Day 2508 - Word Vomit

Hey there internet,

I'm working on my Nonfiction portfolio right now, and I find that I have hit a wall. I need to have 24-30 pages written by Thursday and I currently have 13.

Discouraging.

Thus, I have decided, at the urging of my loudly vocal friend Sunshine, that I should just try to write quickly in an attempt to get all the crappy writing out in one fell swoop.

Word Vomit.

Like a luke-warm puddle of bile, my non-fiction will flow out--not always smoothly, there will always be the unavoidable chunks, pineapple perhaps--but quickly, always quickly, constantly spewing. Then I can go through all the puddles and pick out the bits that are usable. The rest will sit, steaming in the hot sun, until a man with a blue jumpsuit and a mustache comes and covers it with sawdust.

That is how it will be done. An eloquent idea, loudly vocal Sunshine. Eloquent indeed.

So, here is the word vomit for the two essays I have thus far:

Essay #1 - "Smart Ass"

This essay is about when I was in second grade and my school librarian called me a smart ass. By doing this, she unknowingly impacted the narrative arc of my life, nearly forcing me into a career path where I would end up a mechanical engineer.

So far, there are a few scenes detailing my need for acceptance--mainly in the form of parent teacher conferences--and I also talk about one time when I picked my nose in Mrs. Weber's class. Then the pacing shifts a lot, and we go through high school and college in a blur before reaching a half-baked conclusion where I anti-climatically reveal that I have now become a creative writing major.

That's what it's about. Let's word vomit a little bit to see what else it's about, shall we? For this word vomit, I will take on the role of my internal editor--a shorter, older, bespectacled version of myself--who often critiques my writing as I write it.

Internal Editor:

Jim, after reading this piece, I must say that I am fairly confused. The idea is to be ironic, is it not? We see your uncomfortable moment with the potty-mouthed librarian and the resulting turn away from literature. Then, at the end, you spring it on us that, oh dear, you're becoming a writer.

But, the climax of the story is the part that you skip--those awkward in-between years when you come to the realization that the librarian's comment showed you the power of language. After you realize this, you can get all sentimental about the impact that words can have and talk about that for a while. Once the reader begins to cry--both from the beauty of your sentiment and also from its terribly cliched telling--you can hit them with the punchline: you now consider becoming a librarian! Often! That's the overarching, stuck-up back-story that you need to hide underneath the story about picking your nose.

Yep. That's what the story is really about. Looks like I'll have to spew out a few overly cliched scenes about the real meaning of words and then go from there.

Essay #2 - "Furnished"

This essay, despite its disappointing title, is the one that I like most.

The essay details the furniture that I have owned--starting with my dad's large leather chair, continuing to a scene of the furniture store where I had my first kiss, then a quick little section about my filing cabinet, and then--booyah--cap it all off with buying a queen size bed. The underlying psychological idea is that as I accrue things--like furniture--I also lose things--like childhood. Or something like that.

So, let's get the cliched parts out first for you to suffer through, dear blog reader:

We all grow up and gain responsibilities, which both free us and tie us down. Something about furniture.

That ought to do it. All the worst aspects, regurgitated here, for you. They are all out of the way, and we can move on to the parts that are worth reading.



Maybe some day I'll actually post the good parts on the blog. That would make more sense. An entire post about vomit seems counter-intuitive.

Oh well.

love always,
-jim.

Day 2502 - My Horoscope

Hey there Internet,

It's been a while since I last [jim]b[o]logged. Sorry. In all honesty, I've been trying to catch up for the last few days but have been seriously lacking some motivation.

So today I started reading my horoscope. Which is not something that I ever do, but I did today, because I have been seriously lacking some motivation. I assumed that a horoscope would be just cryptic enough to spark some sort of creative impulse in my brain. I needed some sort of cosmic intervention or divine providence to get moving again.

Here is what the horoscope said:

"Everything gets accomplished that you need to do today. Oddly, your enthusiasm isn't as important as consistent effort."

Great, I thought, that's good news. Let's get to accomplishing some things. Let's get to accomplishing "Day 2502 - My Horoscope." That'll be nice. As the synapses in my brain began to fire in rapid succession--tiny lightning storms of thought--I began to feel like it was finally time to get back on the horse. It was time to blog after a decent 33 day hiatus. I'm gonna make it world! I thought. Or something along those lines.

But that wasn't the end of the horoscope. There was one more sentence:

"Tease others into compliance."

Needless to say, this sentence pretty much derailed my train of thought. "Tease others into compliance." I suddenly wasn't thinking about my day--I was thinking, who the crap writes horoscopes?

Well don't you worry friends, Stephanie Clement has been certified by the American Federation of Astrologers. The astologers-online website I found said that "Stephanie’s counseling focuses on the creative potential within each of us. . . Stephanie helps to put you in touch with your personal power to create the life and relationships you desire." The website didn't mention that my personal power to create the life and relationships I desire is to "tease others into compliance," but we'll let that slide.

I looked at the other horoscopes to see if they said anything similar. Others said things like, "expenses may fall into line as you refine goals" or "acknowledge those you love" or "allow for both viewpoints." I am the only one who is supposed to make fun of people until I get my way.

Thus, today I have established a new creedo. I will not falter. I will not be discouraged. I will accomplish what I need to do today.

And if you get in my way, I'm definitely going to tease the crap out of you.

love always,

-jim.

Day 2469 - This is the Worst Birthday Ever

Whenever something bad happens I don't say, "sometimes bad things happen to good people," or "everything happens for a reason." I think these responses are fairly overused. Instead I say, "this is the worst birthday ever!" Because no matter how bad something is, it would be inevitably worse if it happened on your birthday.

An unexpected cold front causes the pipes from the sprinkler system to explode, and I must stand in a spurt of freezing water to turn the system off--"This is the worst birthday ever."

The RamSkellar takes 45 minutes just to make my fish and chips.--"This is the worst birthday ever."

I develop an allergy to birthday cake of all varieties.--"This is the worst birthday ever."

I find that it is best to claim that I'm having "the worst birthday ever" with a slightly whiny voice, as if I've just been punched in the face. Often it can be very effective to use this phrase around people who do not actually know when my birthday is. Strangers help me with things because they want me to have a good birthday, or even a mediocre birthday--but certainly not "the worst birthday ever."

However, Monday was my actual birthday, and I made the mistake of saying, "this is the worst birthday ever." It seems to have a much different meaning when it's actually my birthday.

Sorry about that. Just to clarify--Monday was not the worst birthday ever, I was just upset that I stubbed my toe.

love always,
-jim.

P.S. I've noticed that for every blog in which I mention the GRE, I get a comment from a guy named "pro," saying that he "likes my writing way" and suggesting that I go to a GRE prep website. I am fairly certain that he is a robot, but I wanted to test. So I will close the blog by saying this: GRE GRE GRE GRE!

Day 2454 - Backup Plan

Hello there Internet,

As you probably know, I have been searching for grad schools lately--perusing university websites, taking the GRE, brooding over personal statements--and I have realized that I have no backup plan. If this grad school thing doesn't work out, I have no alternatives.

My biggest fear is that I will end up working in a fast food restaurant. I may be that guy that works the fryer at Wendy's or perhaps the mulleted man behind the register at Arby's. My talents at applying cheese to hamburgers may prove necessary when I work with Ronaldo, the heavy-set fellow who consistantly shuffles around the kitchen of McDonalds humming the theme song to The A Team.

The potential for this future seems to increase every time I think about graduate school. I've even heard that King Wienie, the hot dog stand near my house, may be hiring.

I will do anything to avoid this future.

So, in the spirit of avoiding working in a drive thru, this blog will cover my new life backup plan.
Whether I go to grad school or not, I want to have an exciting life. I would like to have a creative outlet in my work. Also, I would like to go to my high school reunion and feel like I'm too good to be there. Thus, I have begun a search for a backup plan that will help me accomplish these goals. I drove around town the other day, searching for inspiration.

I thought for a while before it finally came to me. I was driving by the Aggie Theatre and read the marquee: 10/6 Melvins, 10/7 Mamosa, 10/8 Cornbread, 10/9 Helmet.

All those band names have fairly decent qualities, I thought. Brevity. Obscure names. Food references. Helmet. However, a really great band would combine all the good things about these names. A band like that would be a force to be reckoned with. Perhaps the best band ever. Why has nobody made that band?

That is when it hit me. My backup plan. The course I would take to avoid the drive thru. It was so simple.

I'm starting a band. Melvin's Mamosa Cornbread Helmet. I think we'll probably play 1920's radio hour type music, with occasional interventions of noir style romances.

Just you wait, world. It's going to be big.

Backup plan officially established.

Love always,
-jim.

Day 2448 - An Amazing Breakthrough

Great news internet!

In my search for grad schools I found one that has no application fee. It also doesn't require that I take the GRE. It pays a stipend of $10,650 per year to any student admitted without requiring students to have assistantships. It has a full tuition waiver for all MFA students. And perhaps best of all, it was definitely started by a robber baron.

Also, after going there, you come out looking like this:



That's right folks! It's Vanderbilt University in lovely Nashville, Tennessee!

And despite the University's reputation as an intelligent institution, they are willing to pay me money to write stories about boys ripping off piano teachers' wigs and creamated remains being sucked through infomercial products! (For those of you who don't read my stories--those are totally real).

So that's the new development of the day.

Also, I had a nice bread bowl for lunch.

Love always,
-jim.

Update: They actually do require the GRE.

Day 2447 - My Day At the Dentist

Dear Internet,

There are very few things in the world that I enjoy less than the dentist. When compared to the dentist, I am likely to give favorable review to nearly anything. Being bitten by a chimpanzee is better than the dentist. Having your boot come off when you are walking through deep mud is better than the dentist. I would be glad to iron my shirt while I was wearing it instead of going to the dentist. Dentists are located at the very, very bottom of my list of enjoyable things. They are just under Fascists, Dictators, Warlords, Drug Cartels, and Alien Overlords. Also cats.

The reason I dislike dentists is that a dentist has the ability to make you feel like you are four years old. Even if you are almost twenty-two and have a nice beard coming in, you are four years old. You feel small, and unimportant, and as though you have just been placed in time-out.

This is because every dentist on the planet is a master of scolding.

It takes about six years of schooling for a person to become a dentist. Two of these years cover dental procedures such as placing fillings, shining bright lights in the patient's eyes, and using that suction tube thing. Also metal hooks.

The next four years are exclusively dedicated to lessons on scolding. Most dentists start this part of their education with some sort of introductory course--like "You Need to Brush More 101" or "Have You Even Heard of Floss? 130." These initial courses cover the basics that will make all patients feel like they should go sit in the corner and think about what they've done.

Once this foundation is layed, dentists move up to more difficult course work. My dentist definitely took "I Bet You Drink a Lot of Soda 472" and excelled in "If Flossing Were an Easy Habit, I'd Be Out of a Job 502."
(Note: It is this point in a dentist's career when he or she begins to develop a mastery of awkward handshakes and smiling too widely.)

With this background in mind, I am now home from the dentist--feeling defeated and troubled. Despite the fact that I am almost twenty-two and have a nice beard coming in, I am four years old.

Love always,
-jim.

Day 2442 - My Future Life

Hey there internet,

Today's blog is called "My Future Life" and will concern the following topics: 1) Tetris/Russian History, 2) Bottle Openers, 3) My Future Life.


Section One;
Tetris/Russian History



Section Two;
Bottle Openers

I was walking through the student center today, and I found a bottle opener that is shaped like a duck. At first I was extremely happy about it; Lindsay just got a bottle opener shaped like a bicycle and her coolness level went up by like a thousand. This puts a fairly big discrepancy in our boyfriend/girlfriend coolness ratio, since my coolness level normally hovers around 250. To fix this I thought that a duck bottle opener was just the boost I needed.

Imagine:
People would walk up to me and say, "Can you open my beer?"

And I'd bust out the duck and be like, "Quacktacular!"

And then I'd open their beer and they'd laugh and say something like, "We should be friends! Would you like to go for a ride in my rocketship?"

Or at least that was the plan.

But the more I looked at my little duck friend, the more I started to get disappointed. First of all, the key ring goes straight through the little guy's eye. Imagine being carried around by a giant hook that goes directly through your eye. You are completely blind. You're suffering terribly. Then someone walks up to you and says, "Can you open my beer?"

I find it highly unlikely that you will respond, "Quacktacular!"

Blind ducks do not start friendships.

Section Three;
My Future Life

I've spent the last few weeks searching for grad schools. I've found programs that I like all over the country--Washington, California, Colorado, Texas, Iowa, Michigan, and New York. And I've decided that I am going wherever can offer me the most money to go there. There are a few other factors, but that's the bottom line. I need to go where I can afford to go.

What this means is that I could be almost anywhere next year. And I'm starting to think that next year is the beginning of My Future Life.

My Future Life could be almost anywhere.

That makes things very difficult to plan. Pretty much all I can be sure of is the fact that I don't think I'm keeping this duck bottle opener.


love always,
-jim.

Day 2432 - In Soviet Russia, Piñata Hits You!

Hey there Internet,

I wanted to let you know that I went to a party today. Like a real party. Not that all the other parties I've been to weren't real. (In fact, I went to a birthday party for my friend Sam Spudnik this weekend that was quite enjoyable--we sang happy birthday and everything).

It's just that all those other parties seemed to be lacking something. They somehow didn't have that quintessential element. In my head I thought, "this is a party," but in my heart I thought, "this doesn't seem to be leading towards any sort of thematic climax." And maybe not all parties need that. But some parties do.

Today I went to a party that had everything. Today I went to a party that had a piñata.

I think the best thing about a piñata is not even the actual piñata. The best thing about a piñata is watching a blindfolded person swing a bat while everyone else at the party tries to stand as far away from the piñata as possible. Everybody is plotting the trajectory that the piñata will take if the batter manages to hit it off of the string.

The best parties, in my opinion, have piñata trajectories that head straight towards the bowl of punch, or into something expensive, or at the crotch of an important person. There's your thematic climax everybody.

I ate about ten Pixy Stix, and my tongue turned blue. It was a nice party.

Love always,
-jim.

Day 2425 - Moved

So it's official. I've moved.

This is "the [jim]b[o]log" version 2.0. Welcome.


Here's post #1:


Hey there Internet,

I'm feeling pretty bored today, so I thought I would undergo a massive life change and move my blog over from ye olde Xanga to a completely new place filled with uncertainty and doubt. So that's been cool.

In other news, it's becoming more and more evident that I am getting close to the end of my college career and the beginning of the real world. I am a senior. Get your caps and gowns folks, because we're in the home stretch and all bets are off. Congrats Grad! Alumni Association Bumper Sticker! "Oh the Places You'll Go!" Framed diploma!

I am afraid that there is only one job out there for someone with a B.A. in Creative Writing (and Liz Sandifer takes that one job on Wednesday).

It's time to decide what I'm going to do.

Thus here is the GRE word of the day:

Ameliorate
(verb)
to make better, to improve

"Jim enrolled in a karate class, hoping to ameliorate his chances of getting that stunt-double job."

That's right folks. We're headed for grad school. It's written in the blog and that makes it a fact.

New life path officially starts . . . NOW!

love always,

-jim.

Day 2374 - How to Make More Money Than Your Parents

Great news everybody!

So, I'm at home in Littleton and my dad just told me about a book he heard about called How to Make More Money Than Your Parents. And apparently this book talks a lot about some new sort of technology called blogging . . . or maybe it's blegging? I hope I'm saying that right.

Anyway, I'll fill you all in about blugging, just in case you haven't heard yet. So here we go. . .

Apparently you just get on a computer and write stuff. Just any old thing that you feel like writing about. Any person can just write their thoughts and call it a blag. There are bligs about cooking, and about hockey, and about crafts. I even read one blyg that was just a guy ranting to this history textbook author that he really didn't like.

But anyway, the book says that just writing down all your thoughts in a blag can make you a lot of money.

Which brings me to my next point--You all owe me five bucks.

thanks,

-jim.

Day 2368 - Yet another realization

Si quelqu'un veut un mouton, c'est la preuve qu'il en existe un.

Hey again Internet,

Just wanted to let you know something. I have yet again realized that I am growing up. Now I know you've heard this before and are probably tired of hearing it, but I just need to say that it is now clear that I am becoming an adult. Completely and unarguably clear.

Tonight I went to the wedding of one of my oldest childhood friends. And I have to tell you Internet, it was funny to think that a person I grew up now has a different last name. And obviously I've had friends that have gotten married before, so maybe I shouldn't be surprised. But I've known this particular person for the past 21 years, and it was weird to say that I was going to the wedding of somebody that I grew up with. It's one thing to go to the wedding of somebody that you met in college or high school, but it's quite another thing to go to the wedding of the person who you built forts with in first grade.

And I needed you to know, Internet, that this wedding really made me realize what family is. I feel like this is another realization that I make very often, but I think that it is important to recognize that feeling when it comes to you. The feeling that there are people in the world you care about you, who care about what the world is like because you are in it, who care about not just your presence but also your absence. I want more than anything to be able to feel that all the time.

I want to constantly feel like I am not just in the world, but also a critical part of someone's world. And I think that would be nice.

Right.

I feel like I should end on a less philosophical note . . .

There was one brownie left in the fridge, and I ate it with no regard for other peoples' claims to it. It was delicious, and I have no regrets.

Best of luck to the happy couple!

Love always,

-jim.

Day 2366 - A Blog Written Like Dan Brown?

Hey there internet,

I found a website today, called www.iwl.me, that analyzes your writing and then compares it to famous authors. Needless to say, I was fairly intrigued, and I thought I would try it out.

Here are the results:

"I Write Like" tells me that most of my stories are written like David Foster Wallace. Some are Kurt Vonnegut. My essays are like H.P. Lovecraft. My last few blogs are written like Stephen King and Charles Dickens. After discovering this, I am feeling pretty confident in my writing ability.

But then it gets better. . .

Apparently my resume is written like Vladimir Nabokov.

That crappy story I wrote about Atilla and the ponies?--written like H.G. Wells.

The speech that "the Master" gives at the end of Manos: The Hands of Fate?--written like William Shakespeare.

And I'm sure that when you all read this excerpt from craigslist you immediately think of Chuck Palahniuk:

"Free dog kennel. Upper part of the plastic is cracked. First come, first gets. No holding."

I start to think that this website might not be all that reliable, so I do some fact checking. I find out that the site's programmer is a 27-year-old Russian guy named Dmitry Chestnykh. So on a base level we should probably assume that the works written in English may not be accurate.

In other words, my resume is definitely like Nabokov.

Just thought you should know,

-jim.

P.S. I'm seeing Inception tonight. Super stoked.

Day 2320 - How NOT to Write

Currently Away We Go see related

Hey there everybody!

As promised, here is a picture of sunburned feet:


Yep. Not too shabby.

So I was debating on what I should write about on the blog for this entry, and I realized that I haven't posted any story ideas on the blog in a while. However, I haven't really written much recently, so I thought that I would share a story that I found while I was cleaning my room today.

This is circa 2007, and I don't feel bad sharing it here because I am confident that it will never be published anywhere else. Ever.

So without further ado, here is "A Writing Exercise from E210"--also titled, "How NOT to Write."

---

Sweat ran down Atilla's muscular body as he darted back and forth, eyes about to pop out of his head. He had never seen anything like this. He had fought for four years in the octagon, he was the master of the cage match, and he held three all-time records on American Gladiators. Atilla was the sort of guy who ate small children for breakfast and washed them down with a gallon of kitten blood. He could take anything that the world could throw and him, and he would throw it right back. Then he would beat the shit out of the world for being so stupid as to throw things at him.

However, the fact remained that this wasn't a wrestling match or a fight to the death. This was something entirely different.

It all started when Atilla was awoken by the sound of laughter. This startled him, as he normally awoke to the sound of "Eye of the Tiger" by Survivor. He considered this to be his unofficial theme song and set his alarm clock to play it every day at three in the afternoon. This was when Atilla would normally stumble to his feet and wipe the strand of drool from his gargantuan lower lip.

So, needless to say, the sound of high pitched giggling was unexpected. Yet even more strange was what Atilla heard next.

"Wake up sleepy head," said a squeaky voice. The voice giggled. There was light, airy music beginning to play all around. The music was the clinky sort of rhythm that can be perfectly accompanied with a kazoo.

Atilla groaned.

"Ugly man," said the voice, "wake up!" Atilla felt something fuzzy prod him in the side. Giggles.

Atilla rolled over. He opened his eyes. The lids tried to cling together, a crusty residue trying to bind them. This sort of thing was normal for Atilla. There was normally a coating of sweat, grease, and booze that engulfed his body. Atilla's eyes slowly started to adjust to the light, which seemed much brighter than the gloom of his basement apartment. Then the picture began to focus.

"Good mowning ugly man," said the voice. It came from a little girl who was sitting at a tiny pink table covered with tiny tea dishes. She sipped from a tiny plastic cup and had long pigtails that were each tied with a bright pink bow. She was wearing a flower print dress and sitting on pastel green grass. She poured some more tea into her cup and looked at Atilla with a big smile.

Around her at the table were: a blue bear who slowly buttered his toast with a chuckle, a bunny who wrinkled her nose as she eyed Atilla over a plate of tea cakes, and a puppy who licked the inside of a tea cup as its tail wagged slowly.

It was like a nightmare. Atilla's muscles began to tense, the veins bulging under his shining, greasy skin. He bared his teeth like an attack dog as a long strand of bubbly spit fell to the ground. As Atilla turned, growling at each new terror he saw, he began to realize how very out of place he really was. He leaned forward like an ape, knuckles grazing the ground, and growled.

"Mr. Man is angwy."

Atilla kept crouched, glaring at each creature thoroughly before moving on to the next. He wanted to go to bed, but knew that it would be impossible in a place like this. He considered how long it would take to beat the crap out of each creature and rip each daisy out of the ground, throw each toadstool into a ditch, and drain the magical river that trickled behind the tea party. He was not going to b able to create a state of destruction in which he could sleep for a long while.

However, seeing no other alternative, he lifted his foot to move forward and attack. He brought the foot down, crushing a daisy with a tiny *quilp!* He lifted the tiny bear off of the toadstool that he was sitting on and was just about to tear his head from his body in a really violent way when he heard a pitter-patter, pitter-patter, pitter-patter behind him. He dropped the bear, who giggled and began to run around in circles. Atilla turned.

"Just what I need," he said, "goddamn ponies."

There were about nine of them who pranced up over the hill. Their brightly colored manes blew in the wind, and tiny little sparklies hovered in the air in their wake.

Atilla charged the ponies, grunting as he ran, crushing daisies, dandelions, leprechauns and fairies beneath his feet. He made contact with the first pony: a strong right hook to the pony's jaw. There was a cracking sound and the pony fell to the ground.

There was silence for a moment.

Then the ground began to rumble and the fallen pony shot out a terrible bright light. The sounds of kittens purring, children giggling, and kazoos blaring filled Atilla's ears. Light shot all around him in a terrible rainbow and he yelled as loud as he could to drown out the noise.

When the light was gone, a rainbow covered the sky and where the fallen pony had lay there now stood four ponies. They were larger, cuter, and had more sparklies. Atilla punched another, the light returned, and four more ponies appeared where the first had stood.

Atilla began to run.

He barreled across the grass past the magical river, punching ponies left and right. For each one he punched, four would appear and the rainbow in the sky would expand. The rainbow began to burn itself into Atilla's mind, visible even when he closed his eyes.

Atilla bolted up over a ridge, ponies dashing past him, around him, over him. Before him was a giant field filled with fairies and gnomes. In the center of the fired, next to a tiny grove of daffodils, was a door. Above the door was a sign. It's pink lettering was surrounded by tiny sparkles, that shone in the sunlight.

BACK TO THE REAL WORLD, it read.

Atilla threw himself against the door. It didn't budge. He tried turning the knob. Nothing.

"Looking for this?" It was the little girl from the tea party. She held a long red ribbon in her hand. Dangling from the ribbon was a large gold key.

---

Oh dear.

What a shame that I never came up with an ending. It really could have brought together all that intense character development that I had going. Crying shame.

Sorry to have put you all through that.

love always,
-jim.

Day 2305 - Torture for my Unbearable Crime.

So the semester is finally over, and that means that I am going on vacation.

I will be in Maui for the next week facing unbearable torture. Like really unbearable folks. The sitting-on-the-beach-in-the-sun-with-a-cool-drink sort of torture. Hopefully I will make it back alive. Be glad that you are here with the safety of your jobs and responsibilities and rainy afternoons to hold you down. That must be so nice you lucky jerks.

On an unrelated note, I need to get something off of my chest. It's been bothering me.

So I went to sell back my textbooks the other day, and guess what happened.
(pause for guessing).
They bought back American Exodus for $9!

I'm partially excited because I got $9 for selling something that I should have paid them to take, but at the same time I'm very frustrated because that means my book is going to be used in another class next year. I have basically thrown another student to the wolves.

The person buying back books shouldn't have said, "American Exodus . . . nine dollars." They should have said, "Oh this. . ." and then opened a nearby blast furnace. But they didn't. They let the evil book survive like the Jumanji game.

And all I can think is: I have tied a poor student to the train tracks and now I am twirling my mustache and laughing maniacally waiting for them to get hit by the American Exodus Express. In exchange for $9.

It's a gruesome picture. I will have to ponder it while I am being tortured on the beach for the next week.

love always,
-jim.

P.S. Pictures of my soon to be sunburned feet coming soon!

Day 2289 - So here's the thing. . .

Currently The Crane Wife By The Decemberists see related

I'm a little bit fussy right now, and I normally try to shy away from cryptic type posts, but this needs to be said:

I used to think you were pretty cool, but now I think you're kind of a jerk.

Good. Glad that's out of the way.

I'm anticipating a very busy weekend. A book to finish and two papers to write, all in the middle of an avalanche of dirty laundry.

My parents told me that they had a bunch of landscaping done, (like the 'we-just-added-five-trees-and-a-big-rock-fountain-in-the-back-yard' style of landscaping). So I'll be going home to a transformed yard, which I think will be interesting.

I don't have much else to say, except that this semester needs to end right meow. Seriously folks.

Day 2287 - The Youth and Beauty Brigade

Currently Castaways and Cutouts By The Decemberists see related

I figured I had paid my debt to society

by paying my overdue fines at the Multnomah county library,
at the library.

They said, 'Son, go join up.

Go join the youth and beauty brigade.'

Come join the youth and beauty brigade.

Well, the end of the semester is arriving, and that means papers, and tests, and graduation parties. And this is seemingly a normal thing, but I can't help but feel completely intrigued by it. It is a massive collision of events and situations, which seems to suggest some sort of overall connection.

Not that my history paper has anything to do with my impending End-of-the-Year Information Desk Potluck, but the way in which every part of my life suddenly springs into action at one moment almost suggests some sort of climax to this story. And within this climax I seem unable to prevent myself from looking for meaning.

Perhaps what is so great about summer is that it is just a sort of denouement. The time given to sum up.

I've been searching for any creative outlet. I'm thinking in very non-concrete ways. I've been carrying fortune cookies in my pockets, in an attempt to constantly have a zen saying at hand. (The one I just opened said "reaffirm your financial plans--make a budget," which was completely not what I was going for).

I think what is so interesting about transition isn't what comes next, but looking back on what has just happened. While I am constantly thinking about internships and grad schools and careers and retirement plans and coffin sizing, none of those things hold a candle to doing Jimmy Stewart impressions, or standing in my kitchen with my favorite people as we sign our names on a pizza box, or sitting in pretentious coffee shops, or watching Jeopardy while eating Reese's Puffs.

I find that all of my plans for the future are wholly intertwined with the past few months. And while I don't feel like I've changed, I feel like I couldn't continue in the way that I am if the events of this semester hadn't occurred.

So thanks.

Day 2264 - A Followup

Currently Hetty: The Genius and Madness of America's First Female Tycoon By Charles Slack see related

Some people asked, so I thought I'd have a followup.

Dear James N. Gregory;

It's me again. I just wanted to let you know something important about your book, American Exodus. I was only able to read the intro to your book and then an additional six sentences at the beginning of a few sections. Trudging any further into the giant swamp that is your analysis of the Okie migration proved impossible.

When I wrote my essay about your book I got an A-.

So, just to save youself time in the future, you can get by with only writing 36 pages and a few sentences. The rest is garbage.

Just thought I'd let you know.

Cordially,

Jim Taggart

I feel lots better now.

Dear Charles Slack;

I'm just writing to comment on your book, Hetty: The Genius and Madness of America's First Female Tycoon. Your book is considerably better than James N. Gregory's book, American Exodus. By about 100%.

Seriously.

Cordially,

Jim Taggart

P.S. Seriously. Exponentially better.

Things are looking up.

love always,

-jim.

Day 2258 - My Lie

Currently Hope for the Hopeless By Brett Dennen see related

Dear Internet,

I have to tell you something. Something important. I told a lie yesterday, and I needed to let you know. It's no big deal, but I'm going to tell you about it now--just to clear my conscience. Here's what happened:

Yesterday afternoon, at about six o'clock, I went to Panda Express, ordered a two entree plate, and then I ordered a red Gatorade. That was the lie. The red Gatorade. I've been feeling bad about it.

The reason I lied was that I was feeling really bad about stuffing my arteries with Panda. I could have been eating salad or munching on carrot sticks or chewing down some wheatgrass, but instead I was eating fried bird flesh soaked in grease.

So I ordered a red Gatorade as a way of saying, "Hey there Panda employee, don't you worry. I'm going to work this off at the gym as soon as I leave."

And she smiled as a way of saying, "Enjoy the gym, future body-builder."

But I didn't go to the gym.

And this is where it gets bad, Internet. This is where my self-esteem--which has lately been hovering around normal--dropped to negative 1000. I dropped my Gatorade.

Now I know this doesn't sound like a big deal for most people, but it is for me, and you won't understand unless I tell you something about myself. So here it goes:

I. Hate. Bending. Over.

Bending over is the worst. It's like sticking your butt into the air and having the whole world stare into your soul. I don't care how skinny you are, you don't look good bending over. Maybe that's melodramatic, but it's true. And it's especially true when you are bending over while holding a box of Panda in one hand. And it's more especially true when some athletic jogging girl with her ipod strapped around her arm comes by and picks up your Gatorade before your fat fingers can reach it.

I was caught in my lie. I was clearly not going to the gym. I was only going to do one excercise after leaving Panda, and that was picking up my red Gatorade. One rep.

Feeling somewhat down, I said thank you to the jogging girl--who couldn't hear me over the sound of her speeding metabolism--and left. I went to the meeting I had upstairs and sat down like a bear with a tranquilizer dart in its neck, just eating chow-mein and orange chicken, while slowly running out of breath. The red Gatorade--its bottle now dented from the fall--was used to wash down my smörgåsbord, not for any of its valuable electrolytes.

I'm sorry, Internet. I just thought you should know.

I feel much better now.

love always,

-jim.

Day 2252 - My Mistake

Currently Ben Folds Live By Ben Folds see related

As I was walking to school today, I noticed that someone had spilled Cheerios along the sidewalks all the way to the student center. Absentmindedly, I started kicking the Cheerios into the gutter and into piles of snow.

Then I realized . . . How are Hanzel and Gretyl supposed to get home?

My mistake. Sorry.

love always,

-jim.

Day 2251-The Dust Bowl Migration and Okie Culture in California

Currently American Exodus: The Dust Bowl Migration and Okie Culture in California By James N. Gregory see related

Let's just say it.

I'M FUSSY. I don't know exactly why this is, but I am.

Here are my thoughts on the matter:

1. Crappy books, like American Exodus by James N. Gregory, make me fussy.

2. Reading crappy books, like American Exodus by James N. Gregory, in rain and or snow makes me fussy.

3. Having an upcoming exam on a crappy book--like American Exodus by James N. Gregory--makes me fussy.

5. Writer's Block makes me fussy. Extra fussy. (American Exodus blows).

I just drank a large root beer in an attempt to cheer myself up. It didn't particularly help.

Maybe this will:

Dear James N. Gregory,

You sir, are the worst person ever. I understand that "The Dust Bowl Migration and Okie Culture in California" may be an important thing for many people to learn about, however, reading your book is similar to putting my face in a George Foreman Grill.

Cordially,

James Edwin Taggart Esquire III

I'm still fussy.

Dear Ray Allen Billington Prize Committee,

I am writing concerning your favorable review of a book titled American Exodus, by James N. Gregory. You refer to Mr. Gregory's work as "[a] masterpiece of reflection, imagination and research, a book that advances our historical understanding, with a narrative skillfully and vividly told" and "a testimony to what the historical profession and history are presumed to be about."

I disagree.

Cordially,

J.E. Taggart-Feldspar-Jones-Abernathy-McDougal-Douglass Jr.

Nope, still fussy.

Well, it was worth a shot.

love always,

-jim.

Day 2249 - Words & Rhymes & Notes . . .

Currently Her Majesty By The Decemberists see related

. . . and all the things I wish I wrote.

So, I'm attempting to write a story for my writing group on Thursday, and it's real slow going.

I really want to write something profound, but unfortunately, that means I write nothing. With each line that I put down, I take a half-an-hour debating and then more often than not, I delete it. And that doesn't mean that it's a really well polished story. It just means that it is very short and not really a story at all.

Thus, I feel fairly unaccomplished today. I've done two loads of laundry and that is the extent of what I've achieved.

Which makes me wonder if my future career should be in the laundry industry and not in publishing.

And that's kind of a sad thought to have after finishing three years of creative writing studies.

love always,
-jim.

Day 2245 - Getting Ready

Currently Interventions and Lullabies By The Format see related

I'm packing up all my stuff for the trip tomorrow, and I just realized it's been a long time since I last went on a trip. There's sort of a weird feeling that you get when packing everything--it's really exciting, but at the same time it basically feels like a job. Packing is a struggle. I don't understand why I have such a hard time just putting clothes into a bag. With each thing I put in, I start thinking about what the next couple days will be like and then I end up taking a ten minute break to stare at the ceiling. Then I get to thinking about what the ceiling of our hotel will look like, and eventually I've tried to count all the little Spackle dots around the perimeter of my room.

Isn't it weird that a change of scenery can make such an impact? I'm only traveling one state away but it takes me twenty minutes just to pack a shirt.

I think that maybe travel is a lot more complicated than just a trip to New Mexico. It's like every time I pack my bags, I think of all the places that there are in the world. And there are a lot of places. And not just places that I'd actually go--also, uninhabited islands, frozen wastelands, pockets of nuclear radioactivity, fictional settings. With each t-shirt that I pack, I think about how crazy big the world is.

And I'm traveling to a small part of it tomorrow, so that'll be nice.

love always,
-jim.

Day 2242 - Depth Perception

Currently Away We Go All My Days see related

I have been feeling extremely optimistic today. Feeling like despite the fact that I really have no idea what the rest of my life looks like, it's going to be positive. Perhaps it's the experiences and friendships I've been a part of this semester or perhaps it's just the fact that the sun is finally coming back, but I feel good.

My stimulus for writing this is something that just happened about three seconds ago; my phone buzzed, so I was reaching for it in the dark and closed my hand about three inches too soon. And I thought it was weird that the light of the phone looked like it was right there, but it wasn't. And while this doesn't really seem like a life altering moment, it got me thinking about depth perception.

We just got back from a birthday party for my sister-in-law's parents, and it made me think about how much I like being part of a family. I've been thinking that a lot lately--that I'm glad to be part of a family. And the weird thing is, why didn't I think that before? I obviously never hated my family or anything, but I never had this strong of a feeling. I think that's what depth perception is like; it's understanding the relationships between things. Or maybe it's understanding your understanding of the relationships between things. And up until now, my depth perception was not that great.

But something has changed for me recently--like I've gotten new bifocals. I think I understand how I relate to people. I understand more about friendship and family than I think I ever have, and it's weird to be relearning things that I always considered to be the basics. Maybe I've found my place (at least for the time being). And that's a really nice feeling to have, I think.

love always,
-jim.

Day 2240 - Historical Revisionism & Santa Fe

Currently Ups & Downs: Early Recordings and B-Sides By Saves the Day see related

So, as of this evening, I am officially alone on Xanga. As I write this, there is nobody left on this website to read it. The one person who was holding out has thrown in the towel, and as far as I can tell, 'we'--and at this point I mean it like the royal 'we'--have reached population: 1. And it feels strange to be writing into a void. The blog has never been meant to attract much attention, but normally when I say 'you' it actually applies to a reader, not a Google keyword search.

But, be that as it may, I've suddenly begun to feel the desire to blog again--more so for myself than any sort of virtual audience. It seems to be a feeling I get a lot as spring approaches. However, every time that I sit down to type something, my mind draws a complete blank. Thus, I have been looking back at my old posts for inspiration, and it's made me think a lot about who I used to be.

And before you--by you, I of course mean the machine(s) reading this--start thinking that I'm about to get all nostalgic-philosophical, understand that I am mostly talking about grammar, sentence structure, and subject material.

My oldest posts have none of those things, and as someone who has now been programmed to fix every error in punctuation and comma usage it slightly drives me nuts. But I made it a rule when I started this project that once something was written it was permanent, and I intend to follow that rule. Some of the posts on this page are really important to me and still bring up some really strong memories. Others are just plain embarrassing. But the truth is, I think they are all important. I realize that I've changed a lot since that first post, and I think that the real me is some sort of hybrid between '-jim.' now and 'Jimbo' then. So deleting the ones I don't like would mean deleting part of who I am now.

That's my thought on Xanga Historical Revisionism. Glad we got that out of the way.

---

Furthermore, I'm going to New Mexico for spring break next week, which is cool but also kind of weird.

It's cool because now whenever I watch Newsies and Christian Bale is singing about how he wants to go to Santa Fe, I can yell at the screen, "I've been there Christian Bale! You may be Batman, but I've been to Santa Fe!" And I think I'll enjoy that profusely.

It's weird because New Mexico is where my parents lived before I was born, and all I can do is picture my kids vacationing in Colorado someday. They'll be staying in a hotel near where I am sitting right now and planning their excursions around the state. Maybe they'll visit the places I went when I was growing up. Maybe one of the excursions will be to visit this house if it's still here. I never thought of a duplex as a tourist location, but maybe it is.

---

Lastly, I just found out that Conan O'brien is doing a touring show. Rest assured, tickets will be purchased soon.


-jim.

P.S. This post was somewhat bland and lacking in any poetic value, and I am completely aware of that. But really, it's only being read by robots, microchips, and possibly Skynet, so who do I have to impress?

P.S.S. In regards to my previous comment about impressing robots, I would just like to say: 01001001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01110011 01101111 01110010 01110010 01111001 00100000 01101001 01100110 00100000 01001001 00100000 01101111 01100110 01100110 01100101 01101110 01100100 01100101 01100100 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00101110 00100000 00100000 01010000 01101100 01100101 01100001 01110011 01100101 00100000 01110011 01110000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01101100 01101001 01100110 01100101 00100000 01110111 01101000 01100101 01101110 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 00100000 01101000 01100001 01110110 01100101 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101 01110010 00100000 01110010 01101111 01100010 01101111 01110100 00100000 01110101 01110000 01110010 01101001 01110011 01101001 01101110 01100111 00101110

Day 2237 - A brief announcement.

Currently Our Story Begins: New and Selected Stories (Vintage Contemporaries) By Tobias Wolff see related

I think I want to work in a bookstore this summer. Or maybe a movie theater.

That is all.

Day 2226 - Business Casual

Currently Picaresque By The Decemberists see related

Hello there old friend, <*dusts off cobwebs*>
It's been nearly five months since we last talked, and that seems like an awfully long time. I bet you feel forgotten here in this dark corner of the internet, tucked in next to photobucket and Homestar Runner. But that's all going to change, because it is Day 2226 and I am writing to you about Business Casual. So here it goes:

Dear Internet,

I need you to know something. It is something that I've always wanted to be able to tell the world. I need you to know this one thing, not because I think it makes me special but simply because it has happened, and it's part of me now. It's not necessarily something I'm proud of, but I am not embarrassed by it either. So listen up Internet, because I'm only going to say this once.

I need you to know, Internet, that I have finally learned what business casual is. I understand now that the vest and pocket watch was too much, and I understand that the tuxedo t-shirt was probably too little. And as I sit here in my argyle sweater and button up shirt, with my dress shoes from Target, I can't help but wonder what this discovery really means.

I've reached some sort of level in my life. The Business Casual level.

That's where I am.

I just thought you should know. Thanks Internet.


Love always,
-jim.