up on my box of cereal, and I'll just tip that crazy lady upside down while I fill my bowl, and I'll put the box away, and go for the milk, without giving her [insert adjective here] face so much as a second glance.
But I digress.
There is a box of Ritz crackers next to the sink. I glanced at it once, while I was filling a glass with water, and some small part of my brain registered the fact that Rachael Ray was on the box of Ritz crackers. I didn't think about it too much, but then, while I was brewing a late-afternoon cup of coffee, I looked at the box of Ritz crackers again, and I was like, "Rachael Ray is on the box of Ritz crackers." She's holding a tray filled with snacks, and smiling the way only Rachael Ray can smile. What bothers me more than the fact that Rachael Ray is on the box of Ritz crackers is the fact that I noticed it once without having it really register. Next thing you know, Paula Dean is going to be smiling up at me from my tube of Jimmy Dean sausage, and I won't even notice. Or Sandra Lee is going to show up on my box of cereal, and I'll just tip that crazy lady upside down while I fill my bowl, and I'll put the box away, and go for the milk, without giving her [insert adjective here] face so much as a second glance.
12.20.2006
Blogging Question
I know that's a pretty lame blog-post title, but it's a fairly accurate one, too. What I have is a blogging question--or, rather, a Blogger question:
I have a little project I want to put into blog format, but I want the posts to start with the old and progress to the new, which, of course, isn't how Blogger typically operates. I've looked all around the setting and template stuff but haven't found anything that would allow me to do what I'm looking to do. So, does anyone know if this kind of date reversal is possible?
If anybody can help, I'll bake you some cookies. Or write you a poem. Or something. I'd sing you a song, but, man, I'm a terrible singer.
I have a little project I want to put into blog format, but I want the posts to start with the old and progress to the new, which, of course, isn't how Blogger typically operates. I've looked all around the setting and template stuff but haven't found anything that would allow me to do what I'm looking to do. So, does anyone know if this kind of date reversal is possible?
If anybody can help, I'll bake you some cookies. Or write you a poem. Or something. I'd sing you a song, but, man, I'm a terrible singer.
the Ohio State University...
MFA program is doing all kinds of great things lately. And the proof, of course, is in the pudding. Or, you know, the writing.
Check out an essay by one of my favorites, Kyle Minor, in the new issue of Redivider.
And once you're through with that, go read this story by Holly Goddard Jones--who, I believe, used to be one of Kyle's classmates--in the new issue of Kenyon Review. You can also read an interview with Ms. Goddard Jones here.
Check out an essay by one of my favorites, Kyle Minor, in the new issue of Redivider.
And once you're through with that, go read this story by Holly Goddard Jones--who, I believe, used to be one of Kyle's classmates--in the new issue of Kenyon Review. You can also read an interview with Ms. Goddard Jones here.
12.19.2006
AWP Atlanta
I finally made my arrangements for the upcoming AWP conference in Atlanta--I renewed my AWP membership, registered for the conference, purchased my plane tickets, and reserved my hotel room. Thanks to the AWP's online store and Travelocity, it was mostly painless, except for this: I just dropped what feels like a ton of cash for a conference I'm pretty ambivalent about attending in the first place. Maybe somebody on the plane will be giving neck rubs. Or the book fair will feature a jacuzzi surrounded by complimentary cocktails and really good snacks.
Holiday Lewdness
I started watching SNL about twenty seconds into this and was rolling. It's a tad lewd for this particlular blog, but I'm preserving it here anyway. 'Tis the season.
A note on Timberlake: I've never really listened to much of his music, but he is a pretty solid SNL host. I love the hand gesture he makes for Step #2, and his Hanukkah face pretty much kills me.
A note on Timberlake: I've never really listened to much of his music, but he is a pretty solid SNL host. I love the hand gesture he makes for Step #2, and his Hanukkah face pretty much kills me.
12.18.2006
Forthcoming
Received some good news in my inbox yesterday: One of my little stories, which also happens to be a part of that chapbook I submitted to a few contests recently, has been accepted at 5_Trope. It'll most likely appear in their second issue of 2007.
For some reason, whenever I get good writing-related news, and am forced to imagine the future, that time when story X will appear in magazine Y, or when I will get to give some reading or attend some conference, a small part of my brain wonders whether or not I will be alive then, at that place two or three or six months down the road.
For some reason, whenever I get good writing-related news, and am forced to imagine the future, that time when story X will appear in magazine Y, or when I will get to give some reading or attend some conference, a small part of my brain wonders whether or not I will be alive then, at that place two or three or six months down the road.
12.14.2006
12.12.2006
Online Find--Taraxa
There's a new magazine dedicated to flash fiction on the scene. It's called Taraxa, but I don't know much else about it because its "about" page is written in Norwegian. The stories, though, thankfully, appear in English.
Go here for a Claudia Smith story that I think appears in the latest issue of Noo as well.
Go here for a pretty little story by Katrina Denza.
And go here for an amazing piece, my favorite in the issue I've read so far, by Sam Lipsyte.
Thanks to Pia Z. for showing me the way.
And speaking of Ms. Ehrhardt, her collection of stories, Famous Fathers, is available for pre-order on Amazon. MacAdam/Cage deserves serious props for putting this one out into the world; I'll be getting mine as soon as it's available.
Go here for a Claudia Smith story that I think appears in the latest issue of Noo as well.
Go here for a pretty little story by Katrina Denza.
And go here for an amazing piece, my favorite in the issue I've read so far, by Sam Lipsyte.
Thanks to Pia Z. for showing me the way.
And speaking of Ms. Ehrhardt, her collection of stories, Famous Fathers, is available for pre-order on Amazon. MacAdam/Cage deserves serious props for putting this one out into the world; I'll be getting mine as soon as it's available.
12.10.2006
The Fish
A while back I mentioned Opium Magazine's Shya Scanlon Seven-Line Prose Award. Well, I wrote three seven-line stories, and I thought one of them was pretty decent, so I paid my seven-dollar entry fee and submitted it. Not too long after that, though, I came across this story by Lydia Davis. It's called "The Fish," and once you're done reading it, you can listen to the author herself reading it here.
At any rate, Ms. Davis managed to make my little seven-line story seem pretty terrible. I think it's from her book Break it Down, which was a favorite of mine about seven years ago. I haven't read it since then as a collection, but I've read a number of individual stories in anthologies, and I've even taught a few of them. I've been trying to figure out what book I want to read next, and based on how much I dug my re-reading of "The Fish," maybe it's time I get Break it Down down off the shelf.
At any rate, Ms. Davis managed to make my little seven-line story seem pretty terrible. I think it's from her book Break it Down, which was a favorite of mine about seven years ago. I haven't read it since then as a collection, but I've read a number of individual stories in anthologies, and I've even taught a few of them. I've been trying to figure out what book I want to read next, and based on how much I dug my re-reading of "The Fish," maybe it's time I get Break it Down down off the shelf.
Sister Winter
I know I already posted one song from Mr. Stevens' Christmas album, but this one is my favorite. There's no video to go along with it yet, but this'll do just fine for now.
For some reason, I've always liked Christmas songs of the sad variety: Elvis' "Blue Christmas," Pearl Jam's "Let Me Sleep (It's Christmas Time)," and Prince's "Another Lonely Christmas." This one definitely fits well with the rest of those, I think.
I know I already posted one song from Mr. Stevens' Christmas album, but this one is my favorite. There's no video to go along with it yet, but this'll do just fine for now.
For some reason, I've always liked Christmas songs of the sad variety: Elvis' "Blue Christmas," Pearl Jam's "Let Me Sleep (It's Christmas Time)," and Prince's "Another Lonely Christmas." This one definitely fits well with the rest of those, I think.
12.09.2006
Uncle Blogging
As I said a few entries ago, I spent the night with my nephew D. last weekend. When I first got there, I got all dressed up in my brother-in-law's coveralls and Carhartt coat, his rubber boots, and D. and I played around in the snow for an hour or so. We dug tunnels through a big snow drift.
Then we came inside and tried to warm up, watching movies that were questionably age-appropriate (Little Man and Blade III: Trinity).
At one point during Little Man, D. turned to me and said, "What's a quickie?" It always amazes me how much kids "get" even though they pretend ignorance. And though Little Man is filled with the kinds of things that titillate ten-year-old boys, it was so bad D. got bored with it. So I ordered pizzas, and we drove to Orion to pick them up.
When we got back, D. started making a pot of coffee. I was like, "What are you doing?"
He said, "Making coffee for the morning."
I kind of blew it off, but then an hour or so later D. was getting out the blender while holding the full coffee pot in his hand. I took the coffee pot from him, helped him set up the blender. Apparently, we were making "smoothies": coffee, milk, copious amounts of sugar.
A little after Blade ended, D. said he wanted to sleep downstairs, so I made a bed on the floor, and he took the couch. Sometime during the night, D. joined me on the floor, where I slept fairly uncomfortably. And then in the morning, I heard someone rummaging around in the kitchen, getting out the previous night's pizza boxes, turning on the microwave. I figured D.'s dad was home, and I rolled over, burrowing into the covers. There was a heap of blankets on the floor next to me, which I thought was D., but eventually I opened my eyes enough to realize that D. was up, and was probably the person rummaging around in the kitchen.
So I got up, and went for my glasses and wedding ring on the end table. Once I had my glasses on, I realized there was a cup of coffee on the table next to my wedding ring. D. had heated up some of the previous night's coffee in the microwave, and then left it in the living room for me without waking me up.
I carried it into the kitchen, to thank him, but then saw the blender sitting on the counter. So instead, I thanked him, and then told him we were going to mix up another batch of those smoothies.
Then we came inside and tried to warm up, watching movies that were questionably age-appropriate (Little Man and Blade III: Trinity).
At one point during Little Man, D. turned to me and said, "What's a quickie?" It always amazes me how much kids "get" even though they pretend ignorance. And though Little Man is filled with the kinds of things that titillate ten-year-old boys, it was so bad D. got bored with it. So I ordered pizzas, and we drove to Orion to pick them up.
When we got back, D. started making a pot of coffee. I was like, "What are you doing?"
He said, "Making coffee for the morning."
I kind of blew it off, but then an hour or so later D. was getting out the blender while holding the full coffee pot in his hand. I took the coffee pot from him, helped him set up the blender. Apparently, we were making "smoothies": coffee, milk, copious amounts of sugar.
A little after Blade ended, D. said he wanted to sleep downstairs, so I made a bed on the floor, and he took the couch. Sometime during the night, D. joined me on the floor, where I slept fairly uncomfortably. And then in the morning, I heard someone rummaging around in the kitchen, getting out the previous night's pizza boxes, turning on the microwave. I figured D.'s dad was home, and I rolled over, burrowing into the covers. There was a heap of blankets on the floor next to me, which I thought was D., but eventually I opened my eyes enough to realize that D. was up, and was probably the person rummaging around in the kitchen.
So I got up, and went for my glasses and wedding ring on the end table. Once I had my glasses on, I realized there was a cup of coffee on the table next to my wedding ring. D. had heated up some of the previous night's coffee in the microwave, and then left it in the living room for me without waking me up.
I carried it into the kitchen, to thank him, but then saw the blender sitting on the counter. So instead, I thanked him, and then told him we were going to mix up another batch of those smoothies.
Making a List
The term has been over for almost four weeks now, and I'm wondering where all my time has gone. So...
What I've Done So Far
--Graded fiction portfolios, turned in grades. It's always a pleasure to see what my students do with their revisions, and what they have to say in their critical introductions. And speaking of my students' critical introductions to their portfolios, which often address what they thought of the class, and what we read, etc., you can check out what one student had to say about me here. It's pretty funny.
--Revised some stories and sent them out to magazines. Also, I gave the chapbook one more round of revisions and sent it out to three contests. On a submissions-related side-note: I received an acceptance for a story this week. The problem: The story's already been accepted by another magazine. So, I had to send the editors notification, which pretty much sucked. It's so rare that a magazine is enthusiastic about a story...and I hate the fact that I somewhat wasted the editors' time. It's not like they're working for a lot of dough.
--Attended a few sessions on "Art & Wisdom" at this place in Princeville, Illinois. I enjoyed the classes immensely. It was nice sitting at a table, taking notes, instead of being the one doing most of the talking.
--Shopped for Christmas presents. I've ordered online what I need to order, and I even ventured out to Target and to the mall on Friday. Thanks to the fact that I was listening to Sufjan's album, I actually enjoyed the shopping experience this year.
--Read. In addition to The Road, I've recently read Ryan Boudinot's The Littlest Hitler and Stephen Elliott's My Girlfriend Comes to the City and Beats Me Up. I'll probably blog about each of those later, but I want to say now: I love Stephen Elliott's writing a ton. If you haven't read Happy Baby, pick that up first, and then move on to MGCTTCABMU. When I was shopping for gifts for people I wouldn't normally buy presents for recently on Amazon, I found his wish list and almost sent him a present. I put it in my shopping cart but eventually didn't send it because I didn't want him to think I was some kind of stalker.
--Played some video games, watched some movies, generally killed time on the Internet. I don't think these things need much further explanation.
What I Still Need To Do
--Write letters of recommendation for a few students.
--Update my C.V. and get a copy to the Dean, along with copies of all the whatnot I've published this year.
--Finish shopping for my dad and grandma.
--Prep for the Intro to Lit. class I'm teaching Winter Term.
--Start writing a new story or two.
Well, that's a start anyway. I've got three weeks until class starts.
What I've Done So Far
--Graded fiction portfolios, turned in grades. It's always a pleasure to see what my students do with their revisions, and what they have to say in their critical introductions. And speaking of my students' critical introductions to their portfolios, which often address what they thought of the class, and what we read, etc., you can check out what one student had to say about me here. It's pretty funny.
--Revised some stories and sent them out to magazines. Also, I gave the chapbook one more round of revisions and sent it out to three contests. On a submissions-related side-note: I received an acceptance for a story this week. The problem: The story's already been accepted by another magazine. So, I had to send the editors notification, which pretty much sucked. It's so rare that a magazine is enthusiastic about a story...and I hate the fact that I somewhat wasted the editors' time. It's not like they're working for a lot of dough.
--Attended a few sessions on "Art & Wisdom" at this place in Princeville, Illinois. I enjoyed the classes immensely. It was nice sitting at a table, taking notes, instead of being the one doing most of the talking.
--Shopped for Christmas presents. I've ordered online what I need to order, and I even ventured out to Target and to the mall on Friday. Thanks to the fact that I was listening to Sufjan's album, I actually enjoyed the shopping experience this year.
--Read. In addition to The Road, I've recently read Ryan Boudinot's The Littlest Hitler and Stephen Elliott's My Girlfriend Comes to the City and Beats Me Up. I'll probably blog about each of those later, but I want to say now: I love Stephen Elliott's writing a ton. If you haven't read Happy Baby, pick that up first, and then move on to MGCTTCABMU. When I was shopping for gifts for people I wouldn't normally buy presents for recently on Amazon, I found his wish list and almost sent him a present. I put it in my shopping cart but eventually didn't send it because I didn't want him to think I was some kind of stalker.
--Played some video games, watched some movies, generally killed time on the Internet. I don't think these things need much further explanation.
What I Still Need To Do
--Write letters of recommendation for a few students.
--Update my C.V. and get a copy to the Dean, along with copies of all the whatnot I've published this year.
--Finish shopping for my dad and grandma.
--Prep for the Intro to Lit. class I'm teaching Winter Term.
--Start writing a new story or two.
Well, that's a start anyway. I've got three weeks until class starts.
12.08.2006
Sufjan Stevens - Put the Lights on the Tree
J.C. bought Sufjan's five-disc Christmas album last week and burned me a copy. It's definitely putting me in the holiday spirit: Last week, while listening to it in my truck, I found myself waving at strangers. Also, I was buying presents on Amazon recently and started looking up the wish lists of people I know, and sending them presents. 'Tis the season, I suppose.
J.C. bought Sufjan's five-disc Christmas album last week and burned me a copy. It's definitely putting me in the holiday spirit: Last week, while listening to it in my truck, I found myself waving at strangers. Also, I was buying presents on Amazon recently and started looking up the wish lists of people I know, and sending them presents. 'Tis the season, I suppose.
12.05.2006
How to Hunt Squirrels
I used to work as a writing tutor in grad school. One of the "tricks" I often relied on when I came across a difficult-to-read passage, especially when working with ESL students, was to ask them what they were trying to say. Then I would write down what they said out loud, and have the student read what I'd written. I know, it's not terribly complicated. The students, though, were often surprised in a good way by what they'd "written." They'd say things like, "That sounds pretty good," or "That sounds much better." Recently, J.C. started working as an adult literacy tutor, and she said they learned how to use this same technique, which she called Language Experience Tutoring. She said she wanted to start using it with our nephew, D., and, well, I spent the night with D. this past weekend, and the following morning, I was a little tired of playing video games, so I got out my laptop. I told him that it was my job to write stories, but that I thought he'd be pretty good at writing stories, too. Then I gave him a title and he went to work:
* * *
How to Hunt Squirrels
by D. Petrie and Chad Simpson [We put our names on the thing as a final step. D. wanted to send it to some hunting/fishing expert whose name we couldn't find on the Internet. I told him that I could put it up on my blog instead, and he liked the idea, even if he didn't know what a blog was. When I typed in our names, though, D. wanted me to include his phone number, in case the hunting/fishing expert comes across our article and wants to get in touch with him.]
1. Get your pellet gun ready: put ammo in the barrel.
2. Get your hunting gear on: Wear orange and brown camouflage. The orange protects you from getting shot by other hunters.
3. Bring a bag to carry your squirrels in.
4. Go to a wooded area with lots of trees--maple, white oak, and hickory.
5. Bring along an adult--your dad or grandma. [D. took his audience into consideration after saying this out loud. He said, "Other people might think that's weird," but D. often takes his grandma into the woods with him, so I talked him into keeping it.]
6. Stay down in the brush. Sit and wait. Be patient.
7. Look for the squirrels up in trees and running on the ground. Also, look for holes in the trees that the squirrels live in.
8. When you see a squirrel, turn the safety on your pellet gun off. Aim for the squirrel's temple or at his leg or his side.
9. Squeeze the trigger.
10. After you've shot the squirrel, let him fall out of the tree. Wait a few minutes for him to die.
11. Pick up the squirrel by his tail or his legs, preferably the tail. [I added the word 'preferably' after D. made a face and said, "I don't like picking them up by the legs."]
12. Put the squirrel in the bag.
13. Repeat steps seven through twelve until you have five squirrels in your bag.
* * *
How to Hunt Squirrels
by D. Petrie and Chad Simpson [We put our names on the thing as a final step. D. wanted to send it to some hunting/fishing expert whose name we couldn't find on the Internet. I told him that I could put it up on my blog instead, and he liked the idea, even if he didn't know what a blog was. When I typed in our names, though, D. wanted me to include his phone number, in case the hunting/fishing expert comes across our article and wants to get in touch with him.]
1. Get your pellet gun ready: put ammo in the barrel.
2. Get your hunting gear on: Wear orange and brown camouflage. The orange protects you from getting shot by other hunters.
3. Bring a bag to carry your squirrels in.
4. Go to a wooded area with lots of trees--maple, white oak, and hickory.
5. Bring along an adult--your dad or grandma. [D. took his audience into consideration after saying this out loud. He said, "Other people might think that's weird," but D. often takes his grandma into the woods with him, so I talked him into keeping it.]
6. Stay down in the brush. Sit and wait. Be patient.
7. Look for the squirrels up in trees and running on the ground. Also, look for holes in the trees that the squirrels live in.
8. When you see a squirrel, turn the safety on your pellet gun off. Aim for the squirrel's temple or at his leg or his side.
9. Squeeze the trigger.
10. After you've shot the squirrel, let him fall out of the tree. Wait a few minutes for him to die.
11. Pick up the squirrel by his tail or his legs, preferably the tail. [I added the word 'preferably' after D. made a face and said, "I don't like picking them up by the legs."]
12. Put the squirrel in the bag.
13. Repeat steps seven through twelve until you have five squirrels in your bag.
The Wire, Season Four
J.C. and I watched the final episode of Season Four of The Wire last night on HBO-on-Demand. If you haven't yet seen this show, go and rent Season One now, or put it on your Netflix queue, however you want to go about it. Quite simply, it's the best show on television. The writing, the acting, it's all superb, and if you like good television and aren't watching this show, you're missing out.
J.C. and I were both a little sad to see Season Four end, as we agreed it was the best season so far. Here's what I'm going to miss about it:
1) The boys--Namond, Duquon, Randy, and Michael. Each of these kids reminded me of the guys I used to work with when I was a juvenile probation officer, and each one was brilliant from the first episode right through the last. I don't know how much actual screen time these guys got, but in a pretty short amount of space, they each had a terrific story arc over the course of the season, and by the end, my heart was aching for each of them.
2) Snoop--Felicia Pearson plays the coolest hitwoman ever. Whenever she came on screen, I would turn up the volume and turn on the closed-captions, because she's hard to understand, but man, I love the way she talks. She's kind of scary and sexy at the same time.
3) Prezbo--If I were to guess, I'd say that Prezbo is the alter-ego of one of the show's creators. He got a little beat up over the course of the first three seasons in a way that made me think, anyway, there was something semi-autobiographical about his character. I didn't always like the way he reacted to what was going on, but this season, Prezbo really came into his own.
4) Marlo--He's smart and ruthless, the new regime. And Jamie Hector's acting, in a show filled with great acting, really stands out.
5) Omar--In my opinion, Omar is the best-written character in the history of television. And like Jamie Hector, Michael K. Williams deserves, at the very least, some kind of award nomination. I was a little concerned for Omar's safety, though, at the end of last night's episode. SPOILER ALERT: Once he decided to sell the "hair-on" back to Prop Joe, it seemed to me Omar was a little proud and thus breaking his own code in some way, and I thought for sure hubris was going to pounce his ass. It didn't though, and I'm glad, because The Wire just wouldn't be The Wire without Omar.
And speaking of "life without" certain characters: SPOILER ALERT: Last season, I had to deal with the death of Stringer Bell. This season, it's the death of Bodie. It makes sense, story-wise, as he and Poot are pretty much all that's left over from the old B&B days, but I do hate to see him go. Every time he comes on screen, it reminds me of watching the first season of the show. Plus, I was kind of digging the interactions between him and McNulty, which, of course, are what did him in.
So, Season Four is over, but there is still hope. Word on the streets is that J.C. bought me Seasons One and Two for Christmas, so I'm going to start over from the very beginning, and then I'm going to watch them again, with the Director's commentary, so I can find out if I'm right about Prezbo, and figure out how they went about creating Omar. And eventually, Season Five will come around. It looks like they're going back to the Greeks, which thrills me, because it'll mean plenty of input and writing from the brilliant George Pelecanos.
J.C. and I were both a little sad to see Season Four end, as we agreed it was the best season so far. Here's what I'm going to miss about it:
1) The boys--Namond, Duquon, Randy, and Michael. Each of these kids reminded me of the guys I used to work with when I was a juvenile probation officer, and each one was brilliant from the first episode right through the last. I don't know how much actual screen time these guys got, but in a pretty short amount of space, they each had a terrific story arc over the course of the season, and by the end, my heart was aching for each of them.
2) Snoop--Felicia Pearson plays the coolest hitwoman ever. Whenever she came on screen, I would turn up the volume and turn on the closed-captions, because she's hard to understand, but man, I love the way she talks. She's kind of scary and sexy at the same time.
3) Prezbo--If I were to guess, I'd say that Prezbo is the alter-ego of one of the show's creators. He got a little beat up over the course of the first three seasons in a way that made me think, anyway, there was something semi-autobiographical about his character. I didn't always like the way he reacted to what was going on, but this season, Prezbo really came into his own.
4) Marlo--He's smart and ruthless, the new regime. And Jamie Hector's acting, in a show filled with great acting, really stands out.
5) Omar--In my opinion, Omar is the best-written character in the history of television. And like Jamie Hector, Michael K. Williams deserves, at the very least, some kind of award nomination. I was a little concerned for Omar's safety, though, at the end of last night's episode. SPOILER ALERT: Once he decided to sell the "hair-on" back to Prop Joe, it seemed to me Omar was a little proud and thus breaking his own code in some way, and I thought for sure hubris was going to pounce his ass. It didn't though, and I'm glad, because The Wire just wouldn't be The Wire without Omar.
And speaking of "life without" certain characters: SPOILER ALERT: Last season, I had to deal with the death of Stringer Bell. This season, it's the death of Bodie. It makes sense, story-wise, as he and Poot are pretty much all that's left over from the old B&B days, but I do hate to see him go. Every time he comes on screen, it reminds me of watching the first season of the show. Plus, I was kind of digging the interactions between him and McNulty, which, of course, are what did him in.
So, Season Four is over, but there is still hope. Word on the streets is that J.C. bought me Seasons One and Two for Christmas, so I'm going to start over from the very beginning, and then I'm going to watch them again, with the Director's commentary, so I can find out if I'm right about Prezbo, and figure out how they went about creating Omar. And eventually, Season Five will come around. It looks like they're going back to the Greeks, which thrills me, because it'll mean plenty of input and writing from the brilliant George Pelecanos.
12.02.2006
Sunday Scribblings--In the last hour...
I swept a thick coat of light snow off the front porch, then the back porch, both sets of stairs. I shoveled a crooked line of snow, fifteen inches deep in places where it had drifted, from the stairs to the front sidewalk, and then scraped the ice off the front sidewalk beneath the snow my landlord had already plowed.
I dislike the work of shoveling, sure, the sweating while bundled up, the seven-degrees cold wind hitting me in the face, the pain in my lower back from not properly bending my knees while I work, but what I dislike most, honestly, is being the snow's undoing. It is so white, so perfect, drifted all around us.
For more Sunday Scribblings, go here.
I dislike the work of shoveling, sure, the sweating while bundled up, the seven-degrees cold wind hitting me in the face, the pain in my lower back from not properly bending my knees while I work, but what I dislike most, honestly, is being the snow's undoing. It is so white, so perfect, drifted all around us.
For more Sunday Scribblings, go here.
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