In the Spirit of E.B.

2008-11-28T15:14:00.001-05:00

The Supermarket and other facts of Life

2008-10-03T13:48:00.003-04:00

It's now October and in some ways it still feels as though I've just moved to Maine. It's not that everyday I look out the window and leap back shouting, "What is this? Who?! What?!". Rather this sense of still being new to Maine springs more from the constant comparisons that continue in my mind.

Take, for example, the supermarket. Having grown up with the chain that I currently shop at there should be very little surprise in the experience of going to the store. Yet there is. Each visit reminds me of two very important things.

The first is that no matter how wide you make an isle, no matter how well spaced out you make the items on a shelf, you will still encounter people who believe they are alone in the store. I dislike starting off with a complaint but it's relevant to my lingering obsession for comparison. Previously I found that when encountering another person in an isle if both of you had shopping carts a problem was inevitable. The isles were narrow and the marketing geniuses in charge of the store felt that by placing displays, either in the isles or literally sticking straight out from the shelves via plastic holders, the increase in sales would compensate for the bottlenecks that would ensue. No one liked the situation but it was unavoidable. In a city you are never going to make it through the isles without encountering another person.

In small town Maine this should not be an issue, or, if it is an issue it should be a much lesser one. I am happy to report that it is, I find the percentage of bottlenecks in isles to be 50% less thus far. Unfortunately the cause of these bottlenecks has little to do with the width of the isles or the displays that are loitering about and more to do with the rather inconsiderate nature of my fellow shoppers. I will cease dwelling on the point, I mention it merely because here one would expect to encounter the oblivious and the rude less frequently than in a city -- if for no reason other than that there are fewer people.

Regarding the positive aspects of the stores I could write for days with ease. Better selections, better products, friendly employees who happen to know something about the departments they work in; as well as designs for the stores that are logical, spacious and conducive to happy shopping.

The second point I cannot fail to notice on each shopping excursion are the promotions for local products within the stores. Often there will be signs and displays that promote local products that tell the shopper where the product comes from and some information about the producer. I like this very much and I would guess most people would as well. There is not only a sense of satisfaction I feel when I choose these products, knowing that I am supporting a local business person but also a connectedness that I find lacking in most aspects of life.

Take, for instance, the numerous articles about the polar bears of the past two years. Everywhere I turn I read or hear something about global warming and how this is destroying the habitat of the polar bears. The consequences are dreadful for the bears and everyone is proclaiming that it will most likely mean the extinction of their species unless something is done. My point on the matter is -- what is to be done? I haven't a clue and none of the filmmakers, journalists or scientists that keep penetrating into my small little world are offering any suggestions. I am flooded by images and text that decry what is happening and lament this tragedy but so far no one has proposed any solutions to me.

This isn't an attempt to dodge responsibility on my part. I recognize that I use oil and that I drive a car and so on, I play a part in this problem and I fully admit it. My point is this -- rather than continue to shout the news of the upcoming polar bear apocalypse perhaps someone should try and shout instructions on how to slow or solve this problem.

A few months prior to the invasion of Iraq I went to a lecture given by Thomas Friedman where he spoke about the potential invasion and the ramifications for the US if such an action was taken. A large portion of his lecture had to do with oil and this country's dependency on it. One of the better points he made concerned the President's response to September Eleventh and how it could have been better. What he meant by better was how the President asked nothing of the people of this country, that no action was asked or required, in order to prevent such acts from occurring again. Mr. Friedman made the point that had the president asked the American people to buy hybrid cars, or to walk to work or convert their homes to natural gas that even thought it would have cost us all something we would have felt better about what had happened and would have healed faster because of these sacrifices. His point, and I agree with him, was that if the people had been asked to be involved, much in the way people were with the second world war the matter would have been our problem and not just something the government was attempting to clean up.

This was a long-winded way of making the point but I hoped it would be an effective way to do it. I like the idea of supporting local businesses and the fact that a chain supermarket makes the effort to not only stock these products but to call the shopper's attention to it. This strikes me as one of the more wonderful discoveries I have made since moving to Maine. It frustrates me beyond belief to dodge cars when running or to have construction continue for weeks outside of my home but the fact that some people here are doing more than just bemoaning the death of the local farms, this fills me with profoundly optimistic feelings.

Self-Awareness

2008-07-14T14:21:00.004-04:00

This weekend the town I live in is having it's annual Clam Festival. My neighbor was being helpful and decided to give me an extra brochure for the event. He described the festival as being very "middle America" but also something that I should not miss.

I leafed through the flyer and saw a number of events that seemed fitting for such a festival. Bike races, cook-offs, parades and plenty of information about the food vendors and what they would be selling. I mention all of this because I find myself, despite myself, not wanting to go. Running past the strip of main street where they are setting up the stalls I found myself shaking my head. Something in what my neighbor said really rang true for me about this event. In fact it is by and large a good deal of my problem with most events regardless of where I live. My own self-awareness keeps me from enjoying them. Furthermore I often do not even attend.

My wife has assured me for quite some time that all of these thoughts will fall by the wayside once we have children. That I will find myself at these events or even better (or worse) at theme parks and that the children's enjoyment will bring me enjoyment. I try and say little because there is no way to know until the time comes, but part of me very much hopes that she is right. The idea of watching some of the bluegrass bands this weekend (even though I do not like bluegrass) appeals to me, because it seems like something nice and different to do.

Epics

2008-06-09T11:00:00.003-04:00

It is not surprising that when you come across a tidbit someone said or wrote, that is in complete agreement with what you already think, that this discovery fills you with a small amount of joy. Over the past few days I have been rereading a series of speeches that Jorge Luis Borges made (I think sometime in the 1970's) and were then later put into a volume titled, This Craft of Verse.

Among the many gems I find in this book my favorite (of the moment of course) is one concerning the modern novel and its failings. Borges makes the statement that all of the very clever things being done with the structure of the novel may very well be its undoing. In short, what once was merely a form of telling a story has become something rather different and distorted. The comparison he makes is between Joyce's Ulysses and a line or two of either Shakespeare or Dante. The point he makes, and I find it a very succinct summary of what I have known but not realized I had known, is that the failing of Ulysses is that the reader knows thousands of things about the two main characters but never really knows the characters themselves. Whereas in Shakespeare or Dante some characters live and die within a few lines, yet the reader feels that they know these characters intimately.

A few days ago I finished the novel, If on a Winter's Night a Traveller..., and although I take issue with other aspects of the book as well, this point made my Borges neatly covers what bothered me about the novel. Borges quotes Mencken in his speech saying (and I am not directly quoting here although I am using quotation marks) "The purpose of the modern novel is the breaking down of the characters." That is to say, most modern novels are more concerned with the psychology of their characters and the eventual unraveling of some aspect of their lives. This unraveling may in fact be quite interesting but the point Borges is making (I believe) is that this is not as important as the telling of a good story.

All of this is contained within a speech concerned with Epic poetry. I was reading this while my In-laws were visiting and I was so taken with it that I decided to try and share the gist of this section with everyone. While I felt it was a straightforward commentary on the state of the novel and what those writing today (whether poetry or prose) should aspire to, I found myself presented with a question: what is the definition of an Epic? I think this question was made in response to Borges’ claim that out of the two World Wars only one work could attempt to the claim being an epic. Borges felt that, The Seven Pillars of Wisdom has the qualities of an epic. So to try and be very clear I have visited Bartleby's website and below is their definition of epic.

A long narrative poem written in elevated style, in which heroes of great historical or legendary importance perform valorous deeds. The setting is vast in scope, covering great nations, the world, or the universe, and the action is important to the history of a nation or people. The Iliad, the Odyssey, and the Aeneid are some great epics from world literature, and two great epics in English are Beowulf and Paradise Lost. 1 ‡ Figuratively, any task of great magnitude may be called "epic," as in an "epic feat" or an "epic undertaking."

Now to try and briefly clarify, Borges knew that Lawrence’s book was not a poem. Earlier in his speech he makes a point of explaining how poetry has changed since the time of Homer, how a split occurred. This split put lyrical poetry on one side and the telling of a story (the novel) on the other. So when he makes the claim that this non-fiction book is the only work resembling an epic I do not think he is confusing the issue of what an epic is because this is in fact only one definition.

So all of this is a rather long-winded way of getting to the simple statement that I agree with what the man says. I started by making this point so it is hardly a revelation, I know. What I think is interesting is that Borges was a poet, he clearly valued poetry and yet he makes statements like, "And this is a beautiful line although nothing more. I think this is enough." What I mean to say is he found it perfectly acceptable for a poem to simply be beautiful and nothing more. For him this was all a poem had to be. He points out that modern readers are generally dissatisfied with novels that rely on a gimmick or trick, that overly clever works are not as fulfilling as the simpler stories told in these much older, often epic, works. I think this is an interesting point because I have certainly felt this for some time. Even in novels where the story seems straightforward and there is little evidence of a brilliant structure, the kinds of stories being written now, and how they are written, never fully satisfy.

Borges offers a number of theories as to why this is and but I will stop attempting to reconstruct this speech. I recommend this book to anyone who writes or is interested in writing. At worst it is a short, somewhat entertaining read that covers numerous languages throughout the century and I am sure there are worse ways you could spend an afternoon than delving into such reading material.

Visitors

2008-06-04T12:03:00.005-04:00

Tonight my in-laws will be arriving for a visit. It will the be the first time we have had visitors in our new apartment and I am feeling what I always feel about such things, both excitement and apprehension.

I like it when people visit. Your routine is altered, instead of having breakfast the same way you do every day you skip it or you go out to a diner. Instead of being in bed at exactly ten o'clock you find yourself having deep conversations in the kitchen simply because there is someone new in your kitchen with you at that time.

What troubles me when people visit is that I am always faced with certain truths about myself that I would prefer not to believe. For example: I am possessive about my possessions. My chair, my desk, my computer even my favorite mug. I take them all for granted and think nothing of them when it is just Kate and myself. We know the rules, we follow them, life goes on smoothly.

It is when the visitors arrive and they open your cupboard and take out your favorite mug, or sit in your seat after dinner or use your computer at the time of day when you usually check you email; these are the times when it becomes apparent to me that I do not like sharing my stuff. Sometimes the item in question is breakable and I find myself watching intently as the grip on the handle or the lack of two-handed support is used employed. I stop listening to the conversation and I become focused to the exclusion of everything around me as I watch this person, this visitor, toy with my emotions as they gingerly sway the mug as they speak or turning the keepsake over in their hands.

It's not something I am proud of and it always leads my thoughts to that of being a parent and how this is a major shortcoming for that role. I have always believed myself to be relaxed and easy-going because things in my home do not have to placed in a certain manner or cleaned according to a set schedule. The handling of my possessions, the respect I feel they must be shown, is entirely a different matter and is the clearest indicator that I can see of problems to come.

At the end of the day I am not a person who gets overly attached to things. When my cars have ceased to run or when a chair or a lamp or a pair of shoes must be thrown out I do so without the slightest hesitation. This is why I find it so shocking that the thought of an early departure of certain items it so upsetting to me. After all it is only a coffee mug, or a teakettle or a pillow.
The solution seems rather simple: have others handle these items more often. One or possibly two things will happen. The first is I will grow accustomed to the act and with its repetition the fear of items being damaged should lessen. The second would be that things will get broken more often and as these items continue to broken it will become more tolerable.

I have no idea if this system would work, if I would change and adapt or if it would just continue to annoy and bother me. What I can say with absolute certainty is that how things are is not as I would like them so change is the only good option. So perhaps tomorrow morning I will choose a different mug for myself and offer my favorite to my father-in-law. Or I will sit in a chair a let my mother-in-law recline on the couch and do my best to ignore whatever petty issue begins to gnaw at me. Self-improvement comes in many forms, it is only when the forms are so silly that it seems as though it should be called by another name. Wish me luck.

Change

2008-06-03T11:15:00.005-04:00

I am seated in a new office chair writing at my desktop computer, which sounds quite boring but is, in fact, very exciting for me. The desk that makes this situation possible was an acquisition Kate made a few years back. She discovered that our neighbor was going to throw it away and promptly snatched it up. These are the selling points of the item. That being said I have never really liked the desk but it was free and I needed a desk so we have been together now for now five years.

In the past the chairs I used at the desk were similar in their origins. Either Kate had found them somewhere and brought them home or new someone who wanted to sell a chair for very little money. As you can imagine they were never great pieces of furniture. Thankfully the chairs either broke or were destroyed by our cat after relatively short periods of time (two or three years). Which brings me to this moment: day one with the new office chair.

What is there to say about a good chair? What can be said is not so different from any good product or item that you use on a regular basis. Travel coffee mugs, carrying cases, wallets, even socks I think all fall into a category I would like to call: the necessary-but-undervalued.

I think everyone has driven past a run-down house or trailer that contains either a very expensive car in the drive or other permanent structures that appear to be worth more than the home, like a barn or swimming pool, and thought to themselves. "Why on Earth..." It is very easy to spot these inconsistencies in the lives of others. Where the priorities concerning limited capital bring into relief the folly of our neighbors when choosing between need and want. And then someone visits your home and you offer them a cup of coffee, or you take them onto your porch for an after-dinner chat and suddenly they confront you with this very same problem. You have neglected the things you need for the thing you wanted.

There are two activities in my day-to-day that for me are very important. One is writing. The other is watching movies. Since I have been married (which is my preferred date for marking when I began to live on my own as an adult) I have had neither a good desk and chair to write at nor have I had a good television to watch movies on. Let me define good. Usually, after sitting at my desk for two hours or more I would have difficulty standing due to severe pain in my legs, and depending on the chair, also in my lower back. At one point I was sitting at the desk for ten to twelve hours a day and after such sessions it would be a challenge to walk around the apartment.

I consider furniture that causes such problems to be bad furniture. Then there was the television, a 19" television that possessed only one speaker and required an RF adapter to interface with a DVD player. I was able to watch movies on this television without it causing me pain, but if I were to then watch the same movie on my desktop with its Logitech speakers and sub-woofer I would cringe at the difference in quality and quietly curse my television for its shortcomings.

So where did my money go? We own three computers. Two laptops and a desktop. The reason for this is not interesting but it wasn't because I wanted three computers. I also purchased a prosumer video camera and accessories several years back that essentially ate up our entire non-essentials budget for that year. Kate has taken numerous trips and flights that we could have driven to save money (prior to the gas craze that has made driving as expensive as anything else). In short, the money went to other things, usually fun, play-related items, despite the fact that the cost of replacing a chair or a television is not that large.

I am writing this and thinking about my legs and my back and my arms, all of which are in the ergonomically correct positions at this moment and are quite comfortable. I am thinking about the past six years and the amount of frustration the chairs and the desk and the television have created for me and I can feel nothing except a little silly. The solution to my writing problem cost about $100 and I would guess will last me longer than my previous chairs, but if it does not, then the cost per year should be about $33.

At present we do not have a television. We decided to abandon the old one to the Washington, D.C. garbage men and I hope it is doing well. I am thinking about the process involved with buying a new television now, choosing between the formats, the sizes, the brands and the features offered and I am already feeling daunted. I feel all of this while I sit in my new chair and chastise myself for not buying a good one sooner.

The solution, I imagine, will be what it nearly always is in such situations: another person. Did I decide to purchase this chair? I did not. I was using a wooden kitchen chair at my desk, by far the worst chair I had used so far, when Kate decided enough was enough. So even though she is fine without having a television and I am really the one who pines for evenings watching movies on the comfort of my couch (in truth it is a futon) most likely it will be her who again steps forward and takes action.

My post from yesterday will certainly make it seem as though I am passive and she is proactive, but I would like to just clarify. In numerous instances these roles are reversed and my point with this post is to try and say something beyond my marriage and our relationship. My point is to state that this is a very human situation and that it is odd/interesting that most people will choose to suffer along with something rather than change it, if the suffering is related to an act or object that is important to them. It's odd that when the new item to purchase is of little interest or value, as has been the case numerous times in my own situation, that the disinterested party says, "Oh, just go by the thing then and be done with it." It makes me think that perhaps what we all need is a hotline or a chat room to call or visit with the problems of our day-to-day life so that every so often someone can serve up that needed push and order us to take action and solve these nagging problems.

Work to be Done

2008-06-02T10:43:00.003-04:00

Kate and I are in the process of trying to decorate and set-up our new apartment. Neither of us has much of an aptitude for such things, in so far as neither one of us gives matters like this much thought. Which is not to say that we do not have very firm opinions about aspects of our home, of what can and cannot go next to the fireplace or how the appliances in the kitchen should be placed.

The two of us approach the decoration and layout of our home in a manner that I believe many do. Kate is a doer, she sees an empty wall and she finds a picture to hang there. She is happy once this is done. I see the empty wall and think about what should go there, how it should be hung and ultimately find reasons why I cannot hang a picture there. After all of this I am not really happy. The simple solution for such things would be for me to either adopt her attitude or to do what I am doing at this moment which is get out of the way. As I write this I hear the occasional beep of the stud detector followed by the gentle poundings of hammer and nail.

The hitch with all of this is that when I walk downstairs and see which pictures were hung in the living room and so on I will have opinions. Some of which I know will not be ones of approval. Yet, I did nothing in the planning of the hanging or the actual event. Instead I went upstairs and sat down to write.

I go on about all of this because I feel that these two basic attitudes toward the home are prevalent everywhere and because I see no real solution. The Kate's of this world see something that needs to be done and they do it. Afterwards, I think, they are usually pleased or content with what they have done. The build roads and bridges and make sure the building has air conditioning and such. Then the John's enter and remark, "This design was not really thought out." After the fact all that could be improved or redesigned is apparent to the people of my persuasion and we feel compelled, for the good of everyone to be sure, to share these thoughts.

All of this is my mind's way of circling around the upcoming presidential elections and my detachment from them. I have tried in vain to make myself follow the progress of the candidates (except it seems the only candidates to follow are Clinton and Obama) but my attention lags. I grow irritable when I read headlines about how this one pulled ahead by winning the vote but how the other is really the victor because of... I don't know why because I stop reading then.

I am proud of you, dear reader, if you are able to continue on with those stories and follow them to the end. I am impressed if afterwards these stories and debates help you understand the candidates and their position's more clearly. I envy your dedication and your commitment to being involved in this process. For myself all I see is a blank wall, work to be done but no means of approaching it as of yet.

So instead I sit and I write. I make comments about the two candidates and how neither strikes me as a good choice, or sincere or really saying much about the issues. In short, I make it known that I think there must be a better way. I criticize and I lament and meanwhile you and the rest of the Kate-like people continue to do your part and make sure that something gets done.

The Easy Way

2008-06-01T10:54:00.002-04:00

For some time now I have been taking the easy way out. Take, for example, this blog. Instead of writing pieces about world events, about matters that take up my thoughts and most likely yours, trying to make sense of them and perhaps adding whatever I can to them, I have made entries that are concerned with one thing only: me.

The pitfalls of blogging are many but the basic sin is the center of each. When a person makes an entry the subject nearly always is them. How they are feeling that day or what happened to them on the way to the store, or why they love the president. Whether they approach the blog as a journal to write about their own lives and goings on, or try and use it as a platform to put forth their thoughts and feelings about some matter that is important to them the basic problem remains the same. Who is going to read this?

Writing without the reader in mind seems to be (and here again we return the focus onto me) my biggest complaint about modern literature. The correct term, I believe, is post-modern literature, but to be honest I am not sure if that is entirely correct either. Let me call them books where the author has decided that having a narrative is less important than what they have to say.

I am presently reading If on a Winter's Night a Traveler, by Italo Calvino and reading this book is very similar to reading blogs. This work came toward the end of Calvino's life and it is clearly the work of someone who had spent a lifetime writing and thinking about writing. If there is a story being told here it is of writing. The story of the process, the concerns, possible thoughts and philosophy's as well as the relationship the writer can have with the reader.

The problem I have with this book and with blogging and my own writing at the moment (again this bounces back to me) is that what is written isn't really that interesting or involving or entertaining. It is an extremely self-conscious work that is designed to continually wrench the reader from the narrative so that they may be addressed directly in order that they can better understand what this book aims to do and how it aims to do it. My purpose in mentioning this work is not to attempt a review nor is it to damn it for being what it is. My purpose is to make a simple little point which is this: not so long ago no one was writing such works, whether in the form of a novel or story or letter.

I have no idea why all this changed. I do not know if the forms of transmitting information and their increased speed and range played a role in how people saw themselves and therefore shaped the way they wrote. What I do know is that reading Dickens or Tolstoy or any other writer whose works come before this change is an entirely different and more pleasurable experience. The reason seems simple enough: self-consciousness removes that fourth wall and reminds the reader that what they are experiencing is false.

That is not to say that this cannot be interesting but I believe it is an entirely different animal whose value is not necesarily large.

So this inevitably brings me back to the beginning and to, sadly, myself. What is this worth of this blog and these writings? Should anyone who does not know me care about what is written here and take the trouble to read it? I cannot find a convincing argument in my favor, yet, I know I will continue to post here. Why? It would be dishonest to say that I feel this may benefit anyone other than myself. I know that posting here is a good exercise for me.

So what is the point of all this then? The point of this post is, as most often is the case, for me to work out what I really think about a particular matter. The conclusion? I am going to post from now on without worry about who is reading this or whether they find it important and because of this I am going to try and find the freedom to write in an open, honest manner about those things which interest me most and which I think are most worthy of being written about.

Theft

2008-05-31T14:37:00.002-04:00

A few years back I found a rather curious object in my backyard. I should start by saying that my backyard at the time was a small fenced in area (about 20'x20') located in the Georgetown section of Washington, DC. There was a small utility shed on the edge of our property, where the land of the house met with the land of Rock Creek Park (or the tail end of the park that connects to Rock Creek Park, DC is not always clear about such things).

I was walking to the edge of our property and I came across a full intact deer antler. It was somewhat small although it looked as though the antler had simply fallen off the deer's head and landed on the ground next to the shed. I was pleased to find this antler, mostly because I had grown up on Vermont and never really had much to do with Deer. After posing with the antler for a few pictures to send to my parents I decided to place the antler on one of the front steps to my apartment, next to some of the potted flowers my wife kept there.

Months past and each time I went in and out of the house, or checked the mailbox which hung next to the door, I would notice the antler and feel a little twinge of that pleasure at finding such a strange and wonderful object in the middle of a city. Why I kept it outside I am not really sure. Our apartment was somewhat small and although the antler itself was clean it seemed to me that bringing it inside would somehow violate some rule or code. I am being abstract here because the feeling I had about the antler was it must stay outside. My thoughts about this were very simple and direct, it must be kept outdoors. Why this was, I am unsure.

About six months ago I noticed the antler was missing. I was sad to see that someone had taken it but I was not angry. Time went on and the notion that someone had stolen this antler bothered me more and more. Partly because the object was of not material worth and the theft of something that is without material worth troubles me. It also troubles me that in a place like DC, where seeing deer should be so odd and strange to its residents, the people there (our neighbors are the only people I can really speak about with certainty) seemed oblivious to these animals.

On numerous occasions deer would come into our backyard and the backyards of our next-door neighbors. Each time my wife and I noticed this, whether we were inside or out-of-doors, we would stop and watch them. Many times we would see our neighbors, in their own yards or on their porches ignoring the deer as they grazed or lay about in the late afternoon sun. We always found it odd they they were completely indifferent to these animals but since we were not we then ignored the neighbors who ignored the deer that we enjoyed so much.

I write all of this as a way of trying to explain my complete vexation over this theft. I can imagine quite easily that it was some young teenage boy, alone or with his friends, who saw the antler and felt taking it would be amusing or fun or just something to do. I imagine that the antler was discarded a block or two away when the boy tired of playing with it and attempting threatening gestures that his friends pretended not to find funny. Or perhaps some delivery person saw it and just took it because it looked interesting. My point with these imagined scenarios to rather silly: I am very pleased to no longer live in a place where such a thing is likely.

Two weeks ago my wife and I moved to Maine. Since then we have met our neighbors, gone for walks and runs (saying hello and receiving greetings in return from all those we meet) and done so many things that life in a small town affords.

This is probably not a very interesting entry and it certainly is not a good essay but I would very much like to start over now that I am in a new setting and seeing the world with altered eyes. I am thinking that my lofty idea of only putting great writing on this site is a waste, since no one really is reading it and because I have not been motivated to do so. I will try to keep matters interesting and brief. All I can really hope to do is keep writing though.

Snowbound

2007-02-18T10:47:00.001-05:00

To grow up in New England is to have an intimate knowledge of snow and ice and all the other joys of winter. The discovery in early childhood that snow created more than soft slopes and sticky snowballs is a profound one. It signals one of the many small changes in a life where the balance between play and work, the blessing of snow and the necessity of cleared sidewalks, becomes apparent.

The families I knew and considered to be lucky owned snowblowers small enough to tackle these sidewalks and paths in addition to the driveways. Which is not to say that my own family was unlucky or that my back bent often to the snow. No, my father is a meticulous groundskeeper and always, whether by shovel or plow or snowblower attachment (for his lawntractor is thing to behold) he was the first and last line of defense against winter weather.

As a child and even as a young adult my concept of winter and the problems posed by snow centered on the home. Rarely did my mind perceive the larger battle that was waged with each storm; the battle between road crews and highways between town employees and public sidewalks.

My mind drifts to these matters now in the wake of what residents of the District of Columbia surely consider a whopper of a snow storm, some three inches of snow topped off by a night of freezing rain. Although I have weathered several winters here before, this year has presented the city with the most winter-like weather. This present storm in particular (which occurred now six days ago) brings into relief a few of the strange differences between winter in New England and in our nation's capital.

The first and foremost difference is that sidewalks are of no concern to the city. Each day I have waited to see the small motorized vehicles that I remeber so well patrolling the streets of Burlington and each day I see only the snow, now made rock-solid by the sheet of ice and sun, all making the sidewalks as treacherous as any I have ever encountered. Apparently the sidewalks here are left to fend for themselves, which during previous winters has posed very little threat to pedestrians because the snow lasted only a day.

The roads are similar to the sidewalks but have one particular advantage, the traffic on them is considerably greater and the weight of the vehicles is great enough to part the initial snow and create narrow tire-paths that burrow down the pavement.

So many of my writings are concerned with this city and how it deals with matters that effect the everyday life of it's citizens. I am drawn to this topic again and again because I cannot fathom the reasoning behind so many of the actions, or more often, the lack of action. It is not that I am oblivious to matters like budgets and persons employed in various facilities to handle the situations that come about. Undoubtedly the city owns few plow trucks, purchases little salt for the roads and perhaps is without those little sidewalk cleaners. What is most likely is they purchase what they need to keep the downtown area manageable and the rest of the city is left to fend for itself. Meanwhile those who live in the city and have considerable sums of money at their disposal employ groundskeepers and services with companies that plow their driveways and venture onto their roofs if snow needs to be removed.

So while I look out my window and wonder why my sidewalk is the way it is part of me knows it is because I rent my apartment and that I live in part of a neighborhood where the families and other renters have no money for private cleaners. At these times I try not to think about the taxes my wife and I pay to this city each year, or the number of parking enforcement officials on the streets (the ratio may be one parking enforcement officer per 100 cars, this is merely my estimate though) and I am, as usual, baffled by the city.

The problem, I know, is that I am new to city life and I do not want to accept such things. In my heart I remain a small town person who likes walking part strangers and saying "Hello." I like secondary roads and small gas stations that are near nothing in particular and dirt roads. So I can see that the problem here isn't really the city and I apologize for ranting about it. When I write about these things I try not to approach them from a place of anger but more from a place of invested curiosity. In the hope that maybe, just maybe, I can get you to notice these things too. If only for a moment.

Art that Challenges You

2007-02-02T13:25:00.003-05:00

After recently watching a movie and disliking it greatly, I did what I so often do; I decided to watch the special features. This has become something of a pattern for me, I watch a movie and if my response to it is strong (in either direction) I immediately want to delve into the special features to see what the filmmakers have to say. Although the DVD format is still relatively new I must admit to having grown accustomed to these features and my ability to watch them. Whenever I encounter a DVD that contains only the movie (which I admit is rare now) I feel as though the video store has pulled a fast one on me.

What recently came to my attention concerning DVD's are two things: 1) there are many kinds of special features and commentaries and 2) what I have come to expect from them is absurd. To address the second point first let me say this, say you read a book and when you turn that last page and close the covers you shake your head and say, "well, at least it's over". Do you immediately run to the library or to your computer to look up what the author has written in defense of the book? When you visit a museum and see a painting and find that it looks like something your prized chocolate lab could construct with twigs, tennis balls and mud do you venture out to the information desk to see if there is a pamphlet printed on behalf of the artist explaining the merit of the work? My guess is that like me you do not. Instead you accept the fact that the painting is not to your liking and move on to the next. Perhaps you decide to try another book by that author, reading reviews of it beforehand.

My point is this, to the best of my knowledge this is the only art form that offers the artists the opportunity to explain and defend their work in such a widespread manner. Personally, I enjoy these commentaries and special features quite a bit. Having an interest in making movies myself there is occasionally information that seems aimed at helping people like me. What I take issue with is what I have come to expect from these features, that is, a defense of failed films.

What do I mean by failed films? Mostly I mean movies that made very little money at the box office. Thanks largely to the Internet Movie Database everyone now has the ability to find out (roughly) how much every movie makes at the box office. Why this should be of interest to anyone other than the investors (and others who stand to profit) I will never know. I do know that I have checked these figures times beyond counting and I cannot offer a reason as to why. Perhaps because it is there. To get back to the original point, the DVD format seems to have become a place for filmmakers to get in the last word about their movie, if they choose to. Take for instance the film "Mallrats" by Kevin Smith. Critically the movie was not well received and commercially I believe it lost money (now that I have brought it up I must, of course, refuse on principle to look up such things). If you listen to the audio commentary Mr. Smith and the cast discuss why the film did so poorly.

I single out Mr. Smith largely because he is a shining example of where DVD's go wrong. Rather than create a commentary for people who like the movie (which for the most part must be the people who watch commentaries -- or should be) a great deal of time is spent pointing the finger and dishing out blame. Perhaps this is appealing to all of us because gossip makes a person feel as though they are part of the group. I must be with them because I know all the dirt about those guys. In any case a movie, a sculpture, a topiary should stand on its own. If the artist needs to explain what they have done in order for the audience to like it then they did not do their job well. If the Sistine Chapel required a tour guide who explained all of the obstacles the Medici family and competing artists created for poor little Michelangelo so that you could understand why it is beautiful I doubt it would receive so many visitors.

The film that brought all of this on (so you know who to blame) is called "Down in the Valley". Aside from starring Edward Norton I knew very little about the movie prior to watching it, which usually is a good thing. My problem with the movie is that it seems to lack two very important things; 1) a point and 2) likable (or redeemable) characters. I say this because the film ended and I sat watching the credits wondering, why did I watch this? As I said I then navigated through the menu and saw that the DVD contained a question and answer session with the director and Mr. Norton. What I gleamed from this exchange was that they both love the movie and feel that it is wonderful because it challenges the audience. Neither the director nor Mr. Norton elaborated on this point so that I, the humble viewer, could understand how it challenged the audience so I find myself here, trying to sort out these thoughts by writing.

The novel Lolita is one that I think challenges many readers in that its subject matter is so shocking, so revolting, so clearly wrong that the elegance of the writing and the readability of the book makes many readers question their own morality. I do not mean to say it makes men and women wonder about pedophilia, but, as I found while reading, it made me wonder what the writer was doing so well that kept me reading despite my disgust with the subject matter. I would call this a challenging book because its subject matter is one that I have strong negative feelings about, yet it is crafted in such a way that I continued to read.

So many works of art, especially modern art, seem to work in the opposite direction. The subject matter of the book or sculpture or movie is something benign, something trivial but the way the viewer (or reader) is forced to interact with it is so unpleasant that the challenge lies in enduring the process to reach the end. The bent beam of steel is ugly, it is plain, it is common and only those who take the trouble to study it, to examine it closely and use their imagination as to what it could be or was are able to to see the beauty. Perhaps the fault lies with me and this is just my attempt to come off looking good. Perhaps. I have noticed that generally speaking an independent film (which is what Down in the Valley is) can be categorized as being unpleasant and difficult to watch. This is something that people who create independent film seem to take pride in. Whether this is turning a weakness into a strength or embracing the other simply because it is the other I do not know for sure. I can say, as someone who does have a lot of time on his hands, that unless I am lured in by the film or book I can no longer find a reason to sit through two hours of dreariness or boredom, simply because it is art.

Catching up with progress

2007-01-09T11:41:00.002-05:00

There are many wonderful things to be gained by uprooting yourself and moving to a new place. I think many would argue it is the only sure way to ever appreciate where you lived previously. There are also many advantages to moving to a city if your prior homes have been in rural areas. All that being said, it would seem to me, that many of these advantages are fading out of existence.

I find the matter best summed up by an old friend of mine. He had the unfortuante (his assesment of the matter) lot in life of being uprooted from a glorious west coast city. To make matters worse he was then placed in a small New England town. For those of us who knew him during this time of transition an almost sing-song refrain of his came to haunt us. Whether one spoke of a song on the radio, a new movie being released or even a new article of clothing, what came from his lips was a disappointed commentary in the form of "We had that back home six months ago."

As you can well imagine the glamour of such statements soon grew tiresome long before their believability came into question. Now, years later, I find that there may have been more truth to his melancholy observations than I once believed. Smaller films are often released in major cities before they are released in small towns throughout the country. Radio stations in the major cities of this country do often play music that becomes popular before every radio station adds it to their top ten list. That being said so many facets of the digital age have reduced these occurrences, or better put, have made it instantly accessible to anyone with an internet connection.

Upon moving the the fair capital of this country I had assumed that New England most assuredly did not have the supermarkets that were six months ahead of the rest of the country. Although I cannot speak for other towns and cities, I can say that the Safeways and Giants located in and around Washington, DC are sadly lacking in comparison some three years after my inital inspections. I say this admitting that I have not scoured every supermarket in the area. I do make this claim having been to over a dozen and I feel for this study a sample of that size should suffice.

There is no denying that progress has been made since I began my investigations. It is only fair to say that some of the stores have improved by leaps and bounds. It is only truthful to say the even the best stores leave much to be desired.

The simple rules of city life dictate a few aspects of the shopping experience and I do my utmost to not hold these against the stores. That the stores must be smaller (whether in actual size or simply made to feel cramped and cluttered) is understood as part of city living. That fellow shoppers should drive their carts as they drive their cars, which is to say without regard for fellow motorists and the rules of the road, is tolerated for there is no other course of action. That the staff offers little help or instruction to misguided and lost shoppers coincides with the belief that city folk certainly need no such help and is intended to fill one with a sense of pride. These things I accept as part and parcel of the shopping experience.

What is surprising and disappointing is the lack of selection of goods. Even with recent incorporations such as an international foods section (or as an alternative is some stores a health foods section) only the most simplistic shopper will be able to find all their needs met in one of these stores. This would most assuredly be understandable, if, as one would suppose, other shops and stores were nearby to supply these missing reagents.

This is not the case though. Most often the distances between stores is as great as ten or more miles and equating that into city travel-time can greatly inflate the matter. In short, the general point of this post is to call attention to one of the oddities of city living. We have huddled close to one another, presumably, not for warmth or protection, but because of the opportunities this close proximity will provide. Oddly enough I find myself driving the same, if not greater, distances when I shop for groceries, clothing or books as I did when I lived in a very rural area. Which begs the question, why do we live here?

For myself the answer is simple, my wife attends one of the universities here. For many others, especially those with children I cannot help but look and wonder, "Why are you living here?" The cost of living is much greater, the homes are smaller and the threats, whether they are speeding automobiles, poor air quality or the threat of violent crime must surely be balanced by something. Again I wonder, what could that be?

Unlike my former friend, and alas, his time was before the internet, I no longer worry about such things as missing the latest and greatest developments in the world. This is not because I live in a metropolis, the movies I wish to see still often do not play near me, but because the Internet has made location that much less important. So now the groceries can be delivered to the door, movies can be shipped for a flat rate and items in specialty shops can be located and processed by one company connected to many. Many say the world has shrunk and I am not sure this can be argued. I am still looking for the argument to live in these urban centers where so little seems offered as a means of recompense for the inconveniences of city life.

Halloween

2006-10-31T11:35:00.000-05:00

It is an odd thing to celebrate Halloween as an adult. I do not yet have a child to celebrate the holiday with. My wife is fiendishly imbued with the spirit of the day and her enthusiasm, regardless of our limited roles as candy dispensers, is certainly infectious. Each year our hopes soar as the night approaches with expectations of droves of costume-clad children coming to beg for our foodstuffs. Each year these hopes wane as the night grinds on until, finally, we must admit defeat.

That we live in a good neighborhood is unquestionable. That we live on a one-way street with bright lights and little traffic is apparent to all. Yet, each year my wife and I wait by the window, watching for ghouls and goblins to approach our door -- and each year they fail to appear.

That this reminds me of trying to get published, the initial writing, the rewriting, the sending off of query letters and applications to school and competitions, I think is a reflection of a larger condition and not just my present mood. So much of life seems to be like Halloween night with all the varied preparation for the event and then, anxious waiting. If a person is looking for a mate they spend a good deal of time cleaning themselves and choosing their clothing, perhaps dieting and exercising, but what then? Perhaps they visit clubs and bars or go to dog parks or cafes, but eventually, their destiny lies with fate. Does that woman sit at their table? Does that man offer a friendly smile? The same holds true with the aspiring musician, the couple trying to conceive a child or the office worker striving to attain that corner office.

In short so much of this seems like my Halloween plight, with the final important stage out of one's hands. You can hang spider webbing from your trees and plant tombstones in your yard but if those children veer left onto Spring Street then all the jack-o-lanterns and candy corn in the world will be in vain.

My wife and I discussed placing a sign, much like for selling a house, on the busy end of our street to tell children that, yes, we are open for candy. Although we ruled it out this year, I expect, that if our turnout tonight is no better than before, our code of conduct for next year might be altered for improved results.

JRS

Character

2006-10-29T16:45:00.002-05:00

During a recent visit with my landlord, I was informed for perhaps the twentieth time, that the building which I live in has character. I believe he used the word to mean personality, claiming that what one person may perceive as a flaw would be a charming feature to someone else. I find, being the person who lives in this humble abode, that I have to disagree with him. It is not that the house is lacking in fine points, it has many. It is, rather, that this house has many quirks of an undesirable nature. Without delving into a laundry list of complaints let me list one and then move on. The building was orginally a house and many years later it was divided into three apartments. When this was done the heat for the house was not divided separate zones for the apartments and now all three share the same thermostat. If it is character that your forgetful downstairs neighbor either freezes you or bakes you (depending of course on the time of year) whenever she leaves on vacation, then yes, this residence has plenty.

It strikes me that this notion of character truly applies to the city I live in and how, I think, people come to deal with its many oddities. Washington DC is out nation's capital and has many wonderful places to visit. It is also a wonderful place to live, but again, there are certain quirks which exist that make life less than perfect. This is to be expected but so often these quirks seem to the the product of poor planning and the ability to admit mistakes and rectify them. A good example of this are the sidewalks. In Georgetown a good number of sidewalks carry on following the road, as sidewalks so often do, only to stop abruptly and leave the pedestrian to wonder if they made a wrong turn somewhere. After several years of exploration I can safely say that the fault does not lie with the pedestrian, and even more oddly, if they summon up the courage to continue on without the sidewalk, in most cases they will be reunited only a few blocks later.

Both houses and cities having character has to do with the same thing: coming to terms with a problem. The trick, I imagine, is finding someway to balance out the bad with all the good and walking away from the matter in a cheerful state of mind.

What spurns me on to further thought and discussion (much to my own dismay) is when those in shouting distance seem unaware that such situations existed. When I say to my landlord "The windows don't open properly because you painted them shut." I expect his response to address the point I just made. When I say to my neighbor "Any idea why the sidewalk ends in front of those three houses and then begins again?" I expect them to have noticed this situation prior to the conversation and to have some thoughts on the matter. Strangely enough the landlord often makes a reply that does not address the paint and the window and the neighbor often looks at me as though I just spotted a distant and unknown planet with my naked eye.

I can recognize that not only does my landlord not live in my apartment, but he looks after his own best interests and that usually means not spending money. My neighbor may never walk anywhere and therefore find the concepts of sidewalks a quaint one, like horses and buggies as a viable form of transportation. The simple fact of the matter is we are all paying attention to our own matters because they have some direct effect upon us. When something outside our sphere is highlighted, when the person next to you in the grocery store exclaims, "This bottle of vitamins is three times the cost of those and they are the same vitamins!" it's not that this should stop you in your tracks and cause you to compose a letter to the manufacturer. I would think, though, that it would tug at just the corner of your mind and make you ponder, if only for a moment, why such a thing would be. I can think of nothing healthier than a small amount of curiosity for this world around us especially when we find ourselves living in such close proximity.

The Nature of Things

2006-10-29T13:06:00.003-05:00

Each year at this time my thoughts inevitably turn to one thing: cleaning my apartment. This urge is an odd one and I do my utmost to fight it each time it rears its ugly head. I am not opposed to cleaning and in fact I tend to vote in favor of cleanliness whenever polled. What I am opposed to is light cleaning. A room has many nooks and crannies, especially when the house itself is old, and topical cleaning does little to deal with the hidden dirt.

Prior to working in a restaurant I, like the few people I have been priviledged to observe, had little trouble doing light cleaning. It was only under the careful eye of my employer that I learned of the horrors hidden under every table and flattop stove. It was only after he showed me the crafty ways of crestfallen eggshells and the lengths fallen potatoes would go to in order to avoid detection that I came to value the importance of properly cleaning. Since receiving these lessons I have found, often to my dismay, that unless I have done the job properly I can derive no satisfaction from it. The trouble is it is an awful lot of work.

This is the time of year when many things change. Where I live the leaves are still holding on, despite the cold temreratures and in many cases despite their deaths, but the change is apparent. The most important changes of course take place in booths with ballots and (perhaps someplace still) levers. Much like the cleaning I find it hard to vote on a topical level and this too has lead to some apathy regarding the act.

Undoubtedly voting is one of the great accomplishments of the American politcal system and it is shameful to not take part in it. At the same time, uninformed voting is just as useless and potentially more harmful than not voting at all. If you listen to the radio or your fellow passengers on the subway, you undoutedly know that everyone has an opinion on these elections and these candidates. Everyone certainly feels informed and aware of the real issues.

It stands to reason that the falling leaves and dying grass play a role in feelings of depression, but I think there is something more behind it. In the spring, at least when I get around to cleaning, the messy part of the year is behind you. Very little mud or snow gets tracked into the house after the first of May and the possiblity of keeping the floors clean seems promising. In the fall the battle seems lost before it is begun, and each year in true Viking spirit, I steele myself go through the motions.

Why is it then that I am unable to do the same with the much more important act of voting? Is it because it is too much of a hassle to go the voting centers and wait in line? I don't know. I am unable to offer any concrete reason why I continue to abstain from voting when I believe in this system so completely. On some level I feel, in a manner that I am not wholly proud of, that simply casting my vote in the upcoming presidential election is akin to sweeping around the furniture. The lazy part of me knows that if I do a decent job in this manner no one will know the wiser but the honest cleaner inside will know and will shake his weary head each time he sits in that chair and thinks of the dust lying in wait beneath him.

In this same manner the honest voter in me cannot help but feel that just turning out for election day is, in some fundamental way, dereliction of duty. The political process is a daunting one now, where the candidates for the next election seem to be campaigning only a few months after an election takes place. The lazy voter in me looks at this and throws his hands in the air and says in that defeated voice of his, "This makes no sense, I can't see any way to affect this process other than helping choose between the ones they serve up for me." Sadly the honest voter has had no response to this for quite some time because he too is at something of a loss for how to best to remove all the furniture and hangings in order to get at the dirt and dust that has found a way into those those hard to reach places.

Beginning

2006-10-28T12:58:00.000-04:00

This blog has existed for some time now, although this is to be the first post. After a long discussion with my wife this morning about Mr. White, I decided that I should take the plunge and put aside my dislike of this dreaded format and get to writing. So in the spirit of E.B. let me begin with this:

I see very little difference between blogs and horror films. Both are cheaply made, lacking in substance and despite these shortcomings immensely popular. Popularity and quality need not go hand in hand but it is baffling to see something of such poor make sustain itself for so long. The rational person would conclude that the fault must lie with the critic. While I cannot bring myself to admit that the blogs I have read are any better than I found them to be, I do believe a blog, much like a horror movie, can be well-made and worthwhile.

My hope is that, for me, the daily act of writing in a stream of consciousness manner will be helpful to the other kinds of writing I do. For those reading I hope you find the thoughts and ideas put forth interesting, perhaps amusing, but at very least relevant to your own lives. I make no claims to having any insight into life that any of you lack nor do I believe that my perceptions are more piercing. I write. It is what I do and therefore I believe it makes a good deal more sense for me to write this blog than it does for my neighbor the doctor or my neighbor the plumber.

How I intend to proceed:

I will do my utmost to prevent this from becoming a daily diary about my life. Although I do think an account of my professional life (and current lack thereof) should be included, I do not intend to make this a fast and economical record of all that I do.

What I pledge to anyone who takes the trouble to read what I write is this: what you read here will not be the hasty musings of someone with too much time on their hands. Nothing published to the web from this blog will appear without being reread, spellchecked and edited.

Finally, for those of you not familiar with the essays of Mr. E.B. White please do visit your library or local bookstore and give him a look. His writings span numerous decades and touch on topics that are relevant today. To try and write in the same spirit as Mr. White is quite a task to set for myself and I will do my utmost to achieve it.

So until tomorrow,

JRS