Summer Break
Thursday, May 15, 2008 | comments (12)
Summer is coming, and I'm going away for a little bit. There are a few projects I need to attend to, and even though I've always been of the mindset that I really should be able to do this blog and these other things at the same time, lately this philosophy hasn't been panning out too well.
So I'm going to take this off of my plate and put my energy into these other things for a while. But this isn't a "retirement" message or anything dramatic like that. I still enjoy the hell out of this thing, and I'll definitely be back. I'm just not sure when. Maybe a month or two, maybe all summer. Certainly not longer than that, I hope.
Anyway, I hope you keep me in your reader. And I'll see you when break is over. I'll miss hanging out during lunch. And smoking in the parking lot during Photography. And ... oh, oh! ... I almost forgot ... will you sign my yearbook? Thanks! You're so cool!
link to this | comments (12) | File: Ho_Hum
So I'm going to take this off of my plate and put my energy into these other things for a while. But this isn't a "retirement" message or anything dramatic like that. I still enjoy the hell out of this thing, and I'll definitely be back. I'm just not sure when. Maybe a month or two, maybe all summer. Certainly not longer than that, I hope.
Anyway, I hope you keep me in your reader. And I'll see you when break is over. I'll miss hanging out during lunch. And smoking in the parking lot during Photography. And ... oh, oh! ... I almost forgot ... will you sign my yearbook? Thanks! You're so cool!
link to this | comments (12) | File: Ho_Hum
I'll Take My Shirt Off, But Only If It's Warm
Tuesday, May 13, 2008 | comments (5)
When my dad and my grandpa used to mow the lawn, they would do it "bare-chested." That's what my dad would call it. And, as a boy of four or five, I was intrigued by this concept, that of bare-chestedness. Because I was keenly aware that while being in this state was something the two model men in my life seemed to do whenever they wanted, the women never did—my mom, my grandmother, my sister. Clearly, being in this state of bare-chestedness was one of those things only boys could do, along with the awesome faculty to pee while standing up. Damn we were lucky.
Of course, as soon as I discovered this, I too went bare-chested whenever I got the chance, because it was profoundly important to me to be like my dad. And even though I couldn't actually mow the lawn yet, I used to follow behind him with a plastic Fisher-Price model. And there I would be: jean-shorts, cowboy boots (which you had to pry off of me when I went to bed) and a bare-chest which, unlike my dad's, had no "fur" on it.
Just to be clear, my dad didn't wear cowboy boots when he mowed the lawn, so I'm not sure where that came from. I've since substituted the boots for New Balance or Merrell which I suppose in some ways is a real tragedy, but the rest of the outfit is pretty much the same: shorts and a bare chest—grunt. That is until recently. Because Jersey's weather isn't reliably warm in April, or even May. This year, the warm spring days have been few, and have been bookmarked by bouts of cold, wet rain.
So this weekend, as the clouds and wind gathered for another onslaught of the wetness, I sliced blades of grass in a long-sleeved cotton shirt and a red fleece sweater-vest.
Dad never told me there'd be days like this.
link to this | comments (5) | File: Oogah Lawn Family Childhood
Of course, as soon as I discovered this, I too went bare-chested whenever I got the chance, because it was profoundly important to me to be like my dad. And even though I couldn't actually mow the lawn yet, I used to follow behind him with a plastic Fisher-Price model. And there I would be: jean-shorts, cowboy boots (which you had to pry off of me when I went to bed) and a bare-chest which, unlike my dad's, had no "fur" on it.
Just to be clear, my dad didn't wear cowboy boots when he mowed the lawn, so I'm not sure where that came from. I've since substituted the boots for New Balance or Merrell which I suppose in some ways is a real tragedy, but the rest of the outfit is pretty much the same: shorts and a bare chest—grunt. That is until recently. Because Jersey's weather isn't reliably warm in April, or even May. This year, the warm spring days have been few, and have been bookmarked by bouts of cold, wet rain.
So this weekend, as the clouds and wind gathered for another onslaught of the wetness, I sliced blades of grass in a long-sleeved cotton shirt and a red fleece sweater-vest.
Dad never told me there'd be days like this.
link to this | comments (5) | File: Oogah Lawn Family Childhood
Reads Well, But Can You Dance to It?
Tuesday, May 06, 2008 | comments (10)
The memes have been flying all over the place lately. And I got hit in the crossfire. Twice. One in each leg ... I've been tagged by Lemmonex and Jeff. But here's the thing ... one of these here memes asks for six quirks and the other asks for seven random/weird things. Together this adds up to ... let's see, carry the one ... thirteen. And there's no way I'm posting thirteen things about myself. Even if I space them out over two posts, it'll still be a total of 13 in a week and, well, that's just ... unlucky. So I've got to throw one more in for good measure. And good karma.
So here we go, six plus seven, plus one. Random/Weird/Quirky. And since we're already on the subject, we might as well start with this one:
Lemmonex didn't post rules to "seven things," so as far as I can tell there is no tag requirement. So I'm going to claim ignorance and go with that. But there were clear rules for six things, as set forth by Jeff. Here they are:
Ya'll have been tagged. Enjoy.
link to this | comments (10) | File: Things Music Ho_Hum Books Blog
So here we go, six plus seven, plus one. Random/Weird/Quirky. And since we're already on the subject, we might as well start with this one:
1) I'm superstitious. When I used to swim competitively, I had a pre-race luck-building routine. It involved doing certain stretches and listening to certain music on my yellow Sony Walkman tape player. Oh, and it was crucial that I touch water before the race. If I did not do these things, I knew the race wouldn't go right. You could call this superstitious, or I guess you could call it OCD (which seems to be a theme for these memes). I prefer the former. Let's move on ...
2) Even though I'm really not a huge political junkie, my Sunday mornings would be sad and incomplete without Meet the Press. And if it's one of those mornings where David Gregory or Andrea Mitchell is hosting, well, that just crushes my soul altogether.
3) Let's pretend there's something you'd really like me to write down on paper with a pen. And let's say you told me I had to write it with something other than a Pilot G-2 .05 black ink pen. In this situation, I would be forced to tell you to go fuck yourself. Because if I can't write it with one of those pens, then I don't care to write it at all, thank you. I will search my house for hours for one of those pens even when there is a whole cup full of old pens on a bookshelf in my room. (Does this still count as "superstitious," or are we definitely getting into OCD territory now?)
4) I believe that the problem with blogs is that you can't dance to them, unless maybe they are blogs about music and a song is embedded within the post. But then you're really dancing to the song, not the post itself. This sucks. Blog posts should be like "prose songs."
5) If my blog posts were songs, I would want them to be Soul Coughing songs, which totally belies #4, because I've never felt like dancing to Soul Coughing. But Mike Doughty writes great, prose-like lyrics, which I love.
6) Even though I'm an English major and love words, most poetry makes me grow a big rubbery one. There are a few exceptions, though. Most notably, John Berryman and A.R. Ammons. Also, I pretend not to like Elizabeth Bishop, but I sort of do. And who doesn't like a little William Carlos Williams now and again? Okay, maybe I like some poetry.
7) I don't read novels enough anymore. I used to. But the Internets ruined that.
8) Some authors I like have blogs. All authors I love, don't. (And I'm not talking about blogs written by marketing staff.) I'm not sure if this is a generational gap, a technology gap, a "literary elitism" gap, or a little bit of all three. In any case, it's a shame.
9) I've been working on a novel for the past two and a half years. I don't like people to ask me "How's the novel coming?" so I mostly don't tell anybody about it. It's extremely difficult to shake the feeling of futility you get when working on a novel.
10) When people ask me what I do, I want to tell them this: "I write, but I make money by building Web sites." This is pretty much the truth. However, I usually leave off the first part about writing. Because I know what people are really asking is "How do you make money?"
11) I've been on a stage in front of a room full of strangers ass-naked. Actually, I think I still had socks on. Which must have been—oh God—so sexy. There were photos, but C and I burned them.
12) I'm thinking about #11 because today is C's and my wedding anniversary. Eight years. The years are easy to keep track of because we were married in 2000.
13) I recently bought a voice recorder so that I could record my parent's speaking on a number of subjects about their life. I did this in part to capture the stories. But also because for me, there's just something about hearing the voice of one of your parents that touches something. Even now, even at thirty-four. And I want to be able to have that as long as I'm alive.
14) I wear crocs. A lot. But just around the house. I have yet to wear them to the store or anything. So I'm not a total monster.
2) Even though I'm really not a huge political junkie, my Sunday mornings would be sad and incomplete without Meet the Press. And if it's one of those mornings where David Gregory or Andrea Mitchell is hosting, well, that just crushes my soul altogether.
3) Let's pretend there's something you'd really like me to write down on paper with a pen. And let's say you told me I had to write it with something other than a Pilot G-2 .05 black ink pen. In this situation, I would be forced to tell you to go fuck yourself. Because if I can't write it with one of those pens, then I don't care to write it at all, thank you. I will search my house for hours for one of those pens even when there is a whole cup full of old pens on a bookshelf in my room. (Does this still count as "superstitious," or are we definitely getting into OCD territory now?)
4) I believe that the problem with blogs is that you can't dance to them, unless maybe they are blogs about music and a song is embedded within the post. But then you're really dancing to the song, not the post itself. This sucks. Blog posts should be like "prose songs."
5) If my blog posts were songs, I would want them to be Soul Coughing songs, which totally belies #4, because I've never felt like dancing to Soul Coughing. But Mike Doughty writes great, prose-like lyrics, which I love.
6) Even though I'm an English major and love words, most poetry makes me grow a big rubbery one. There are a few exceptions, though. Most notably, John Berryman and A.R. Ammons. Also, I pretend not to like Elizabeth Bishop, but I sort of do. And who doesn't like a little William Carlos Williams now and again? Okay, maybe I like some poetry.
7) I don't read novels enough anymore. I used to. But the Internets ruined that.
8) Some authors I like have blogs. All authors I love, don't. (And I'm not talking about blogs written by marketing staff.) I'm not sure if this is a generational gap, a technology gap, a "literary elitism" gap, or a little bit of all three. In any case, it's a shame.
9) I've been working on a novel for the past two and a half years. I don't like people to ask me "How's the novel coming?" so I mostly don't tell anybody about it. It's extremely difficult to shake the feeling of futility you get when working on a novel.
10) When people ask me what I do, I want to tell them this: "I write, but I make money by building Web sites." This is pretty much the truth. However, I usually leave off the first part about writing. Because I know what people are really asking is "How do you make money?"
11) I've been on a stage in front of a room full of strangers ass-naked. Actually, I think I still had socks on. Which must have been—oh God—so sexy. There were photos, but C and I burned them.
12) I'm thinking about #11 because today is C's and my wedding anniversary. Eight years. The years are easy to keep track of because we were married in 2000.
13) I recently bought a voice recorder so that I could record my parent's speaking on a number of subjects about their life. I did this in part to capture the stories. But also because for me, there's just something about hearing the voice of one of your parents that touches something. Even now, even at thirty-four. And I want to be able to have that as long as I'm alive.
14) I wear crocs. A lot. But just around the house. I have yet to wear them to the store or anything. So I'm not a total monster.
Lemmonex didn't post rules to "seven things," so as far as I can tell there is no tag requirement. So I'm going to claim ignorance and go with that. But there were clear rules for six things, as set forth by Jeff. Here they are:
- Tell about six unspectacular quirks of yours
- Link the person who tagged you
- Mention the rules in your blog
- Tag six following bloggers by linking them
- Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger's blogs letting them know they've been tagged
Ya'll have been tagged. Enjoy.
link to this | comments (10) | File: Things Music Ho_Hum Books Blog
Tawny, with a Capital T, which Rhymes with P, and that Stands for Poo
Friday, May 02, 2008 | comments (5)
The book says that accidents will happen with these puppy creatures, but I had no idea how quickly the shit would drop. Literally. On my kitchen floor. It took all of twenty minutes for that first turd to fall. And it really fell, flat and hot and reeking like something dishonest, on the dog's water bowl. Dog's aren't supposed to crap on their own water bowl, are they? Don't they know about not shitting where they eat? I have to assume that normally she would not have considered this option. But this wasn't a normal time for her. And in the altered mental state she was in—still a bit out of sorts from having just been spayed a day earlier, and now finding herself in a strange home after a strange ride in a strange truck with a strange guy sporting a strange goatee on his strange face—for her, up was down, right was left. Water bowl was poop depository.
I accept the blame, because I didn't appreciate just how finely-tuned an instrument was the puppy digestive system. The book does indeed say that when a puppy eats, it will immediately need to poop. But I figured "immediately" meant, you know, something reasonable. Like within a half-hour. Turns out pups are supremely unreasonable. And immediately ... means immediately. If food goes in, poop is going to come out. It's actually kind of beautiful in its simplicity, when it isn't happening in your kitchen.
Anyway, for this pup, disoriented and maybe a bit scared, if poop was going to come out, it might as well go in the water bowl. I think this is why I have always been a cat person. I don't care what altered state of mind a cat is in, or how scared it might be, or if she happens to be riding the crest of a blue-fuzz, anus-tingling pot (catnip) high, that cat won't be shitting in her water bowl. Under the bed, maybe. Or behind the sofa. Or in the closet. But not in the bowl. Lord no. Not a cat. That would be barbaric.
Let me back up a bit ... I was supposed to pick the pup up around 4 pm on Tuesday. Thinking ahead, I had asked the foster parent not to feed the pup her afternoon meal so that she'd have an empty stomach for the ride home. The book informed me that this was a good idea. The book is full of good ideas. And we're going by the book. But it's impossible to remember everything you've read in this book. Because it's full of the kind of detailed information that only somebody who has raised dogs all his life could possibly absorb. For this reason, we have a backup book, to clearly outline the basics. Even with these two books, I can tell it's not going to be enough. Because knowledge washes over you—as knowledge is apt to do—slowly, like one of those energy-saver light bulbs that are so popular these days. It takes a second to heat up, but then it burns strong and bright.
See, I remembered the food-in, shit-out rule. I did. I just remembered it a moment too late.
When the pup and I got home, I took her right outside to pee in her pee spot. Then I showed her around the house. Then I fed her. Check. Check. Check. Man, going by the book is easy. If I keep on like this, there won't be any accidents and the dog will be potty trained tomorrow! Idealism is such a neat trick our minds play on us.
I texted C:
Got home. She peed outside. I showed her the house and she's eating. I wasn't sure how much to give her.
I sent that message and watched her eat a little while. Then I started another text message. I've still got the incomplete message in my 'Drafts' on my phone. It begins like this:
She cried a lot in the truck ...
See the ellipsis at the end there? That wasn't actually part of the message. I added that in. It marks the exact moment when I looked up to discover this pretty pup, so cute and cuddly, squatting over her water bowl and taking a dump. As the book tells one to do in situations like this, I did not scold her. I just raised my voice. I intended it to sound strong and confident and alarming. Like this: Ahhhhh!! But I think it came out sort of questioning and confused, tinged with a bit of plea. Like this: Ahhhhh?!? Are you kidding me?!? I just lifted her up and took her outside. Once there, she promptly set to work not shitting. Instead, she decided this was a perfect time to hop around in the grass and look cute and play and do just about everything else but expel poop from her butt.
I brought her back inside and went to work cleaning the bowl. I'm not sure how many fractions of a second transpired upon re-entering the kitchen before another round of poop, this one more explosive and terrible and foul, began flowing out of this innocent-looking puppy's ass onto the floor.
The book says when you clean up puppy poop you should make sure the pup doesn't see you do it. Otherwise, she might come to think of you as her maid.
Probably some more good advice. But once again, too late.
I canceled the text I had been composing to C and began a new one:
PLEASE BRING ODOR NEUTRALIZER.
So ... in case it's not clear already, C and I have a new pup. And her name is Tawny, for her color. She's half German Shepherd and half Pit Bull. (A little heavier on the Pit Bull.) Her story is that she was rescued several weeks ago from a crack house somewhere in Plainview, NY, where she was living with her sisters and brothers underneath a porch. She and all her siblings were taken in by the good folks at All Star Pet Rescue in Linden, NJ, where they remained for the last several weeks until C and I saw her photo on the Internets and got all mushy-hearted over her. She's only eleven weeks old, so she's got a lot of growing yet to do. She has pretty eyes and a beautiful coat and she's really very smart (aside from that water-bowl pooping incident, which we won't bring up ever again.) She fetches balls (and kongs) like a pro, and one out of three times, if she's not too distracted, she'll sit when prompted. (Actually, this might be completely accidental.) Her favorite thing in the world is to sit on my lap and chew a bone.
We have commenced the crate training, so hopefully she'll be house-broken in the next three weeks. That's also around the time she'll get her final round of shots and can go out and explore and meet other dogs in the neighborhood.
The book says she should be getting lots of human contact right now. But that's been sort of a problem since we don't know too many people here yet. So hopefully this doesn't mean she'll be afraid of visitors. Since she was rescued at such a young age, she probably didn't inherit any emotional or psychological trauma from her poor, early living conditions. And that's really great. Because it means I have a clean slate upon which to instill my own neurosis and powerful psychological baggage. Yee-haw!
UPDATE: We've changed her name to Honey. Tawny just wasn't working.
link to this | comments (5) | File: Honey
I accept the blame, because I didn't appreciate just how finely-tuned an instrument was the puppy digestive system. The book does indeed say that when a puppy eats, it will immediately need to poop. But I figured "immediately" meant, you know, something reasonable. Like within a half-hour. Turns out pups are supremely unreasonable. And immediately ... means immediately. If food goes in, poop is going to come out. It's actually kind of beautiful in its simplicity, when it isn't happening in your kitchen.
Anyway, for this pup, disoriented and maybe a bit scared, if poop was going to come out, it might as well go in the water bowl. I think this is why I have always been a cat person. I don't care what altered state of mind a cat is in, or how scared it might be, or if she happens to be riding the crest of a blue-fuzz, anus-tingling pot (catnip) high, that cat won't be shitting in her water bowl. Under the bed, maybe. Or behind the sofa. Or in the closet. But not in the bowl. Lord no. Not a cat. That would be barbaric.
Let me back up a bit ... I was supposed to pick the pup up around 4 pm on Tuesday. Thinking ahead, I had asked the foster parent not to feed the pup her afternoon meal so that she'd have an empty stomach for the ride home. The book informed me that this was a good idea. The book is full of good ideas. And we're going by the book. But it's impossible to remember everything you've read in this book. Because it's full of the kind of detailed information that only somebody who has raised dogs all his life could possibly absorb. For this reason, we have a backup book, to clearly outline the basics. Even with these two books, I can tell it's not going to be enough. Because knowledge washes over you—as knowledge is apt to do—slowly, like one of those energy-saver light bulbs that are so popular these days. It takes a second to heat up, but then it burns strong and bright.
See, I remembered the food-in, shit-out rule. I did. I just remembered it a moment too late.
When the pup and I got home, I took her right outside to pee in her pee spot. Then I showed her around the house. Then I fed her. Check. Check. Check. Man, going by the book is easy. If I keep on like this, there won't be any accidents and the dog will be potty trained tomorrow! Idealism is such a neat trick our minds play on us.
I texted C:
Got home. She peed outside. I showed her the house and she's eating. I wasn't sure how much to give her.
I sent that message and watched her eat a little while. Then I started another text message. I've still got the incomplete message in my 'Drafts' on my phone. It begins like this:
She cried a lot in the truck ...
See the ellipsis at the end there? That wasn't actually part of the message. I added that in. It marks the exact moment when I looked up to discover this pretty pup, so cute and cuddly, squatting over her water bowl and taking a dump. As the book tells one to do in situations like this, I did not scold her. I just raised my voice. I intended it to sound strong and confident and alarming. Like this: Ahhhhh!! But I think it came out sort of questioning and confused, tinged with a bit of plea. Like this: Ahhhhh?!? Are you kidding me?!? I just lifted her up and took her outside. Once there, she promptly set to work not shitting. Instead, she decided this was a perfect time to hop around in the grass and look cute and play and do just about everything else but expel poop from her butt.
I brought her back inside and went to work cleaning the bowl. I'm not sure how many fractions of a second transpired upon re-entering the kitchen before another round of poop, this one more explosive and terrible and foul, began flowing out of this innocent-looking puppy's ass onto the floor.
The book says when you clean up puppy poop you should make sure the pup doesn't see you do it. Otherwise, she might come to think of you as her maid.
Probably some more good advice. But once again, too late.
I canceled the text I had been composing to C and began a new one:
PLEASE BRING ODOR NEUTRALIZER.
So ... in case it's not clear already, C and I have a new pup. And her name is Tawny, for her color. She's half German Shepherd and half Pit Bull. (A little heavier on the Pit Bull.) Her story is that she was rescued several weeks ago from a crack house somewhere in Plainview, NY, where she was living with her sisters and brothers underneath a porch. She and all her siblings were taken in by the good folks at All Star Pet Rescue in Linden, NJ, where they remained for the last several weeks until C and I saw her photo on the Internets and got all mushy-hearted over her. She's only eleven weeks old, so she's got a lot of growing yet to do. She has pretty eyes and a beautiful coat and she's really very smart (aside from that water-bowl pooping incident, which we won't bring up ever again.) She fetches balls (and kongs) like a pro, and one out of three times, if she's not too distracted, she'll sit when prompted. (Actually, this might be completely accidental.) Her favorite thing in the world is to sit on my lap and chew a bone.
We have commenced the crate training, so hopefully she'll be house-broken in the next three weeks. That's also around the time she'll get her final round of shots and can go out and explore and meet other dogs in the neighborhood.
The book says she should be getting lots of human contact right now. But that's been sort of a problem since we don't know too many people here yet. So hopefully this doesn't mean she'll be afraid of visitors. Since she was rescued at such a young age, she probably didn't inherit any emotional or psychological trauma from her poor, early living conditions. And that's really great. Because it means I have a clean slate upon which to instill my own neurosis and powerful psychological baggage. Yee-haw!
UPDATE: We've changed her name to Honey. Tawny just wasn't working.
link to this | comments (5) | File: Honey
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Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
This work by http://www.nicolasix.com is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.