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That's right, people.

4 posts. 1 day. Spooky. Almost like it's Halloween or something.

So, in honor of Halloween Chipotle was giving away free burritos to any patrons who were willing to come in dressed in tinfoil (they wrap their burritos in tinfoil there). We expected lines around the corner of foil-clad burrito-lovers like ourselves but it was not to be. Still, we had enough fun at the first Chipotle to all agree that a second free burrito was well worth a short drive.

Anyhow, I promised to let Diana post most of the pictures, since she took them on her camera. And you'll have to wait because tonight she's well behind on her homework and tomorrow she's in class. But of the pictures you'll see when she posts! For example, have you ever wanted to see Erin fashion and then wear a foil/cocunut shell bra? Well, I hadn't either, but it turned out to be quite entertaining. So look for that, for Diana in a patriotic take on the Statue of Liberty and Amy as a delicious barbacoa burrito. For now, I have permission to post a picture of myself.

I call this: Veni. Vidi. Foil.*



I realize I look a bit like the Stanley Cup in this picture, but I challenge you to make a better toga from aluminum foil in five minutes. What else can I say? Best. Halloween. Ever.

* also considered:

"Friends, Romans, countrymen ... lend me your burroitos."

and

"I came, I saw, I ate burritos."

Fun With Gourds

So Brianna is so cool that not only did she buy herself a little membership to the very cool pumkin-carving-pattern web site Curse of the Zombie Pumpkins!, but she also shared the wealth.

David and Elaine (my brother- and sister-in-law and, it would seem, matchmakers extraodinaire) put on their annual pumpkin carving party Friday night and this is a shindig not to be missed, I tell you. So much so that we rescheduled a vacation so we could be there.

Here are the fruits (well, vegetables really) of our evening (though more could be yet to come, wink wink):



Here is Diana's Hannibal Lecter. Quite good considering this is the first time she's carved a pumpkin in years and the first time it was anything more than a triangular nose and eyes with a freaky grin:



Here's Erin's haunted house:



And my Leatherface:



Just a fun side note: This is my 69th post.

Happy Pumpkin Day! *

* This politically correct new title brought to you by the same people who spondored today's "fall festivals," "autumn costume contests," and "harvest celebrations."

Things I have done on Halloweens past (not necessarily in any order):

· Been dressed as a pumpkin, Raggedy Andy, and possibly other things I can’t remember.
· Interrupted a robbery-in-progress in my home.
· Saw Dave Matthews Band play a classic show. (Most of you don’t care but hopefully Erin can appreciate this. A great all-around show but the musical highlight was: the I’ll Back You Up > Halloween encore. And it took almost nine years before I finally got to hear Halloween again. The spoken highlight: “We’re disguised as the Dave Matthews Band this evening.” The personal highlight: Gwen nearly fainting because Dave pointed at people in the row in front of us.)
· Had my first date (even if I didn’t realize at the time that’s what it was.)
· Dumped someone.
· Dressed as an architect, golfer, football player, astronaut, fireman, Mickey Mouse, Indian, and surely others I’m forgetting. But since there’s a quilt (and a picture of the quilt in a book sold all over the country) with pictures of me in my old Halloween costumes, I could probably figure out a few others I’ve forgotten.
· Had an embarrassing back-seat experience I’ve never told anyone about ever.
· Gone trick-or-treating with my cousins, including the five-month old twins who were dressed as M&M’s.
· Seen “Saw” and “Bringing Out the Dead” in theatres.
· Introduced my parents to a girlfriend they had pretty much already decided to hate.
· Watched “The Nightmare Before Christmas” approximately 34,213 times.
· Gone to work wearing a Jack Skellington tie.

And, after tonight, you can add to this list: Dressed myself in tinfoil in order to get a free burrito. Seriously. Is this a great holiday or what?

(The jack-o-lantern pictures are coming, I promise. I just can’t upload photos from this computer.)

Sure, I'll Be Your Monkey

Midnight tonight marks the official beginning of NaNoWriMo, and yet I still haven’t decided what to write.

My first option is the story I’ve been working on, which is the story of a young man in LA who is having a particularly bad weekend of mental health. After mulling the idea for many years, I started writing this book at the end of August of this year for the novel writing class I enrolled in. So far, I have written about 19,000 words.

Reasons I should keep working on the LA story, and make my NaNoWriMo goal to write 50,000 more words of it:

1. It is unwise to stop in the middle of writing something that’s going reasonably well.
2. I’ve written all I can for the class, so this would give me a goal to keep working.
3. It’s a Halloween/fall story so I may not be interested in trying to pick it up again in winter or spring.

Excuses to not keep working on the LA story:

1. I’m not sure this book would even need 50,000 more words to be completed.
2. It’s against the rules. You’re supposed to start a whole new book/project.

The other option is to go crazy with this idea that’s a combination of something very new and something quite old. Prior to the LA story, the thing I was writing for a year or so previous was a strange little story about this love triangle between some people in Las Vegas, but the story lacked any real direction and was just a mess, which is why I dropped it when it was time to do the class. I thought I’d let it simmer and see if I ever actually came up with a plot for the story. Then one night I had this essentially unrelated idea for a story about a young woman who at first befriends a couple but is soon being terrorized by them. Clearly, these two ideas were destined to be intertwined into one story. For lack of anything better to call it, I think of it still as the Las Vegas story.

Reasons to do the LV story:

1. It’s the perfect thing for NaNoWriMo. Since I don’t have much of a plot, at any other time I’m likely to sit around not writing, waiting for inspiration to come. NaNoWriMo would eliminate that luxury, I’d just have to BS my way through it.
2. It’s not a project that is especially near and dear to my heart, so I wouldn’t mind that whatever I get written will inevitably be kinda crappy.
3. You know how us crazy writer-types are. Always flitting around, unable to focus, eager to move on to the new thing, new idea, the new, the new, the new!

Reasons not to do the LV story:

1. When I say I have very little in the way of plot in my head, I mean I have pretty much no plot in my head whatsoever.
2. What tiny bit of plot and theme I have considered suggest a story that I would be more than a little wary of ever showing to anyone, let alone wife, friends, family, or total strangers on the Internet.
3. I’m pretty confident I know how to tell the first third or maybe half of the story. After that, I haven’t a clue and even the “forced” atmosphere may not help.

Any of you want to put in your two cents? Help me make up my mind already, I’ve got less than 15 hours.

In which I waste no time at all

I have a new car!

I will get to the pictures and the excited burbling in a moment, but first this: I already miss my dear old Subaru a bit. That car was with me all through college and beyond and I had so many wonderful fun times and great memories tied to it. In fact, many of them would probably get me in trouble to post here. But I remember this: I drove Diana on our first date in that car and not long thereafter it recieved one of it's worst dings when I was pulling out of Jessica's driveway and paying not much attention because I was laughing at something Diana said and I hit the mailbox on the opposite side of the street. It was very sad to simply give it up so suddenly. I'll miss you, little Subaru.

But I can console myself with this:



Pretty, no?

One problem. It has a hole in the roof:



Yeah, it's een more "family car" than the last one. But I'm a "family car" kinda guy these days. It's not so bad, really.

random stuff

1. Finally decided on a new blog name. Then realized I had the quote wrong. Typical. But fixed now!

2. I often write in bed, after Diana has gone to sleep. I usually listen to music with headphones, even though Diana has the TV on for background noise, because music is less distracting. I just glanced over at the TV and thought she must have put on soft core. But a few minutes later I now realize that it's actually "Under the Tuscan Sun." Which makes two Diane lane movies that seem to qualify as soft core.

3. Submitted application for grad school, but still need to turn in all the stuff that matters. Need to write a statement of purpose and turn in a writing sample. Of course, I have nothing that I wrote in college thanks to a computer that unexpectedly went to heaven about two years ago. Oh, and I still need to talk to my boss about writing me a letter of rec ... which could be interesting since, as you might imagine based on the post below, she's not my favorite person right now.

4. Must be fall because when iTunes shuffles to a song from "Achtung Baby" I don't skip over it, but turn off the shuffle and listen to the entire album.

5. Thank goodness Southwest is adding Denver to their routes. Too bad it won't happen until I've already had to give up my firstborn so we can get tickets home for Thanksgiving.

6. In the new Rolling Stone, Bono names a few of his favorite U2 songs and Electrical Storm is one of them. So why won't they play it live? I am bitter.

7. Oh yeah. I'm shopping for a new car. First was the, "This is fun" stage, then caame the "I don't want to spend this much money" stage, and now I'm in the "car dealerships can suck my toe" stage. Expected phases to come: "I love you, dear old Subaru, but the time has come to say goodbye" and "a thousand dollars for paint protectant? Who the fuck do you think you're fooling?"

And that's pretty much where I am right now. Ta ta!

My Wife Is The One Who Teaches Elementary Math

My supervisor does not understand that one-third and 33% are not the same thing.

I ... I just ...

Seriously, what else is there to say?

Let’s try a happier topic. “The 40 Year Old Virgin” is pretty much one of the funniest movies I’ve ever seen. Yes, I was in an immature mood last night. Yes, that made me more likely to laugh at the chest-waxing scene. But come on. Is there any mood you could be in that would make the term “man-o-lantern” not be funny?



I didn’t think so.

It Takes Two

I generally write for myself and really no other reason. I don't expect to be published. Though it's something I aspire to, it's so unlikely for even a good writer that it's not a priority. I write when I want to write and when I have a story I want to tell, and that's about it.

But Thoreau has told us that, "It takes two to speak the truth -- one to speak, and another to hear." I write for myself, yes, but it's not only about shouting into the abyss. So, I now have another blog, where I will post stories or other things I might be writing. I encourage and hope for your comments, though I don't expect you to read any of it if you don't want to.

But if you do: Please, make your way to The Perpetual Carnival.

Say It Five Times Fast: NaNoWriMo

Over the past couple years I've read several articles about NaNoWriMo and been tempted. Now, I notice Lisa is likely to sign up this year, and I too am tempted.

I've been writing enough that there's at least a chance I could actually get out 50,000 words in a month. My problem is that I'm only maybe a fourth (perhaps not even that much) of the way through the novel I started writing for my class. And yet I'm within just a few pages of having written all that I'm allowed to turn in for that class now, too, so I'm already in a precarious position vis a vis continuing to work on it.

So far, the experience of taking a class to self inflict a deadline has worked. But when the deadline goes away, I can't swear I won't lose track again. Already I spent one night this week revising a completely different story I had written back in January.

So, it would be perfect to work on the current thing for NaNoWriMo ... but that's against the rules. And it's one thing to maybe get started a little early, but getting a 13,000 word head start is a bit much. More to the point, there's a new idea I've had over the past couple of weeks that would be perfect for the "dash one off" format. But I worry it would absolutely kill the momentum for this other one which has otherwise been going along so well.

Hm. This wouldn't really be a problem if it hadn't now been nine years since the last time I finished a whole novel. In all that time, I'm probably as close now to finishing one as I have been in all that time, so I'd really like to not fuck it up. We'll see.

Best Day Of Her Life?

I'm really surprised that Erin has never posted this picture on her own blog, because I know how very excited she was that day when she met Dave Matthews and had this picture taken. Maybe she was embarrassed about those tattoos? Anyway, now I'm sharing it with you all.



And, no, I have no idea who that is on the left edge of the picture. No idea at all.

So, I'm not entirely sure what happened next because there was quite a crowd jostling to get close to Dave, but the next picture has Dave making this face:



Not to be accusatory, but ... just exactly where were your hands, young lady?

You To Thank

So this morning we had a little office meeting to acknowledge those who this month are having birthdays, or anniversaries with the company, or anything else worth note. At the end of this brief meeting, Jeff (not technically a supervisor of mine in any way, but also sort of the guy in charge of the office) says we're going to do a Halloween-inspired trivia quiz. And, as fate had it, the topic was scary movies.

To be honest, these were questions that were easy enough that I probably could have answered most of them years ago, before I ever met all you dear horror-movie-loving friends of mine (ie, match the serial killer to the movie franchise, what state did Blair Witch take place in, etc.). But, a few I certainly wouldn't have known if it weren't for knowing y'all (ie, the movie with the line "Have you checked the children?" is called When A Stranger Calls.)

Anyway, I kicked serious butt in this trivia challenge, and so I got ... Jeff? "Uh, actually I don't think we have a prize yet. I was going to run to Target and get something Halloween-themed at lunch, but we moved the meeting to the morning." He promised my prize would arrive in the afternoon. I figured anything fun Halloween decoration from Target would be good.

So after lunch Jeff and one of the other supervisors (female and, again, not actually one of my supervisors) presented me, very excitedly I might add, with my prize.

A t-shirt that reads: I'LL MAKE YOU SCREAM AT THE TOP OF YOUR LUNGS.

This is an episode that reveals a number of interesting things about my office. For example, planning a contest but forgetting to plan the prize is rather indicative of all our business practices from the top down. Then there's the shirt itself. Now, I happen to like the shirt. Not necessarily something I would buy for myself, but something I'll gladly wear. I like the Halloween theme and I like the double entendre.

Ah, but that double entendre. Does anyone else wonder if giving an employee a t-shirt with what seems to me a not entirely obscure sexual suggestion is the tiniest bit inapporpriate? Again, it's me and it takes a lot more than that to offend me. But I'm left wondering: Were the people who bought the shirt unaware of the double entendre? Or were they just willing to risk a sexual harrassment charge if I turned out to be offended?

It's all a big mystery to me. But at least I got a free t-shirt. And I have you all to thank.

So ... thanks!

While we're on the subject of cheeky t-shirts, here are two that I enjoy:

It's time

My iPod has been on its last legs for some time now. It pretty much has no battery left at all, so I can use it only if there's a power source available. But I've been waiting, and waiting, enjoying how the new versions just keep getting better and cheaper.

But now, my friends, I think the time has come.

Strangely, I miss this, too

Every time I start to try to sell Diana on moving to Denver - the city, the scenery, the seasons! - the season have to come along and actually be, um, season-y. This is my parents' front yard last night:



And the back:



What else?

I seem to have been blogging a lot lately, but I don't know if it's been especially good blogging. Too cerebral, too serious. But one or maybe two people mentioned they thought the blog was funy and ... ack! Performance anxiety, blog style.

Does anyone remember when TV shows only went into syndication after they weren't airing new episodes anymore? It was one thing when Law & Order became unbiquitous on cable, at least it had been around long enough to feel like an old show. Same with The Simpsons. Then Friends went crazy with two syndicated episodes every day. But this is too ridiculous: TNT now has both Las Vegas and Cold Case in syndication. These shows have only been around for - what? - two seasons? Crazy.

And nevermind the fact that Las Vegas (yes, I'm basing this assessment on having watched all of about half of one episode) is one of the truly worst shows ever.

Nip/Tuck is also on now, but I'm saving it to watch with the girls tomorrow night. It made the cover of EW before the season and it was also in this week's "Must List," but ... I haven't honestly thought very highly of season three so far. Watching it last week, I realized that it’s not really a question so much of whether the show has jumped the shark, but how long ago it happened. Does anyone else remember when it was a show about plastic surgeons who happened to have some crazy stuff going on in the periphery? Now it’s a show that is desperately trying everything the writers can think of to continue to shock us (Transvestites beating someone up and pissing on him? Gratuitous shots of man ass? Threesomes? Foursomes?), oh, and also these people just happen to be plastic surgeons.

It was always a show that required a lot of suspension of belief. But now it’s just getting desperate, and that’s too bad. Of course, the show went places in the first season that a lot of shows would need four or five seasons to get to, so maybe it’s no surprise that the writers are struggling. Pity though. Hope it gets back to a more typically Nip/Tuck level of insanity soon.

I made it up. I made it all up.

A girl in my writing class (one of the more talented ones, sadly) says she doesn’t really like being a writer, but that she doesn’t feel she has much choice. I understand where she’s coming from: I don’t think I have a choice about being a writer. Even if I actually stopped writing I think I would still see the world as a writer, the same way a painter looks at the world as a painter, etc. But for the most part, I like being a writer. I like being effortlessly good at something some people find difficult. I don’t mean that in a cocky way: I have no talent for music whatsoever and I hope that all you musicians out there feel lucky for being effortlessly good at something I (and many others) struggle at. And I like that this talent is useful in many different ways: it helped when I was in school, it helps in the working world, in addition to being a good hobby. But still, I think I understand her frustration. A lot of people have written a lot about the misery of creating art, and I might get to that point in another post, but to me, the main thing is this:

What I don’t particularly like about writing is the tendency of readers to look for “truth” behind the “fiction.” It’s an interesting thing to do as a reader, and I’m guilty of it, as well, although I have found that ultimately I am more pleased as a reader to read something without considering the extent to which it is “true.” For example, I might not dislike John Irving’s new books quite so much if I hadn’t read in countless interviews and reviews of the books that it’s to a very great extent an autobiographical novel. I would be able to recognize Irving in it either way, but it’s more comforting to think that certain scenes of abuse in the book came from his imagination rather than his actual childhood.

Of course, nothing goes into a book that didn’t in some way come from the writer. A reader might extrapolate metaphors or hidden meanings that an author never dream of, but the basic plot and the word choice and the tone is all from the author. I think that’s what ultimately makes me insecure.

For example, I don’t seriously worry that anyone will read the story I’m currently writing about a petty thief and decide that I must be a kleptomaniac myself. (Some people might get that impression, but it’s so patently untrue that such suspicion doesn’t worry me.) All the same, if I can portray the character convincingly and make readers believe that his descriptions and methods of theft are in fact possible, then it follows that I am able to think like a thief whether I’ve stolen anything or not. It’s not such a pleasant thought.

In a different book (one I like a lot more), John Irving wrote: “one must never not write a certain kind of novel out of fear of what the reaction to it will be.” I try to take that to heart. But if I were to write a novel about a man having an extramarital affair, could I blame my wife for being uncomfortable with that? If I were to write a story in which a married couple stalks a college aged “friend” of theirs, could I blame Erin for being apprehensive?

I could not. Because, while I’m reasonably confident that Bret Easton Ellis has never committed a murder, I know that every despicable thing that happens in American Psycho came from his imagination. Thinking isn’t doing, and to a great degree we all probably have terrible thoughts that we never share – but read American Psycho and then tell me that it wouldn’t be just a little awkward to hang out with a guy knowing that he was not only capable of imagining those things, but also willing to share those imaginations.

Years ago, I found I was profoundly affected by such self-censorship. I’m better at dealing with it now. I find I’m comfortable writing just about anything. When I’m writing well I fall into the character’s world and pretty much everything else vanishes. I no longer find myself unable to write a sex scene out of the fear that one day, inevitably, my mother will read it. The problem is that later, I might be disturbed by what I wrote and tempted to change it. Or, the part of my brain that is always thinking about the story (Irving says: “If you’re a writer, the problem is that, when you try to call a halt to thinking about your novel-in-progress, your imagination still keeps going; you can’t shut it off”) might move the plot in a less disturbing direction. And then there’s always the, “Well, I’ve written this story now, but I’m pretty much never going to show it to anyone” problem.

Still, it’s not all bad. When I hand in an assignment to my class I’m more nervous that they’ll think I’m as crazy as my character than that they’ll just think I’m a bad writer. So at least I have some confidence in my actual ability. No one said it would be easy, which is what we’ve all been trying to tell the young lady in class who is on the verge of giving up.

And now for something completely different.

Here’s a joke that was forwarded to me at work, and yes it is stupid but it reminded me of Diana:

This guy is in line at the supermarket when he notices a hot blonde behind him. When she sees him looking at her she smiles and waves with a kind of friendly recognition.

He is taken aback that such a good-looking woman would be waving to him, and although she seems somewhat familiar he can't place where he might know her from. He says, “Sorry, do you know me?”

She replies, “I may be mistaken, but I thought you might be the father of one of my children.”

His mind shoots back to the one and only time he was unfaithful.

“Oh my God," he stammers, “are you the stripper from my bachelor party that I had sex with on the pool table in front of all my friends while your girlfriend whipped me with some wet celery?”

“Um, no,” she replies, “I’m your son’s English teacher.”

Ba-dum-dum!

Hi. It’s October, so that means it’s time for me to recommend some books I think you should read. Not that it’s something I typically do every month or even every October, but just ... y’know. Because. Actually both books are fall / October / Halloween themed, so I guess that’s something. Ah, don’t you just love it when I start writing stream-of-consciousness? Yeah. Me neither.

The first book is The Night Country and it is by a guy named Stewart O’Nan. Now, Stewart O’Nan is a prick, but I mean that in the nicest possible way. The way I see it, a writer can either write formulaic crap and publish a novel every year or so, or a writer can be important and literary but you only can squeeze out a whole new book every 3-5 years. That’s just the only fair tradeoff. Except here’s Stewart O’Nan, who writes and publishes a book pretty much every year ... and they’re all freaking good. That’s just not fair, people.

Everything I have read by O’Nan is good, but there are a few of his books that make me especially crazy. As I’ve said before, I can pay a writer no greater compliment than jealousy. Usually it’s abstract: I’m jealous of Toni Morrison’s talent and voice, but I have no desire to write like her. But O’Nan’s books are all very familiar. He writes with a plain voice that reminds me of my own writing and he often writes stories that I might write, if only the idea had come to me first. This is true of A Prayer for the Dying and Snow Angels, both of which are books that I love dearly and hate because I feel like I could have written them, but he just got there first.

Two years ago, O’Nan published The Night Country, yet another book that made me feel that way. It’s a ghost story but it uses ghosts more like Shakespeare did than the way Stepehn King does. (Did I mention Stephen King was one of O’Nan’s mentors? How is that fair?)

In the book, it’s Halloween and the one year anniversary of the night a group of teenagers went out driving and all but one ended up being killed in an accident that an overzealous young police officer may or may not have helped cause. The ghosts of the dead children are haunting the living – the friend who survived, the cop, their parents – but really they are not haunting so much as observing. It’s a bit like Alice Sebold’s Lovely Bones but more immediate. The ghosts are sometimes angry, sometimes sad, sometimes jealous. Some want the remaining friend to die. Some want the cop to die. At least one of them just doesn’t want to be a ghost anymore.

It’s a dark story, sometimes almost heartbreaking, but often countered by the ironic voice of the teenage narrator. Also, the mystery (not only of what will happen but of what happened the year before) drives the story and makes the short book a very fast read. I highly recommend it to you, even as I wish I could share it with you with my name on it instead.

And I don’t say that lightly. Snow Angels and A Prayer for the Dying felt like books I could write. But The Night Country was a book I was already writing in my head when I read it. I had somewhat recently read the aforementioned Sebold book as well as another book narrated by the dead called Hotel World by Ali Smith. I was in the mood to write a book narrated by the dead. I had the idea of a car crash, and I’m always tempted to set books around holidays, Halloween being the most appropriate for a ghost story. With all that, it was almost creepy for me to read The Night Country. It’s not a perfect book, though it is good. But even the things that aren’t great in it seem like things I might have screwed up if I wrote the story. So, I recommend it to you as a pleasant and not too long Halloween read: both because it’s worth your time and because reading it may actually reveal something about me, as well.

The other book I have to recommend is something very different from anything I would ever write. This is called House of Leaves and is by Mark Z. Danielewski, who is the brother of the singer Poe (remember "Hello" or "Angry Johnny"?) In fact, Poe's second album Haunted is sort of a companion piece to the book.

I recommend this one to you not because it is a great book (it’s been a while since I read it but I know there were parts of it I found tedious and some definite plot holes), but because it’s the only book I’ve ever read that has scared me.

I’ve read lots of horror, King, Koontz, Straub, Barker, etc, but the thing is that, really, books just can’t be scary. As a reader I can “fall into” a good story and be quite involved with it, but … it’s still just a book. Even as a kid, things in books just didn’t scare me. But this book, which I read when I was in college, scared the shit out of me.

Partly that’s because it plays to my fears. I’m just not scared of monsters, even in visual form something corporeal is something that can be dealt with. It’s not that scary (the girl from The Ring here being an obvious exception). What does scare me is the unknown. Things that don’t fit into reality. The impossible. So, The Mothman Prophesies freaked me out. And so did the House of Leaves book.

Part of why the book works is also part of why it drags at points. The book is supposedly a collection of all the materials that could be found relating to this mysterious case. So we read some boring letters and some pointless journal entries, and we read descriptions of some video tapes that were made. It’s a bit like Blair Witch but in book form.

The story revolves around this house that’s too big. The inner dimensions are larger than the outer dimensions of the house can account for. See, that’s creepy. The more the owners look into this strange issue, the more the house seems to grow. But only on the inside. See? Creepy. Soon they’re off exploring whole huge underground passages in the dark and doing all kinds of other incredibly stupid but definitely scary things.

This one, in all honesty, isn’t going to be everyone’s cup of tea. But in the end I really liked it. I read it in the midst of summer, often during daylight, during a happy time in my life. And it still freaked me out. So either this book is totally creepy, or I’m a big wuss. (No voting on that, please, at least until you’ve read the thing.)

all the world just stopped now

So I have been informed that “Pieces of Me” is a song by Ashlee Simpson. (I actually Googled this at first, just to make sure I wasn’t being toyed with. But it seems to be true. The Google experience has given me even more reason to hate her, however, as I now know that she spells her name “Ashlee.” Maybe that’s not technically her fault, but too bad.)

Maybe, like me, you live in blissful ignorance of Ms. Saturday Night and the majority of her music. Maybe you thought I was being cheeky? Maybe you didn’t notice I had changed the blog title at all. Or, maybe you recognized that whether the full line “pieces of me you’ve never seen” is part of Ashlee’s song or not (I didn’t really do that much research) it’s also a line from a Tori Amos song, which is where the title actually came from.

And OK, maybe it’s a little weird for a guy to take inspiration from Tori Amos, but … well fuck off. She’s awesome.

Still, I’m thinking of changing the name again now.

This Time Of Year

Some of you who live in parts of the country with seasons might think that a tribute to fall is well overdue. Those of you who live in Arizona might still think it's premature. But I had a lovely afternoon *, it's Friday, I'm home early, and I am thus inspired.

Fall is my favorite time of year. Halloween is coming, cooler temperatures are coming, it is a beautiful time to live in Arizona. I have whole playslists of "fall" music and I watch lots of "fall" related things, and ... yeah, I'm a dork. You know this. My favorite "fall" song is truly a song about fall and it's by Better Than Ezra and it's called "This Time Of Year."



There's a feeling in the air
Just like a Friday afternoon
You can go there if you want
But it fades too soon

So go on, let it be
There's a feeling coming over me
Seems like it's always understood
This time of year

There's a football in the air
Across a leaf-blown field
There's the first car on the road
And the girl you steal

So go on, let it be
There's a feeling coming over me
Seems like it's always udnerstood
This time of year

I know there's a reason to change
I know there's a time for us
You think about the good times
And you live with all the bad
You can feel it in the air
Feeling right this time of year

That first line has just always enchanted me. It's so right. What else can I say? I've always loved this song.

When I was a senior in high school, I actually got a chance to meet Better Than Ezra backstage at the Paramount Theater in Denver, on an afternoon before a concert they were playing on a weekend in early October. And they decided to play a couple songs for those of us who got to meet them back there and did just a fun, amazing little acoustic set and ended it with "This Time of Year."

Anyway, before starting the song, they said that they think of it as their "campfire" song, but since they play most of their concerts electrified and highly amplified it doesn't always feel that way when they play it. Then they played a quiet, acoustic, slower and almost sad version of the song that I will never, ever forget. Evereyone was singing along at first, but very quietly, and then louder and louder until it really was like a campfire singalong.

The thing is, I didn't always like fall. In a place like Denver that has seasons, fall means winter is coming and when I was in junior high and igh school and had a bit of depression, winter was the worst. By my senior year, I was beginning to really fall in love with fall. ** But something about the slow, quiet version of the song really hit something in me. I damn near ended up in tears, but didn't feel too foolish because there were people in the room crying. It was an emotional moment like that.

Later that night during their main set, the lead singer told a brief story about playing this song in a sad way and how he felt so awful seeing people feeling sad because of it. And they then proceeded to play a perfect, upbeat, loud version of "This Time of Year." It's a moment that has always satyed with me, and I never fail to think of that day when I hear the song.

So fall is coming. Good movies are coming to theatres. Apple cider is in the stores. Pumpkins and Halloween decorations are everywhere you look. Football is being played. Baseball has finally started the playoffs. It's October. It's fall.

I'm always just a tiny bit sad during fall in Arizona. I miss Colorado autumns. I miss trips to Estes Park to see the aspen changing to a brilliant gold and the elk bugling in Rocky Mountain National Park. I miss that crisp feeling in the air that we don't really get in Arizona until around Thanksgiving. I miss putting on heavy jackets and gloves to go to the movies and going to football games that start off warm in sunlight and end well after dark when it's chilly so you have to huddle together with a girl for warmth. I miss not wanting to drink apple cider unless it's warmed up.

But those feelings will reach our southern desert climate soon enough. This afternoon, I'm thrilled just knowing it's on its way.



* Our office won a contest this week and was rewarded by being able to watch a movie this afternoon. It was actually quite fun and I laughed a lot and got to leave about 20 minutes early and the afternoon I walked out into was sunny and the sky was blue and it was not too hot. And I was able to drink it in and think, Ah, the weekend.

** ba-dum-bum!

PS. When I first published this blog one of the books that showed up "from my library" on the side of the page was Stewart O'Nan's "The Night Country," which is a fall/Halloween book that I love and have long intended to write a blog about. I'll try to get to that soon.

it's 11:30 pm, do you know where natalie portman is?

Maybe I’m having a moment of selective memory here, but for me there really weren’t any two better movies in 2004 than Closer and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. Both are movies that linger – I haven’t stopped thinking about them since the day I went to the theater. Beyond that, they don’t really have much in common. Both are about relationships, I guess. Though Closer is more about people interacting while Eternal Sunshine is more about our inner lives, our memories. I’ve been having the urge to sit down and watch Eternal Sunshine again lately, but tonight Diana turned on Closer before she went to bed, so I’m watching it all the way through for the first time since in the theater, I think. I own it, but it’s not really the kind of thing you’d watch on a summer afternoon. I’ve put in the DVD for a few scenes, but not the whole thing.

I’m struck by the pessimism of this movie, which is really just a kind of honesty, an open discussion of a reality we gloss over in day-to-day life. I am tempted to write that I do not know people who behave this way in real life, but in fact I do. I just don’t like to think about it. Still, it is reassuring to me to feel put off by these characters.

I’ve been in a dark mood lately. Not depressed, in which case I would probably embrace Closer’s ugliness, but dark. Maybe it’s my job, or Diana’s job. Maybe it’s the combined fatigue we all feel about our jobs. Do any of my friends really like what they do? I guess Robert doesn’t hate his gig, oh and Kane gets to make out with some German chick. (What’s that Trish? That should go in the “jobs that suck” column instead? Gotcha.)

Maybe it’s because October is here and I have decorated for Halloween and Corpse Bride is in theatres and yet ... it’s still ungodly hot. Fall is not really here in any meaningful sense. Maybe I just need a cool fall breeze on my face to brighten my mood. I tried to trick myself by breaking out “fall” songs and clothes and the like, but “This Time of Year” just really doesn’t work when it’s 99.

Added into this, to some degree, is the story I’m writing, which is an undeniably dark story. I tend to listen to “appropriate” music when writing and that’s starting to carry over to the rest of my day, as well. Gone from my speakers the last couple of weeks are the happy, carpe diem invocations of Dave Matthews Band or Jack Johnson. And that’s not unusual. DMB tends to be “summer music” for me, and I tend to listen to a lot of U2 and Pearl Jam in the fall and winter. But this isn’t like that. I’m listening to the really dark Tori Amos songs, and Nine Inch Nails, and Daniel Lanois. For God’s sake I found myself listening to Brian Eno yesterday. So clearly it’s getting a bit out of control.

I need to stop indulging it, I suppose. I went to the movies this week and saw A History of Violence, a dark and brutal movie. Strange how that didn’t help. But I have a thing about not really enjoying comedies when I’m by myself. Upside? There are still plenty of stupid comedies to be seen. 40 Year Old Virgin and Wedding Crashers are still in theaters and that Waiting movie comes out ... son, I think? Plus Wallace and Gromit this weekend. And maybe not so much with the Closer before bedtime anymore.

A History Of Violence

Tonight I saw “A History Of Violence” and I’m very conflicted by it. It was a good movie, one I would recommend, but not one that I especially liked. (I don’t really think this is going to spoil the movie for you any more than aany other review or even the trailer, but stop reading if you want to see it and don’t want to even have an idea of what is coming.)

I think it’s an important movie. Not just because it’s likely to get all kind of award nominations, but because this is a movie that asks truly difficult questions. Oddly, most of the really interesting questions posed in the movie aren’t about violence, so much as they are about self: Who are you as a person? How much of your past defines who you are today? Can you walk away from your past and what is the price to pay if it catches up with you? Are we to be defined based on the best version of ourselves or the worst? Somewhere in between? This is the kind of movie I can imagine being shown in college level classes and discussed at great length thereafter. It’s not the kind of conversation you’re likely to have on the way home with your companion after watching the movie (I wouldn’t know – I went alone), but I imagine you’ll both be thinking these questions.

Still, it’s a flawed film, I think. David Cronenberg directs and his focus is on violence as a concept – which is a problem for me, both because I think there are more interesting question in the movie (above) that he ignores, but also because Cronenberg’s movie is hypocritical. This is a dark movie that takes on violence in a serious way – it doesn’t want to be an action movie. That would be exploitive and this film seems desperately to want us to understand that violence is destructive and evil and very much to be avoided. And yet.

And yet I’m not sure if I have never seen a movie that made me feel quite so much like I was watching pornography. I’m not only referring to two sex scenes the movie offers us – both of which are overlong and awkwardly voyeuristic in the way they linger long after we want to look away – I’m also talking about the scenes of violence, which are very bit as voyeuristic as the sex. No one gets shot or hurt in this movie without bleeding, or losing bits of flesh. I can’t even remember how many heads I saw with brains leaking out, how many noses broken, how much blood splattered on clothing. Cronenberg lingers on each act of violence in a way that is both disgusting but also oddly excited. It’s unneeded, and it’s presence is what gave me the feeling of hypocrisy. It was like someone giving a lecture on the horrors of gunplay but then eagerly wanting to show you pictures of how horrible it is.

I’m guessing Cronenberg wanted it to be over the top because he wants the movie to be described as unflinching. He wants to show us dirty sex and dirty violence and so gain credibility with us in thinking that he’s not fooling around. But we know he’s not fooling. It’s a serious movie, and I don’t need to see oral sex or splattered brains to know it. The camera doesn’t flinch in this movie, true – instead, Cronenberg makes the audience flinch. I think it’s a mistake.

Lest you think I’m coming down harsh on the movie, let me mention that most of the aactingg was really good. Viggo Mortensen is excellent. Maria Bello as his wife is awesome. Ed Harris is scary, in a good way. William Hurt shows up and absolutely cements his place as my favorite actor, period. He’s just the man. I’ve never seen him in a roll like this, but he completely sells it. And he continues to have the coolest speaking voice ever. (The kids are not so good, really, but maybe the lines they get are at fault. Whoever wrote the movie doesn’t have much of an ear for the way kids speak or interact with their parents.)

So, yeah. Thumbs up, but I’m not sure I’d want to see it again.