#GenerationGeneralizations

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Kids these days.

About a year after I graduated from high school a friend and I moved to southwest Missouri, to Branson, so that she could get her shot at country music and I came along for the adventure. Her manager asked me one night what my interest was in.

“Writing,” I answered.

“Writing music?” he followed up, thinking folks only moved to Branson if their interests had something to do with country music.

“No, prose,” I said, “like articles, stories, poems.”

“Are you even old enough to write?” he asked.

It was an odd question to me then, and an infuriating question to me looking back to the age I was when I got that question, at nearly 20 years old. By the time he asked me that question I had been writing stories and poems for 12 years, and now I’m sitting here having been writing things of some form or another (not counting letters and emails) for 38 years. At the time I was 20, her manager was my age now, and he was wondering, when I was stumped by his question, what a 20-year-old has to say. I was still flummoxed because I had been writing for so long already without even thinking that I needed to be a certain age to do it, like driving a car or voting. The question seemed…irrelevant.

*****

Sitting here at the 38th anniversary of my writing experience, I often encounter whiplash moving from either end of the spectrum. There are a hundred “best of” lists involving writers under 30, and anyone over 30 grousing about these lists on social media. There are a million click-bait articles on “what the Millennials have killed now” or even articles that compare all of the generations but the Gen X one, which sits awkwardly in the middle like a middle child forgotten. Even Ursula K. Le Guin, in her last essay collection No Time To Spare, talks about how the alums of her college graduating class were supposed to answer their “what are you doing with your retirement?” survey. She thought retirement was an incredulous idea; she was still writing right up to the end of her life. The essay touched on a variety of points on ageism in the young and old, and still we have this fight, in politics, in arts, in cooking, and in all forms of culture.

I have never understood pigeon-holing based on age. Most of my friends in Ohio and Missouri were older than I was; in California it’s about half and half. I am a Gen X person who always felt a little out of the loop on Gen X music, film, and books, so finding something from “my generation” feels a little false. My parents had a collection of vinyl that would choke a DJ, but they also were older than most of my friends’ parents and they came from older parents themselves, so I was raised on classic films, music, and TV shows. I can recite most Monkees’ episodes but have no clue what happened on The Love Boat. The only TV my parents let me watch was PBS, Sunday night Disney movies, and the early evening game shows like Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy. I did sneak episodes of  Moonlighting, but that’s not usually a conversation starter (it’s one of those rare shows you can’t stream, by the way…not that I haven’t tried). I often just crawled back into a book…books were supposed to be timeless.

But even books have waves of energy in them, depending on when they were born. You can read Orwell today and feel remarkably seen and hopeless, all at the same time. But then again, you could read Bradbury and get the sense, somewhere off in the distance if you just resist, that you might see the way out, whether you were 9 and had that kind of time capital, or 90 and just had spare change left in your pocket.

*****

I can’t make the generalizations about generations that everyone else can; it seems to waste as much time (or more) than making generalizations about race, gender, sexual orientation, or religion. The marvelous thing about knowing older people is seeing how they react to all of the latest innovations, particularly when they accept them and cherish them with a “look what I got to see happen” outlook. The wondrous thing about the exceedingly young is watching them discover stuff we put away years ago, things like vinyl and typewriters and old school DOS stuff and Polaroids. The wide and disparate variety means you could have an aunt who loves Fortnite and a niece who loves jigsaw puzzles. The more random the world, the better.

I find myself skipping the labels, the studies, the click-bait about Gen Z vs Baby Boomers, Gen X vs the Silent Generation (I don’t remember my father being all that silent, but okay), and everyone vs the Millennials. I prefer to see the possibility in every age, because I never know who will inspire me in their rites of passage.

#ShortAnswer

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I’ll admit it, if you give me a verbal leash, I’ll write or speak it out to length. This blog warns readers that they might have to be “long-winded” in order to read my thoughts and ramblings.

And still…

I constantly push myself with my writing, and for me pushing myself means learning how to write the short version of a story or essay. I review social media and recommendations from fellow writers and friends about where I can write and what I can write, and over the last two years I have found two top muses to propel me forward:

  • American Microreviews & Interviews:  This online publication, updated quarterly, posts reviews and interviews limited in word count but not limited in passion about good writing. I’ve never written an interview for them (interviews can be a little bit longer than the reviews, but not by much), but I’ve been writing book reviews for them, contained in tight packages of 500 – 700 words, since October 2017. We get to pick our books to review, and as long as the book was released in hardback form within the last calendar year and no one else claims it first, then one of the editors reaches out to the publisher of the book and hopefully I receive a free copy of the book within a week or so to start reading and reviewing it. If you click on the masthead, you may find all kinds of academics in the contributor list, and then there is me, the call center management pencil-pusher who went to college for literature and is just happy to bat for this team, thanks. I love, love, LOVE reading, but writing about reading, in a way that challenges my chatty tendencies, brings me joy.
  • This past December, newly unemployed, I found myself wanting to develop my fiction chops as well, and at one of the monthly meetings of Coffee with the Catapult (a once-a-month Sunday talk about what’s new in books with free coffee at one of my local indie bookstores) an anthology of micro-fiction was featured. I picked up a copy at discount, and took it home, and it sat on the shelf for a bit, until I got tired of journaling in the first week and thought I would throw in micro-fiction in my practice four days a week. I read two of the stories a day from the anthology before I write (the new one I read the previous day and a new one for the current day), and then I pick a topic (usually the next one in the list) from Barbara Ann Kipfer’s book 14,000 Things to Be Happy About, which I used to use in college when it was 10,000 Things to Be Happy About, for journal prompts. (The original has been lost in moves, but an additional 4,000 things to choose from is even better, am I right?) I try to keep the stories to the length of those in the anthology (less than 300 words), and usually about 30 – 90 minutes later I manage it, drenched in sweat and teeth ground down just a tad.

While the reviews are published, the fiction isn’t yet, but I’m just working up the muscles. I have four months’ worth of micro-fiction first drafts, which has been one of the rare feasible things between applying for jobs, going to interviews, submitting paperwork, etc in the job-hunting process. The little bites are little accomplishments; later, for a lark, after I am established in a job and finding my free time again, I can work on the revision of them on two of those four days.

*****

One of my favorite poets is William Carlos Williams, a guy picked on in social media by the literary and hipster folks to extremes for a)storing plums in the fridge, and b)stealing them from the love of his life. (Whenever I read another one of these gems that pops up I have to physically stop myself from the eye-roll, but I guess they are eye-rolling him, so fair enough.) In 2016 there was a movie made about the influence of his poetry on a Paterson, New Jersey bus driver (played by Adam Driver) called, well, Paterson. (One of my favorite movies, I should add, but not just for the William Carlos Williams references.) Williams was rumored to have hashed out some of his poems on his prescription pads, since his day job was as a doctor; the belief was that the little space of writing of those pads kept his poems short. If you do an online search, you’ll find some truth to this; Williams’s handwriting was a bit big to try such a stunt, so if you put a group of the sheets together you have a better idea of his application.

I don’t write my micro anything on prescription pads, Post-Its, or recipe cards. Maybe it would help if I did. I get out a lined, squared, or dotted 5″x7″ notebook and start my scratch when it comes to the fiction; the reviews are written in a template that I have to export from Pages on a Mac to a one-time Word translation via email for my editor. (I’m not sure why the handwritten stuff has to be lined or why I just don’t type everything, but maybe that’s next in my development process.) More satisfying than a tweet, and far less toxic, these baby steps are how I get to forming the big stuff…someday.

#ComfortBooks

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My apartment is one big To Be Read pile. There are very few books there that I have read before; when I finish reading a book I place it in a basket by the front door to be donated to the library.

Still, I do save some books. If I’m given a book as a gift, I keep that book. If the author has signed the book (either in front of me or I just happened to buy it that way), I keep that book.

And if I deeply loved the book, if it were to somehow make it to my list to read again someday to soothe me, then that book gets to stay, too. I don’t have a whole lot of time to re-read books, but when I do, here are the books I’ll sometimes pull out and read around in for comfort:

  • In the Distance, by Hernan Diaz:  I discovered this book last year in my book club, and the isolation that the primary character experiences created such a connection for me that I come back to it when I feel misunderstood.
  • A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, by Betty Smith: I read this book for years, through high school, college, and various moves whenever I felt emotionally off or physically under the weather as well.
  • Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen:  Like Kathleen Kelly in You’ve Got Mail, I find myself lost in the language and on pins and needles about the precarious nature of whether Lizzie and D’Arcy will get together. (On a related note, I have also been known to watch the cinematic versions of this book over and over again to soothe myself–both the Colin Firth version and the Keira Knightley versions.)
  • Little Women, by Louisa May Alcott:  Hey, my middle name (and pseudonym) is Jo, so what better place to pull my writing and reading strength from?
  • The Enchanted April, by Elizabeth Von Arnim:  This book is a timely comfort; I read it every April, as though airing out the linens in my soul.
  • Books on writing by writers: Some of my favorites here are Still Writing by Dani Shapiro, Writing Down the Bones by Natalie Goldberg, The Deer On a Bicycle by Patrick McManus, On Writing by Stephen King (it’s the only Stephen King I’ve ever read…don’t kill me), Draft No.4 by John McPhee, When Women Were Birds by Terry Tempest Williams, and Letters to a Young Artist by Anna Deavere Smith (even though I’m not that young anymore). These books remind me of the struggles ALL writers have and teach me as much technique and empathy as a novel does.
  • The Velveteen Rabbit, by Margery Williams: This book has been soothing me about being different and overly sensitive and about love for nearly 40 years. Without it I would be beyond jaded.

Writing up this list takes me to that safe place that these books create; I think it is time to crawl back into one of them for a little while.

 

 

#BookClub

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Every day there’s a new article about how a degree in the fine arts will get you an overabundance of student debt and that’s it; there’s nothing lucrative about literature.  I don’t think solvency was the motivation or even any remote consideration when I entered college as a non-traditional student (read: older than everyone else in the class at 22 years old).  There were a combination of arguments:

  • If I was going to be broke anyway, why not study something that I loved?
  • My manager at the time was a little stunned that I loved books as much as I did and wasn’t in college;
  • Once the general education classes were out of the way, then I would get college credits to gush about other peoples’ writing for months.

In essence, my college years were one long sequence of book clubs.

*****

After the gen ed courses, I briefly double-majored in both literature and history.  Fiction and non-fiction, if you will. I took two classes in literature a semester and two classes in history.  I was already in love with literature when I entered college, but an excellent professor in history during my gen ed years convinced me that history was one of the best stories I could find, so I double-majored.  The two majors paired wonderfully together (read Moby Dick, and then study 19th century whaling to see how Melville got there), and my only hang-up was that writing about literature is a completely different animal than writing about history, unless you break the rules like David McCullough or Stephen Ambrose and have the audacity to tell a story.  Writing about literature was direct, like sipping on a sazerac in the back of a dive bar with a pack of Marlboros, but writing about history in a purely academic sense was a hard lesson in the passive voice, like backing into a glass of rose. I continually mixed up the two, and then there was a British history professor who claimed I had plagiarized Orwell’s Road to Wigan Pier (I have never been a fan of Orwell, even before the damn class, and other professors didn’t think it was that close of a match even though they liked my writing, including the dean, so charges were dropped), so that was one too many straws, and history was dropped to a minor.  To this day, however, I still balance out a lot of fiction with non-fiction (preferably memoirs and biographies, but I read about history if the story is specific enough), and love to talk about all of it.

Sadly, you can’t go to college forever, and the course load decreased when I demoted history, so I graduated against my will in December of 2000.  I futzed around with exploring options into careers in literature or careers in the proximity of literature at the beginning of 2001, but life had other plans, and after a series of diversions I finally moved to what I considered to be a more literary city in San Francisco in 2004.  San Francisco had more bookstores than I had seen in whole states in the Midwest; at lunch I would flip a coin and, depending on the outcome, would visit either Alexander’s on Second Street or Stacey’s on Market, which were less than a block from each other.  I would occasionally chat books with these booksellers, but finding a chatty bookseller in San Francisco has rarely been my luck.  The bookstores in San Francisco are luxurious, “floors of books” and historical sites of Beat poets and quirky adhoc shelves made from planks, but most of the booksellers there seemed…sentenced.  Another starry-eyed former literature student stumbling around in a bohemian funk?  I could have gotten in line or paid subscriber dues.  Yes, the bookstores had author events, or the yearly book fair called Litquake would pop up a rash of author events or panels, and I leaped at tickets.  I had one line of questioning for every author and panel: What are you reading? What books inspired you to write the way you do? What is your favorite book?

*****

I tried traditional book clubs in San Francisco, but they usually defaulted to a combination of wine, appetizers, other book events, other authors, or personal stuff unrelated to the book.  I loved talking about and listening to others talk about books, so having to shut up and be good for the other topics was maddening.

There are several book club movies out there that remind me of this kind of experience.  The most recent is Book Club, which came out last year and has a stellar cast of Jane Fonda, Candice Bergen, Mary Steenburgen, Diane Keaton, Craig T. Nelson, Andy Garcia, and Don Johnson, just to name a few.  I like every actor in this film and love book clubs and I loathe this movie.  The only redeeming aspect of the film is the music and a flying sequence with Garcia and Keaton in the Grand Canyon…and neither one of those topics are related to the title.  Books are discussed for about seven minutes in this movie, and the overwhelming reference in the club is to the Fifty Shades of Grey series, a collection of books that isn’t struggling for promotion.

Back in the late aughts there was a movie called The Jane Austen Book Club, which wasn’t a much better script but talked about books a lot more more than Book Club.  I watched that movie again after Book Club as a palette-cleanser, and, because it’s January, thought I might be able to follow the calendar in The Jane Austen Book Club this year starting in February with Emma like the characters in the movie did.  Still a lot of wine and coffee in that movie, though.  Probably my favorite book club film was an adaptation of a book for a Netflix production called The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, which addresses World War II as well as literary classics and struggles of writers. The members of that group had some questionable edibles (which factors in the plot in more ways than just the title) but the primary food is the stuff of reading, and I could watch that movie on a loop if needed.

*****

I went without a book club for some time after moving to Southern California.  One reason was that I briefly belonged to a writing group who wanted someone to organize their writing lives but did not want to write under the organization of what someone else had put together for them.  The writer’s group that I belonged to in the Bay Area would write in all kinds of places and locations; I had written with them in Oakland after work, at a cafe in Duboce Triangle on Sundays for a day-long marathon session with a lunch break, at the Richmond District Library in the basement conference room, at the Borderlands Cafe in the Mission, where there was purposely no wi-fi.  I tutored kids in writing, science, and math at 826 Valencia and wrote for their 826 Day festivities.  But reading…that fell off the radar early and generated a TBR pile in my apartment bedroom that would choke a fire.  I kept with writing and thought reading would come in later, when an earthquake killed the power or I ran out of ink.

In Southern California I knew people who read, but either didn’t like to talk about what they read or thought of reading as a non-social activity.  I didn’t know how to debate that; when I was in college I was alone a lot, but there was the social aspect of class.  Was it possible that one couldn’t have a book club without other aspects: a classroom forcing to read, a bottle of wine, a number count on Goodreads, a hashtag of Sunday sentences?  Social media has made online book clubs or book communities a sometimes mine field; if I were to pick up a short story by Woody Allen or quote from Garrison Keillor’s anthology Good Poems, do these choices unleash wrath or banishment?  Social media can be cruel and often is (I often find myself retreating into just Sunday sentences, but what happens when I want to find Hemingway there?), and a reader has to step carefully.

Do I wish I were part of more readers’ circles?  Sometimes. I have the added joy of reviewing books for an online publication, and when the authors reach out and connect over the reviews I have a few hours of feeling like a I have a book club to love words in, a safe space regardless. Most of my friends and family fulfill other curiosities for me, since their interests rarely involve books.  Just this past year, however, I stumbled on the greatest fortune: a book club in a book store here in San Diego.  The owner of the store selects a fiction book in paperback, discounts it for the month leading up to discussion, and one Thursday night a month a sizable crowd of us discuss the book.  The personalities and approaches to the book in that group are nearly stories of their own, and I’m back in class in the 90’s, arguing writers’ choices of POV, characterization, voice, setting, and special effects.

There’s no wine, no appetizers.  All the food is brain food. For one hour a month I sit in the room and socialize with a slim paperback in my hand, at the center of all of our thoughts.

#ListeningUp

It’s a rare person not on the podcast craze in our time. I usually can’t go more than a week without hearing of a recommendation for a new one from one of my other podcasts, from social media, or from wait staff or bartenders. Occasionally I’ll get recommendations from friends and family, but for some reason they only recommend single episodes of something or start out recommending radio programs that may also be available as a podcast.

Some podcasts I have been listening to for decades; most of the NPR podcasts fall into that category. When I graduated from college I missed classes so much that I tuned into public radio nearly around the clock, a habit made even more intense by the fact that one of my part-time jobs out of college was data entry for a health insurance company. In the mornings I would tune my radio/headset combination to NPR while everyone else listened to rock or country music on theirs (this was Southwest Missouri in the early aughts; coincidentally I was the first person on the floor to know that 9/11 was happening because of my listening choice). I also listened to audio books during pledge season, picking out classic literature from the library.

After moving to California, my first manager there bought me an iPod as a performance achievement gift, and then I could download podcasts from my laptop into it and listen to them as I walked to lunch or during sightseeing adventures. Podcasts always seem to serve as a way to fill the silence; I had moved to California expecting worldly conversation and instead heard a lot of cell phone conversations that were watered down with bragging and filler words. Podcasts blocked out these disappointments, but they also blocked out a lot of the life that I loved in the Bay; now when I go out for a walk, or hop on transit, the earbuds stay stashed in my bag. But I still listen to a LOT of podcasts, even if I don’t listen to them as a multitask activity much anymore. They are like the old time radio programs of the early 20th century, and, yet, still like the classes that I miss at college.

Here are the podcasts I miss, love, and do my best to keep up with when I can:

  • The Writer’s Almanac – This one went the way of the dodo when its host was looped into the business end of the #MeToo movement, but I still listen to old episodes from time to time. The podcast was a 5-minute overview of famous literary and cultural events in history that happened that day, and was aired daily, weekday and weekend;
  • Fresh Air – This one goes all the way back to when I was still in college; Fresh Air is something my mother would catch occasionally so we would have something to share. My favorite interviews are the ones with writers and comedians, but they did have an interview last year with Springsteen that I loved, and Rachel Maddow is also a favorite (she’s been on twice);
  • (Speaking of Maddow…) Bag Man – This was a recent, limited series podcast from Rachel Maddow on the story behind Spiro Agnew’s troubled political career and his fall from power under Nixon. A lot of people remember Agnew as being caught up in the Watergate issue, but he actually had nothing to do with Watergate and was a loaded morality bomb of his own. This podcast actually falls into the “I miss my history courses” reason for listening, and Maddow is a sparkling storyteller;
  • The Daily (New York Times) – This podcast is one of my morning espresso shots; the opening sequence is about 20 minutes of in-depth coverage on one topical item, and then the host comes back for two-minute recap of top headlines. If I don’t want to listen to an entire Trump speech (who does), I wait until this podcast and let them give me the highlights;
  • Up First – This podcast is NPR’s version of The Daily, and is my other shot of espresso. Up First carries a variety of stories in their 20 minutes, however. Both The Daily and Up First are weekday podcasts, not airing on weekends (and in The Daily’s case, on holidays);
  • The California Report/The California Report Magazine – Like Up First and The Daily, but California news only, or how national events affect Californians. There are some lovely history segments, unexpected popular music tie-ins, and a healthy sense of humor with these folks, with just enough gravitas to make updates of the wildfires and the border crossings meaningful as well;
  • Recode Decode – Kara Swisher is one of my biggest heroes, and not just because she has a track history of holding top Silicon Valley leadership accountable. This podcast introduces me to new companies (employment opportunities?) and reenforces, with every podcast, the importance of letting your intelligence shine out, even if you aren’t always encouraged to do so as a woman;
  • Pop Culture Happy Hour – Another NPR favorite. I sometimes find myself annoyed at the easy criticisms for difficult cultural reviews on this show, but for the most part this show tells me about things I might miss in my radar;
  • Make Me Smart – Not NPR but commonly mistaken for being part of the NPR family, Make Me Smart is a half-tech, half-business podcast that kind of works as a companion piece to Recode Decode, with a twist; listeners are advised to send their expertise in for topics as well. There are interviews with topic experts, book club selections, and a special segment where interview subjects and listeners alike are asked the question, “What is something you thought you knew, but it turns out you didn’t?”;
  • All Songs Considered – I used to listen to this podcast a lot when I lived in the Bay because it was long (an hour plus at times) and had enough variety in music to make me happy. When I started a job in San Diego a coworker friend would recommend new music to me all of the time, so I took this podcast off my list, but when I moved on to another job and didn’t hear from him as much I went back to listening to this podcast. The hosts of this program have interviews, best of recent releases episodes, artist hosting episodes, and variety shows for holidays, and the banter is great;
  • Book Riot (any podcast) – Some of the Book Riot podcasts are audio, some are video, and some are by paid subscription, but all of them are good. Book podcasts can be pretty dry and hinting at profound, but these hosts have just enough humor to dress up any aspect of reading (and writing);
  • So Many Damn Books – Unrelated to Book Riot, but another good reader/writer podcast. This podcast features interviews and book recs (I particularly loved their gift suggestions for Christmas);
  • This American Life – Almost everyone knows this one based on associations with Mike Birbiglia and David Sedaris, but if not…this podcast is a collection of three to six segments on a common theme, sometimes topical, sometimes historical, and always quirky. I deeply loved a most recent episode on libraries, which they linked to the Room or Requirement in Hogwarts, and which I heard right after finishing Susan Orlean’s The Library Book, and it brought some tears and laughter;
  • 30 For 30 – Because, baseball.

Yes…I do have a difficult time keeping up with all of them, and even listen to individual episodes of even more.

But they keep me learning, keep me curious, and keep me listening. 🎧

#SelfDoubt vs #SelfConsciousness

There’s this actor, maybe you’ve heard of him, a fella by the name of Tom Hanks.

Mr. Hanks has been in a fair number of films, he’s produced some, he’s directed some. My personal favorite of his movies is the one pictured above, Cast Away, and it was my favorite movie of all time for a long time. I still watch it about once a month; it helps me process loneliness back in solitude and gratitude when I need to.

Cast Away did not make Tom look glamorous. Hanks’s character (and to play the character you have to look the part) started off the story overweight and a control freak of time (which he tries to explain to the Russians, if you want irony in 2017); by the end of the story he is shaggy and rail thin, no longer a lover of seafood, grateful for something as small as a Swiss Army knife, and someone in awe of time and fate. There are now a lot of photos and memes of this film on the web and social media of Hanks looking nearly gross; ain’t nothing gorgeous in it.

For the past three years Hanks has also been working on a collection of short fiction for publication. The work isn’t necessarily Pulitzer-worthy, but it’s entertaining and touching in some places; one short story is so funny it took me about two hours to read it. Shortly after I finished the book I looked for media supplements on the book; this task was a bit of a struggle because the book was released right before the release of Hanks in the film The Post, and most interviews involve the book for about 30 seconds and the film for about 12 minutes. But there was an interview filmed for The New York Times, on their program Times Talks, where Hanks was interviewed primarily about the book and answered questions from social media and the audience.

One question asked Hanks how he overcomes self-doubt. The question was ambiguous enough to apply to any career in creative work, and Hanks answered as though it applied to his acting, since that was the creative work most folks knew him for. His belief is that self-doubt is the same as self-consciousness; get rid of both and you can create. Sometimes the role requires that you look ridiculous or that you do something you don’t want to do to play the role because there might be a picture of it later…you have dispense of that. You have to make the mistakes and trust the process, he explained.

Just before I read the Hanks book I read another book, Sourdough, by Robin Sloan, that took me to the same place as Hanks’s thoughts on creative process. In the book the main character of Lois has to deal with Silicon Valley hipsters who are too cool for school in product development and nutrition; she also has to deal with analog purist foodies who think that anything high-tech is a fad or corruption. Lois, from the Midwest and feeling far from cosmopolitan, finds joy from simple food and makes mistakes in learning to cook and bake, not to mention making lots of mistakes in marrying tech and life hacks in that cooking and baking. Lois looks silly a lot. Lois is nowhere near glamorous.

Yet, in the reading of Sloan’s book and Hanks’s book and his interview, I feel like I’ve got a standard to move toward. Make mistakes, Jo; so I go back to cooking myself, making messes. I pull out the baseball novel I was working on and botch it up or improve it for one of my writing sessions; I do the same with sessions devoted to other writings. I very well may be making all kinds of mistakes right now in this blog post. I think that’s the place where the best stuff comes from, and I’ll continue to do so. ✨

#NerdCulture

Sorry, Mom…not my f-bomb, but still my amen to Mr. Kennedy’s sentiment.

It’s no secret: my apartment is a structural testament to a deep love of books. I have multiple bookcases, one of them taller than I am, and multiple prints from the designer at Ideal Bookshelf, artwork of differing genres all over the apartment, even on the bathroom walls and over the kitchen sink. I have a pin-up calendar in the kitchen of Hot Dudes Reading, because I think the sexiest thing a man can do is read. (The other stuff a man can do is nice, too, but kind of down the list after reading, writing, cooking, and playing a musical instrument.)

This love of books has gained me some grief in my time…painted me as a hermit, a snob, and a…nerd. The last distinction was the easiest to take (hermit is a struggle because reading is often mistaken to be exclusively solitary an activity, and snob is hard to take because I like literary fiction but the super-pretentious stuff I cannot handle well), after all I have “my books and my poetry to protect me,” to start with from Simon & Garfunkel. The definition of nerd-dom from my past experience (whether with books, in high school band, or in my choice of PBS) has usually involved some kind of social banishment. Sometimes there would be other nerds, a breakfast club of us playing all the tubas and bullied by the football players.

It seems, though, as Dan has so eloquently stated above, that nerd culture has kicked out some of its base. In some cases, some of us have to apologize for liking Coldplay, the planet formerly known as Pluto, The Big Bang Theory, or (gasp) Shakespeare. Can’t I just like the sonnets and be done? But there’s proof now he didn’t write them. So Pluto and Shakespeare can go the way of symbols, like Prince or Bert and Ernie from Sesame Street.

Look, newcomers to my lifetime of separation from society…if you find my eyeglasses and my Bradbury suddenly so very fascinating, can you…let me have my Richard Bach and my Woody Allen and my Hemingway anyway? I promise to love the rest of your hipster crossover and borrowing, and let you continue to pretend that you have the same awkward default as Issa Rae. I’ll look the other way at your new-found love of Trapper Keepers if you don’t say that my definition of nerd, lived so long, isn’t enough. 🤓

*****

The past couple of weeks in my world have been a bit hairy at work, for reasons it’s best to keep confidential at the moment, so here’s how I’ve been medicating lately…

Reading, lately: A lot of chef, food critic, and restaurateur memoirs for some reason…but I am trying to give up a lot of meat, dairy, and eggs and therefore my excitement about food is a bit diminished, so I’m hoping to gain some food love back, somewhere.

Listening, lately: nothing in particular and everything in small doses…from Jidenna to Marcus Mumford covering Dylan to James Bay like an old blanket to Ahi to…Springsteen, always. Repeat gets abused.

Watching, lately: HBO’s Insecure, because, well, she IS a nerd, ain’t no hiding. A lot of baseball because the MLB put a For Sale sign on the rest of the season and instead of $25 a month, the rest of the year is $10. Not sure how much of that applies to post-season, but I guess I’ll find out, right? With the current work situation I watch a lot of dumb comedies, like Disjointed on Netflix and Never Stop Never Stopping on HBO, sometimes on repeat like the music.

All of this, and it’s still hot and sticky in San Diego. I still run air conditioning. This forgotten corner of the world is always sunny and festering like a Petri dish. I’m looking forward to autumn, well, someday. 🍁🍂