More than Zero
I quit the job where I had an office (an office with my name upon the door) on Peachtree street 6 weeks ago. I spent four weeks without a job, tidying up family affairs and preparing for the move. I mean, I had no job, but I was very, very busy every one of those days. And the minute, the very second I could have had a little breather and really enjoyed my joblessness - maybe hung around sleeping until noon or something - I started another job so I could pay my bills.
I've been shelving for Borders.
I have another professional job lined up, but it doesn't start until the end of the month. So I had to do something for July's rent money. It's the best of all retail arrangements, really; half of my shift is completed before the store opens for customers, and I've rang exactly two sales on the registers. The downside to avoiding customers is that I have to wake up at 4:30 every morning so I can be at work by 6, and after 8 hours of unpacking book boxes, I have no inclination to unpack my own boxes at home. So my move-in is still stilted and my own room unpleasant, while I spent most of my time organizing the bookstore. I pass out around 8 pm every night - and I'm terribly guilty-feeling about this because my teenage sister Sara is still with me. I should be more fun. I try, but it's kind of hard to be full of fun after stocking things all day. I've promised to be more fun after I go back to a 9 to 5 job, but I think she'll be with my grandparents by then.
I do love being around books again; I love having instant access to the newest thing. I probably spent more of my childhood in Narnia, Middle Earth, and on Pern than in the real world. As a consequence everything in my life relates to some book I've read somehow, and I interact best with those who relate their thoughts through quotes gleaned from a million novels, movies, and television shows.
For instance, a couple of months ago it occurred to me that all my romantic relationships are like the experience I have when I read a Bret Easton Ellis novel. They're not at all like the actual text of a Bret Easton Ellis novel, but like my experience of reading one of his books.
First, I hear all about the book, maybe see it around a few places. Everyone raves about how good it is. "Have you read American Psycho? Oh, it's brilliant! You should really read it!"
I ask around about the book, and it's recommended by everyone. Some controversy may be discussed at this point, but in a good way; everyone has a different opinion about the book (guy). But everyone agrees I should at least give the novel a try; after all, I do read a lot.
So I pick up the book - Glamorama, or Less Than Zero, or American Psycho, or whatever. And I'm hooked right away! The prose is constructed in this way that makes me totally wish I could write like Bret Easton Ellis, and his subtext is just...he just blows me away. I tell everyone how much I'm enjoying this novel. I brag on it. People give each other secretive glances when I say this, and ask me how far I've gotten into the story in a sly kind of way.
This should be a tip-off, but after the first few chapters, I'm not going to stop reading the book now.
Things progress. They progress in the way a Bret Easton Ellis novel always progresses; he abandons his witty surface prose halfway through the book and the story gets raw, the subtext becomes a weapon. I am annoyed, but won;t quit reading. By the end of the novel, I feel embarrassed for liking it. The ending is morally indefensible, and a little gross. But I still like the book; I can't quite get over how good the beginning was, how much his prose caught me, despite the fact that the ending was so disturbing I'll never read it again.
I try to discuss my feelings about the novel with friends, but none of them quite understand what I'm trying to say. They can't get why I still like Bret Easton Ellis after what he did, right there at the end. But I do like him. And even though the book is over between us, I secretly go back and read the first few chapters over again from time to time.
And really, what's the harm in that?
Saturday, June 14, 2003
Thursday, June 05, 2003
NEAR!
NEAR!
Dinan and I were laughing exhaustedly last weekend as we moved into the new house. WE were laughing about that old sketch on Sesame Street, the one where Grover runs up to the wall and yells NEAR! and then he runs away again and yells FAR! and then he repeats himself a few times until you've got the concept, near and far.
Now we are near. We live in Atlanta. Not near Atlanta, or on the perimeter, or even in Druid Hills. We live in 30307, Fulton county, Inman Park, the neighborhood right in Little 5 Points. We live in the bottom half of a 1920's house so big that our apartment is bigger than my parent's house. We have a rock on Southern Front porch, a slimy Koi Pond in the back, and fireplaces in our bedrooms. We have a huge kitchen and an entirely separate dining room. We have hardwood floors, high ceilings, and two full baths, one with a rock - on claw footed tub that I can fully recline in. We even have a study for books and computer work and comfortable guest sleeping in.
We also have one of the world's biggest messes. It's huge and old and in the right spot but entirely filthy. Our cats are everywhere. Our stuff is in all kinds of boxes, and will take another week or two to sort out. I hate my daybed so much that I have abdicated it to my sister Sara, who is with me for a little while yet. My back hurts, I have bruises on my palms and feet, and I'm entirely flat busted broke for right now.
But we did it. We got here, into the place of our dreams. And to do it there has been crying and yelling and sacrifice and not enough sleep. And I've had to go work for Borders again for a while, busted myself back to Blue Collar for this crumbling ruin of happiness, this giant Victorian/Bungalow beauty whose maintence problems would make Bob Vila weep. We're here, we did it, and soon there will be parties, and planning, and independant publishing if I have my way.
And comfy pillows, and good food, and lots of laughter and quiet niceness. There are ceiling fans and cool drinks here, and this is where I belong, I am back in the city, and I will not be pried from it.
Dinan and I were laughing exhaustedly last weekend as we moved into the new house. WE were laughing about that old sketch on Sesame Street, the one where Grover runs up to the wall and yells NEAR! and then he runs away again and yells FAR! and then he repeats himself a few times until you've got the concept, near and far.
Now we are near. We live in Atlanta. Not near Atlanta, or on the perimeter, or even in Druid Hills. We live in 30307, Fulton county, Inman Park, the neighborhood right in Little 5 Points. We live in the bottom half of a 1920's house so big that our apartment is bigger than my parent's house. We have a rock on Southern Front porch, a slimy Koi Pond in the back, and fireplaces in our bedrooms. We have a huge kitchen and an entirely separate dining room. We have hardwood floors, high ceilings, and two full baths, one with a rock - on claw footed tub that I can fully recline in. We even have a study for books and computer work and comfortable guest sleeping in.
We also have one of the world's biggest messes. It's huge and old and in the right spot but entirely filthy. Our cats are everywhere. Our stuff is in all kinds of boxes, and will take another week or two to sort out. I hate my daybed so much that I have abdicated it to my sister Sara, who is with me for a little while yet. My back hurts, I have bruises on my palms and feet, and I'm entirely flat busted broke for right now.
But we did it. We got here, into the place of our dreams. And to do it there has been crying and yelling and sacrifice and not enough sleep. And I've had to go work for Borders again for a while, busted myself back to Blue Collar for this crumbling ruin of happiness, this giant Victorian/Bungalow beauty whose maintence problems would make Bob Vila weep. We're here, we did it, and soon there will be parties, and planning, and independant publishing if I have my way.
And comfy pillows, and good food, and lots of laughter and quiet niceness. There are ceiling fans and cool drinks here, and this is where I belong, I am back in the city, and I will not be pried from it.
Tuesday, May 27, 2003
My life is a Twenty-footer
My father carefully backed up my little Toyota in the driveway, waited for my signal, and then rammed the right front bumper into a tree stump four or five times.
WHAM!
"Is it straight yet?"
"No."
WHAM!
"How about now?"
"Two or three more times should do it, Dad. You've got to hit the tree just a little harder."
"Okay."
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
A lady walking her dog in the street stopped to stare at us. The upper middle class neighborhood in Nashville where mom and dad moved a couple of years ago is unused to my father's type of car repair habits, such as ramming fenders into trees to straighten them, or his wont of staying up until 2 in the morning with a 12-pack and a can of industrial solvent, stripping the paint off another muscle car. He had two teenage boys helping him this last time, and when they would forget his warnings about the strength of the solvent, there would be swearing an a quick run to the water jug to wash the acids off themselves before any scarring could occur. I offered the teens long sleeve shirts, but they declined; they were far too "manly" to worry about chemical burns.
As you may have guessed, I was in Nashville briefly last week. I was also in a wreck, but dad was able to make my car a "20-footer:" again; that is to say, from 20 feet away it looks OK. In the dark. With my glasses off. The right headlight is now mismatched, and held on by an unholy mix of JV weld and duct tape. It works because the wires are spliced together, and the fender is back to something like a straight shape after our session with the tree.
I returned to Georgia with my teen-age sister on hand. She's going to help me move into my new place, and I'm helping her in other small ways. So far all we've managed to figure out about each other is that we're evenly matched in darts, and that I can be rather mean sometimes. This last bit of information was not new to either of us. Neither was the fact that we're both dirt poor. She may come live with me at some point in the future. We both find this a terrifying and thrilling prospect. It would alter both our lives substantially. The next two weeks is sort of a dry run, an exploration of possibilities.
Just before I went to Nashville, I went to the ocean, and fished with my Grandfather. It was all predators and no prey; we caught sharks and stingrays and I learned that we shouldn't catch blue crab at all this year, they were expecting the numbers to be down again. The numbers are down again. That phrase covers a lot in my life right now.
I hung out with Abby. I saw Skeet, and he had the best haircut I've seen on him in years; I missed out on seeing Cairy because there wasn't time. I negotiated future roommate-ness with Ron and Dinan. Christi and I ran around a bit, called on Winn. I dropped in on Kati & Michael for about 20 minutes. And that's all the people I had time to see. I miss my peeps. Soon though, they'll have a comfy and interesting place to visit. I'm working on my house of comfy pillows and good things to eat. Whew. Gonna make my deadline, just barely.
I think when I move I'll start a new title/subject index over on pitas. Yeah. Rock on with new organizational skills!
My father carefully backed up my little Toyota in the driveway, waited for my signal, and then rammed the right front bumper into a tree stump four or five times.
WHAM!
"Is it straight yet?"
"No."
WHAM!
"How about now?"
"Two or three more times should do it, Dad. You've got to hit the tree just a little harder."
"Okay."
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
A lady walking her dog in the street stopped to stare at us. The upper middle class neighborhood in Nashville where mom and dad moved a couple of years ago is unused to my father's type of car repair habits, such as ramming fenders into trees to straighten them, or his wont of staying up until 2 in the morning with a 12-pack and a can of industrial solvent, stripping the paint off another muscle car. He had two teenage boys helping him this last time, and when they would forget his warnings about the strength of the solvent, there would be swearing an a quick run to the water jug to wash the acids off themselves before any scarring could occur. I offered the teens long sleeve shirts, but they declined; they were far too "manly" to worry about chemical burns.
As you may have guessed, I was in Nashville briefly last week. I was also in a wreck, but dad was able to make my car a "20-footer:" again; that is to say, from 20 feet away it looks OK. In the dark. With my glasses off. The right headlight is now mismatched, and held on by an unholy mix of JV weld and duct tape. It works because the wires are spliced together, and the fender is back to something like a straight shape after our session with the tree.
I returned to Georgia with my teen-age sister on hand. She's going to help me move into my new place, and I'm helping her in other small ways. So far all we've managed to figure out about each other is that we're evenly matched in darts, and that I can be rather mean sometimes. This last bit of information was not new to either of us. Neither was the fact that we're both dirt poor. She may come live with me at some point in the future. We both find this a terrifying and thrilling prospect. It would alter both our lives substantially. The next two weeks is sort of a dry run, an exploration of possibilities.
Just before I went to Nashville, I went to the ocean, and fished with my Grandfather. It was all predators and no prey; we caught sharks and stingrays and I learned that we shouldn't catch blue crab at all this year, they were expecting the numbers to be down again. The numbers are down again. That phrase covers a lot in my life right now.
I hung out with Abby. I saw Skeet, and he had the best haircut I've seen on him in years; I missed out on seeing Cairy because there wasn't time. I negotiated future roommate-ness with Ron and Dinan. Christi and I ran around a bit, called on Winn. I dropped in on Kati & Michael for about 20 minutes. And that's all the people I had time to see. I miss my peeps. Soon though, they'll have a comfy and interesting place to visit. I'm working on my house of comfy pillows and good things to eat. Whew. Gonna make my deadline, just barely.
I think when I move I'll start a new title/subject index over on pitas. Yeah. Rock on with new organizational skills!
Monday, May 26, 2003
Scar
by Joe Henry
What does this look like to you?
A mark so fine, you barely see.
You have one just like it, too—
A twisting vine,
A mark so fine;
Cause I love you with all I am
And you love me because you are
As fearless as a twisting vine,
A mark so fine
But still a scar
Fear plays dumb then eats the soul
Like a vagabond with a fishing pole
He whistles but he cannot sing,
It’s an awful tune
But very soon
I find that I am whistling, too
And your window is like a star
That I sit beneath like a vagabond
Who wears his fear
Just like a scar
The blade of our outrageous fortune
Like a parade, it cuts a path,
Light shows on our foolish way
And darkness on
our aftermath;
If I love you to save myself
And you love me because we are
So fool to think that our parade
Could leave a path
But not a scar
And I love you with all I am
And you love me with what you are—
As pretty as a twisting vine,
A mark so fine
But still a scar.
Thursday, May 22, 2003
A Recent List of Bad Decisions
1 I drove to Brunswick to visit my Grandparents even though I'm darn near broke. The trip was Okay, but my cousin ended up not driving down to meet me (she got food poisoning), and without any siblings around, the focus ended up being on recent family stresses. The trip is 6 hours each way, and for stretches and stretches on interstate there is nothing to do except count armadillo corpses.
2 I spent exactly 24 hours back in Atlanta, following job leads and chasing an apartment lease.
3 Then I drove to Nashville.
4 Where I got into a car wreck on the corner of Hillsboro Road and Hobbs.
5 It was my fault; I was turning from a no turn lane.
6 Then I got drunk with Christi and Dinan and acted stupid enough to make them both mad at me.
7 My parents have let two new small dogs into the family to replace Juanita, who was hit by a car. One of the dogs chews on things and bites the children, and so lives in the backyard on a dog run. The other dog is a baby Chihuahua, who cries if it's not held all the time and has to pee roughly every 20 minutes.
8 I haven't called Cairy or Skeet, and I swore I'd call them as soon as I got to Nashville again. I have to leave Saturday, and I have no idea how I'll see either of them in that time frame, meaning I am, roughly, a big fat liar.
9 I'm not e-mailing anyone.
10 I'm not returning calls.
11 I'm overnighting all my savings to a woman in Atlanta for an apartment I should have more money for.
12 Did I mention this woman has no idea how to be a landlord, but I'm renting from her anyway?
13 I can't remember if I paid my insurance company, and I need to fix my car. So I'm going to do this at home with my dad's equipment.
14 Nothing is as it should be.
15 I'm probably going to end up taking care of at least one of my sisters pretty soon.
16 I still don't have a job.
17 I'm going to put all the new utilities in my name.
18 I'm still going to start a small press, and I'm thinking about calling it "Bad Decisions Press".
19 I plan on it consistently losing money.
20 I haven't been asking for the right kind of hugs.
21
22 I posted this list to my blog, where everyone can read it.
1 I drove to Brunswick to visit my Grandparents even though I'm darn near broke. The trip was Okay, but my cousin ended up not driving down to meet me (she got food poisoning), and without any siblings around, the focus ended up being on recent family stresses. The trip is 6 hours each way, and for stretches and stretches on interstate there is nothing to do except count armadillo corpses.
2 I spent exactly 24 hours back in Atlanta, following job leads and chasing an apartment lease.
3 Then I drove to Nashville.
4 Where I got into a car wreck on the corner of Hillsboro Road and Hobbs.
5 It was my fault; I was turning from a no turn lane.
6 Then I got drunk with Christi and Dinan and acted stupid enough to make them both mad at me.
7 My parents have let two new small dogs into the family to replace Juanita, who was hit by a car. One of the dogs chews on things and bites the children, and so lives in the backyard on a dog run. The other dog is a baby Chihuahua, who cries if it's not held all the time and has to pee roughly every 20 minutes.
8 I haven't called Cairy or Skeet, and I swore I'd call them as soon as I got to Nashville again. I have to leave Saturday, and I have no idea how I'll see either of them in that time frame, meaning I am, roughly, a big fat liar.
9 I'm not e-mailing anyone.
10 I'm not returning calls.
11 I'm overnighting all my savings to a woman in Atlanta for an apartment I should have more money for.
12 Did I mention this woman has no idea how to be a landlord, but I'm renting from her anyway?
13 I can't remember if I paid my insurance company, and I need to fix my car. So I'm going to do this at home with my dad's equipment.
14 Nothing is as it should be.
15 I'm probably going to end up taking care of at least one of my sisters pretty soon.
16 I still don't have a job.
17 I'm going to put all the new utilities in my name.
18 I'm still going to start a small press, and I'm thinking about calling it "Bad Decisions Press".
19 I plan on it consistently losing money.
20 I haven't been asking for the right kind of hugs.
21
 I taste like Peanut Butter.I am one of the most blendable flavours; I go with sweet, I go with sour, I go with bland, I go with anything. I am practical and good company, but have something of a tendency to hang around when I'm not wanted, unaware that my presence is not welcome. What Flavour Are You? |
22 I posted this list to my blog, where everyone can read it.
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