If I say I’m going to do something, I generally do. Oh sure, I weasel as much as the next guy. I say “I’ll try to” whenever I can get away with it, but that’s because if I say “I will” then I really will give it a shot.
As you can imagine, this gets me into a lot of trouble. By “a lot” I mean, a LOT. I was bitten in the butt twice today by my self-imposed code of honor. The first was a repentant promise I extracted from a friend weeks ago which finally came to fruition this afternoon – but not to my benefit. Sucks, but there it is. The second bite came from NaNoWriMo.
Remember NaNoWriMo? Scroll down a few posts. You’ll find it. National Novel Writing Month. When I said I’d do it, it seemed like everyone I know had already jumped on the bandwagon and I was the last to board. I swallowed the dregs of the Kool Aid™ with all the sugar chunks at the bottom. (Dear trivia freaks: Yes, I know it was really Flavor Aid™, this is colloquial usage.) Throughout previous Novembers, all I ever heard was NaNoWriMo this and NaNoWriMo that. This year, it’s only crickets, tumbleweeds and dusty keyboards. I’m the only one left. Ironically, I’m the only one not writing a story.
Did you scroll? Never mind, I’ll repeat it. My NaNoWriMo isn’t a narrative. It’s a stream of consciousness. 1,667 words of whatever is in my head; rinse and repeat every day for a month. I’m writing this as part of it, which would be cheating unless you saw some of the utter drivel that’s been coming out of my fingers. Go on, I double-dog dare you to sit down and write 1,667 words just like that. Actually it’s not so difficult. It’s the third or fourth day that gets hard. The ones after that aren’t so fun. You start to get tired of your own kvetching, and I was tired of mine years ago.
If I was an infinite number of monkeys, instead of one tired middle-aged writer, then I’d have a snappier punch line, or the script for Hamlet, or just a lot of bananas. You have my word on that.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Pop Goes The Reason
Reason. Reasons. Reasoning. Reasonableness. They sound alike. There is a familial resemblance. But they’re not the same thing.
Reasons always mean why. You never have a reason how, only a reason why. Not a reason if, or a reason of. It’s only why.
Robert pointed out that a sum is the result of reasoning. Sure, I argued, that’s reason as a verb. I was talking about the noun, i.e. “a reason” not “to reason”. He laughed, and said “I have my reasons.” Thus proving my point, I argued reasonably.
If one has one’s reasons, then those reasons explain why something is or isn’t done, or should be done or might not be done. Why? Because of (the reason.)
Causality matters. We do things for a reason. No matter how spontaneous you think you are, there is always a catalyst and that catalyst is the reason for your impulse.
Like now, I have an impulse to reference Kant’s “Critique of Pure Reason” but I’m not going to. That would be entirely unreasonable.
Reasons always mean why. You never have a reason how, only a reason why. Not a reason if, or a reason of. It’s only why.
Robert pointed out that a sum is the result of reasoning. Sure, I argued, that’s reason as a verb. I was talking about the noun, i.e. “a reason” not “to reason”. He laughed, and said “I have my reasons.” Thus proving my point, I argued reasonably.
If one has one’s reasons, then those reasons explain why something is or isn’t done, or should be done or might not be done. Why? Because of (the reason.)
Causality matters. We do things for a reason. No matter how spontaneous you think you are, there is always a catalyst and that catalyst is the reason for your impulse.
Like now, I have an impulse to reference Kant’s “Critique of Pure Reason” but I’m not going to. That would be entirely unreasonable.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Tsk, Tsk
“Nice day,” I said in all innocence and with my best manners.
“A very nice day,” He corrected me with reproving emphasis on “very”.
To be fair, it was. This happened on Sunday. The bitterly cold and wet morning had cleared into a gorgeous afternoon. If the weather wasn’t a perfect 72 degrees then it was so close that the difference was statistically negligible. The sky was a rare particulate-free blue and if you need further proof, I had been walking the little dog for no reason other than I that had the time and I thought he would like it. A very nice day, indeed. So stipulated. But that’s completely beside my point.
Some people can layer criticism into the most innocuous comment. Granted, this is a skill usually limited to one’s older relatives, but other folks can do it too.
One of Melva’s favorite sayings is, “It’s not what you do, it’s how you do it.” In this case, small talk with a stranger who is obviously a neighbor should be genial and vapid. This particular conversation continued in the same pattern. I don’t remember the rest. You don’t want to read it anyhow. But everything I said was met with polite negativity. That’s what I took away from the contact, that this was a polite and negative man.
It was a lesson to me, so I pass it freely on to you. Don’t think about what you meant, pay attention to how it was received. If whatever you said wasn’t received the way you intended it to be then correct yourself quickly so that you don’t leave a bad impression.
And, just in case, I’ll take the little dog elsewhere tonight.
“A very nice day,” He corrected me with reproving emphasis on “very”.
To be fair, it was. This happened on Sunday. The bitterly cold and wet morning had cleared into a gorgeous afternoon. If the weather wasn’t a perfect 72 degrees then it was so close that the difference was statistically negligible. The sky was a rare particulate-free blue and if you need further proof, I had been walking the little dog for no reason other than I that had the time and I thought he would like it. A very nice day, indeed. So stipulated. But that’s completely beside my point.
Some people can layer criticism into the most innocuous comment. Granted, this is a skill usually limited to one’s older relatives, but other folks can do it too.
One of Melva’s favorite sayings is, “It’s not what you do, it’s how you do it.” In this case, small talk with a stranger who is obviously a neighbor should be genial and vapid. This particular conversation continued in the same pattern. I don’t remember the rest. You don’t want to read it anyhow. But everything I said was met with polite negativity. That’s what I took away from the contact, that this was a polite and negative man.
It was a lesson to me, so I pass it freely on to you. Don’t think about what you meant, pay attention to how it was received. If whatever you said wasn’t received the way you intended it to be then correct yourself quickly so that you don’t leave a bad impression.
And, just in case, I’ll take the little dog elsewhere tonight.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Perchance To Dream
It starts in childhood. Staying up past your bedtime was a treat, or a reward for good behavior. In any case, not sleeping was good. While it doesn’t necessarily follow that sleep was bad, the opposite definitely rang true.
Big little girls and boys don’t need to nap. Bigger ones can stay up til midnight. Bigger still and they can stay out til midnight. Get them to college age and they stay up all night for a variety of reasons. A really good party? Up all night. Big test tomorrow? Counter-intuitively, up all night. Forgot to start your term paper? Up all night.
Bored, with everything closing at 1 a.m.? Up all night driving from San Diego to Los Angeles in time for the crullers to come out of the oven at Winchell’s. Or just up all night waiting for the crullers at V-Gs in Encinitas, which came out at 4:30 a.m. What can I say? I really liked crullers. I still do. And I didn’t get much sleep. I was that age.
But somewhere there’s a shift. I shouldn’t say “somewhere” because I know where it is. When the choice isn’t yours anymore, staying awake isn’t so good. Too many responsibilities? Not enough sleep. Too much stress? Not enough sleep. You’re an adult? You’re probably not getting enough sleep.
For the fourth or fifth time this week, I’m going to attempt to get a full eight hours. The goal is eyes closed by midnight. This time I really mean it. We’ll see what happens.
Good night.
Big little girls and boys don’t need to nap. Bigger ones can stay up til midnight. Bigger still and they can stay out til midnight. Get them to college age and they stay up all night for a variety of reasons. A really good party? Up all night. Big test tomorrow? Counter-intuitively, up all night. Forgot to start your term paper? Up all night.
Bored, with everything closing at 1 a.m.? Up all night driving from San Diego to Los Angeles in time for the crullers to come out of the oven at Winchell’s. Or just up all night waiting for the crullers at V-Gs in Encinitas, which came out at 4:30 a.m. What can I say? I really liked crullers. I still do. And I didn’t get much sleep. I was that age.
But somewhere there’s a shift. I shouldn’t say “somewhere” because I know where it is. When the choice isn’t yours anymore, staying awake isn’t so good. Too many responsibilities? Not enough sleep. Too much stress? Not enough sleep. You’re an adult? You’re probably not getting enough sleep.
For the fourth or fifth time this week, I’m going to attempt to get a full eight hours. The goal is eyes closed by midnight. This time I really mean it. We’ll see what happens.
Good night.
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Boo, Humbug!
Remember when Halloween was more fun than annoying? Do ya? Huh? I don’t.
Sure, in my ersatz-Goth days, Halloween mattered. Most years I’d throw an elaborate costume party for up to 100 people. I’d cook for days. It was a Big Deal. I still remember the occasional disaster guest. You know, the kind who live on in legend and infamy. Remind me sometime to tell you about “Friar Fuck” (I didn’t make that up.) He galvanized the crowd into total alliance against him and made for a great party. That was such a long time ago, in another city.
Our first Halloween in Los Angeles was back in 2001. We spent it on Hollywood Blvd. You should go. Everyone should experience Halloween on Hollywood Blvd… once. It’s a hoot, but it’s on my top ten Been There, Done That list. Fun as it was, we’ve never been back. Halloween became staid and stayed that way until a few years ago, when the people next door moved in.
The Loud Neighbors had a louder than usual Halloween party this past Saturday. There was a rather feeble and pathetic DJ, who made up in volume what he lacked in expertise. It was noisy even by their ballistic standards. Neighborhood gossip says the police took a man away. I had seen a policeman, but I thought it was a costume. I did see the fire truck arrive at 1:30 a.m. with lights flashing and no siren, but they didn’t do anything.
So we went out and saw friends at dinner (Hi Enzo! Hi Nate!) then spent the rest of Halloween hiding in an otherwise dark house, waiting to be left alone for another year. Or at least until my Loud Neighbors throw their New Year’s Eve party. New Year’s Eve falls on Saturday. Shudder. At least they won’t be in costume.
Sure, in my ersatz-Goth days, Halloween mattered. Most years I’d throw an elaborate costume party for up to 100 people. I’d cook for days. It was a Big Deal. I still remember the occasional disaster guest. You know, the kind who live on in legend and infamy. Remind me sometime to tell you about “Friar Fuck” (I didn’t make that up.) He galvanized the crowd into total alliance against him and made for a great party. That was such a long time ago, in another city.
Our first Halloween in Los Angeles was back in 2001. We spent it on Hollywood Blvd. You should go. Everyone should experience Halloween on Hollywood Blvd… once. It’s a hoot, but it’s on my top ten Been There, Done That list. Fun as it was, we’ve never been back. Halloween became staid and stayed that way until a few years ago, when the people next door moved in.
The Loud Neighbors had a louder than usual Halloween party this past Saturday. There was a rather feeble and pathetic DJ, who made up in volume what he lacked in expertise. It was noisy even by their ballistic standards. Neighborhood gossip says the police took a man away. I had seen a policeman, but I thought it was a costume. I did see the fire truck arrive at 1:30 a.m. with lights flashing and no siren, but they didn’t do anything.
So we went out and saw friends at dinner (Hi Enzo! Hi Nate!) then spent the rest of Halloween hiding in an otherwise dark house, waiting to be left alone for another year. Or at least until my Loud Neighbors throw their New Year’s Eve party. New Year’s Eve falls on Saturday. Shudder. At least they won’t be in costume.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
NaNoWriMo Mo Mo!
My inner lemming will be released on Tuesday. Bobby and Susie are jumping off the cliff, therefore so am I. November is National Novel Writing Month. Clap your hands and grab your keyboard. (Not you, Sis, relax. Stop reading this and get back to work.)
“But Auntie,” you say in bewilderment. “Haven’t you already written five unpublished novels? Didn’t you spend years agonizing over each one, not a mere month in which you lose a week to cooking Thanksgiving dinner?”
You are a honey pie to remember. Yes and no. The fifth novel was never finished, and I don’t have a complete copy of the fourth. It only takes four days to cook Thanksgiving dinner. But all that is beside the point.
NaNoWriMo is a phenomenon. I’m constantly amazed by the number of people to whom I’ve mentioned it who say they’ve either done it or will be doing it this year. After a lifetime of dogged individualism (insert bitch joke here) it’s time to try a bit of compliant conformity.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ll probably take the lazy way out. At the moment, I’m thinking of calling it “Therapy” and doing 1,667 stream of consciousness words a day. Because if I’ve learned nothing else about NaNoWriMo over the years, it’s that although lots of people write it, nobody ever reads it.
“But Auntie,” you say in bewilderment. “Haven’t you already written five unpublished novels? Didn’t you spend years agonizing over each one, not a mere month in which you lose a week to cooking Thanksgiving dinner?”
You are a honey pie to remember. Yes and no. The fifth novel was never finished, and I don’t have a complete copy of the fourth. It only takes four days to cook Thanksgiving dinner. But all that is beside the point.
NaNoWriMo is a phenomenon. I’m constantly amazed by the number of people to whom I’ve mentioned it who say they’ve either done it or will be doing it this year. After a lifetime of dogged individualism (insert bitch joke here) it’s time to try a bit of compliant conformity.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ll probably take the lazy way out. At the moment, I’m thinking of calling it “Therapy” and doing 1,667 stream of consciousness words a day. Because if I’ve learned nothing else about NaNoWriMo over the years, it’s that although lots of people write it, nobody ever reads it.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
Snappy Little Happy
What makes you happy? Don’t start with the whole “feeding the hungry, curing the sick, housing the homeless, world peace” thing unless those are on your To Do list for today – in which case may all the gods, all the saints, and that weird old lady in the park bless you. I’m being practical here.
What during the course of a reasonably ordinary day makes you happy? I have my guesses, based on intuition guided by experience. (Paraphrasing Rex Stout. Three extra smugness points to anyone who knows the actual reference even if you got it from TV rather than the wonderful books.) To wit: not waking up tired, no traffic, boss out of the office/no quizzes or tests, short line at lunch, etc. Am I close?
Well sure, I seem to hear you say, those are all good things but they’re no big deal. My dear, that’s the point. Capital H Happiness is a big deal, being happy isn’t. You can be quite happy with something as small as your favorite sandwich being the special of the day. (Okay, I’m writing this at lunchtime. Who guessed that already? Show of hands.) You can be delighted with making good time getting home because that interminable road work is finally over. There are so many things that can lift your spirits, almost as many as can pummel them down.
That’s the problem. At the end of the day we remember all the little things that went wrong. They pile up into a heap of discouragement and annoyance. The good little things evaporate on contact with open air. We smile quickly and drop it faster than a ripe organic peach will rot. Groans, moans and scowls have the shelf life of junk food. You see where I’m going with this.
Yep, you guessed it. I’m going right into the kitchen for something to eat. This will make me very happy indeed.
What during the course of a reasonably ordinary day makes you happy? I have my guesses, based on intuition guided by experience. (Paraphrasing Rex Stout. Three extra smugness points to anyone who knows the actual reference even if you got it from TV rather than the wonderful books.) To wit: not waking up tired, no traffic, boss out of the office/no quizzes or tests, short line at lunch, etc. Am I close?
Well sure, I seem to hear you say, those are all good things but they’re no big deal. My dear, that’s the point. Capital H Happiness is a big deal, being happy isn’t. You can be quite happy with something as small as your favorite sandwich being the special of the day. (Okay, I’m writing this at lunchtime. Who guessed that already? Show of hands.) You can be delighted with making good time getting home because that interminable road work is finally over. There are so many things that can lift your spirits, almost as many as can pummel them down.
That’s the problem. At the end of the day we remember all the little things that went wrong. They pile up into a heap of discouragement and annoyance. The good little things evaporate on contact with open air. We smile quickly and drop it faster than a ripe organic peach will rot. Groans, moans and scowls have the shelf life of junk food. You see where I’m going with this.
Yep, you guessed it. I’m going right into the kitchen for something to eat. This will make me very happy indeed.
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