Day 2838 - Ira Glass

So yesterday James, Gretchen, and I drove up to Fort Collins to see the number one person on my "People Who Inspire You" List: Ira Glass.  And I've spent the last hour or so trying to write a blog about it.

I'm finding that it's extremely difficult to put into words how amazing it is to see someone doing exactly what I want to do with my life (and especially doing it extremely well).  And it's not just difficult to describe because I feel like my writing won't live up to Ira's style of storytelling, but also because summing up a two hour talk from someone with such amazing insight always seems like a cheap shot: spouting out a few slogans, or soundbites, completely out of context and with little regard to. . . well anything really.

I'd have to say that what I love about Ira Glass is that he's so completely honest, and it seems like distilling that raw emotion, or power--or whatever you want to call it--into a blog feels like cramming a library full of all the best stories in the world into a fortune cookie.  Sure, I could talk about how he basically cut audio into what sounded exactly like an episode of This American Life right there on stage using just a microphone and an iPad.  Or I could tell you any number of quotes that gave me chills.  I'm sure you would be interested about the part of the talk when he made a balloon animal poodle and gave it to a lady in the fifth row, which was fantastic.  But that couldn't begin to sum it up.  
Summing it up would be impossible.  As Ira said yesterday, "The goal isn't to report what is new.  It's to report what is."  Not just the flash, but the real truthy details of something.

And I must say, when that is your goal, blogging becomes extremely difficult.    

Blogging with that in mind is like having Ira Glass standing over my shoulder, his glasses gently reflecting the light of my computer screen.  And he's softly mumbling, "I was, um. . . I was really inspiring today, you know what I mean?  And it's like you didn't really absorb it.  You tried to absorb it, but you didn't really absorb it.  I've gotta tell you, uh, I don't know if you. . . If you really understood it."

And that picture is super intimidating right about now, so instead of trying to sum up honestly, I'll just leave you with this:



love always,
-jim.

P.S. Two more things:

1. Nanowrimo starts tomorrow and I'm going to try really, really hard this year (fingers crossed).
2. I've been thinking over the past couple of weeks that I really want to apply to be a This American Life intern, and hearing Ira Glass speak today only confirmed my aspiration (fingers crossed).       

   

Day 2833 - A Snow Day

So it snowed tonight.  And it seems like every year during the first snow, everyone rediscovers snow for the first time.  Facebook is filled with status updates: Snow! It's snowing! I hope tomorrow's a snow day!  People look out their windows with a sort of odd curiosity, like they'd forgotten that snow even existed--like summer was so long that it made them forget the comfort of a warm blanket and a cup of hot chocolate.  The first snow seems to bring back all those memories in a flood.

Most years I share the sentiment of those people.  No matter how old I get, I seem to gasp whenever I first see flakes outside my window.  But this year--for the first time in a long time--I find myself simply zipping my sweatshirt slightly higher and looking out the window thinking, how strange.

The biggest snow storm I can remember started 14 years ago yesterday--my birthday.  It might not have been the biggest storm during my lifetime, but it was about 150% of the average October precipitation and it did lead to the postponement of my ninth birthday party--which, at that age, was a fairly catastrophic scheduling adjustment.   

On that day, my dad dug out trenches in the snow like a maze, and I spent the entire day outside.  I think I built a snowman and a snow fort; and I probably fantasized about throwing snowballs at passersby--but I don't think that I actually did.  I just camped out, my black and purple coat soaking up the snow, until it got dark.  And I did the same thing for the next two days until the blizzard was gone.  It was a pretty good birthday--and a pretty good snow day.

However, this year I find that I'm not sure if I want a snow day.  When I look at the snow, I don't heave any sigh of relief or wipe my brow at the prospect of escaping work or stress.  I really just see snow.

And that's not to say that I haven't been working.  I've been working a lot.  It's almost all that I do.

Instead, I think it's because I'm in a sort of in-between time.  Between my work in college and my work on my career--whatever that may be.  I'm in the transition between my education and my passion.  And maybe you don't really need a snow day during that time.  You just need to spend all of your time trying to figure out where you're headed and what work you love to do.  And once you find that work, that's when you can start to remember--despite the length of the summer--what winter is like.  You can finally remember the comfort of a warm blanket and a cup of hot chocolate.  But until then, you just keep searching for the job that is your job and the future that is your future.  You keep searching, and once you find it you can understand its amazement again.

At least I hope that's the case, because this year I can't help but fear that I'm stuck in a rut and I need a change of seasons as a soon as possible.

love always,
-jim.

Day 2807 - You've Got Mail

Hello everyone,

So it's about 3 in the morning, and I can't sleep.  And because I can't sleep, I've spent the last few hours updating my computer.  I installed a new operating system, rearranged folders, synced my calendars, and started transitioning from my CSU email account to Gmail.

I've set the emails to automatically forward from the old account to the new one--so they are slowly trickling in every few seconds.  This means that I've spent the past two hours or so just watching them come in, one by one, as though they are being sent right now by computers that are just processing things far too late.  And I must say, it's a strange feeling seeing messages come through from old professors, and coworkers, and classmates about subjects that I've for the most part forgotten--seemingly allowing me to relive the past few years of my life in fast-forward.

In high school I would spend almost every weeknight sitting in front the computer hitting the refresh button on my email over and over again.  High school me would hit the refresh and wait for some sort of message, any message really, as I watched the tiny hourglass icon spin around.  I really have no idea why I did that.  It seems silly now, as I don't think I ever really got many emails.  But there was something therapeutic about the act of hitting refresh, like I was searching for something, waiting for something.  But looking back, I can't help but wonder what it was that I was waiting for.

Tonight, I received over 3000 emails from my old address.  Some were from coworkers looking to get shifts covered.  Others were from professors sending out announcements or syllabi.  There were stories from writing group and fiction workshops, emails from close friends and forgotten acquaintances.  There were emails that said basically nothing the first time that I read them, but mean a lot now.  When I got my first email from Mike (detailing the iBox lost and found policy), I never would have thought he'd be my future roommate.  When James and I first emailed our lease for the Edwards house, I had no idea that the sprinkler system would explode in the winter or that our living room would become one of my all-time favorite places.  If only I could talk to Freshmen Year Jim and tell him all the things that he had on the horizon.   

It's funny to see how much of my life I've put into email.  Even when I didn't know it.  These seemingly insignificant fragments of text have plotted the course of my jobs, my writing, my friendships.  I still can't explain the pride that I felt receiving the email announcing the birth of my nephew, Malcom, or the emptiness that I felt after the email that announced the death of my granddad.

It's incredible to me how much a person can say to another person, even when they aren't trying to.  Even in a medium that seems so adroit at saying nothing particularly significant, I can find a way to immerse myself in the ridiculously varied layers of meaning that compose life.  I find myself analyzing the smallest correspondences, wishing that I could predict what the words will mean five years from now.  Searching for that one sentence that will sum up this time in my life, this particular experience.     

How apt then, that I should be here at four in the morning, once again hitting "refresh."

love always,
-jim.

P.S. The new email is james.e.taggart@gmail.com.  Send me something that will make for a good read in five years.    
  

Day 2745 - Moving Day

Hello Everyone,

Sorry about the delay in any posts recently--the Summer of Jim is coming to a close, and it has been pretty crazy.  But, since it's moving day and this will be the last post that I write from this wonderful town, I thought it would be appropriate to write a sort of farewell blog.  A farewell to CSU, farewell to Fort Collins, farewell to college years sort of blog.

But first, in the interest of housekeeping, here are some updates on things that have happened, which people might not know about if they haven't seen me in a while:

• I'm not going to graduate school.  I got in, but I have relatively little money and I feel like having an adventure.  So the MFA is being put on hold in support of finding an internship, a job, and visiting Lindsay when she studies abroad. 
• I've been doing pretty poorly at writing every day.  Perhaps a summer with no school or job commitments made me pretty lazy?  (i.e. all play and no work makes Jim a dull boy)?
• Considering the points above, I am moving to Denver, land of opportunity and free rent at my parents' house.

Alright, so we're all caught up.  Fantastic.  And I must say, that little bit of closure was probably the easy part; the rest of this blog is going to be really difficult to write.  This is primarily because I am very sad to be moving, but also because there are three painters in my house right now who are pacing back and forth through all of my furniture-less rooms, commenting about nail holes and dings on door frames.  The carpet cleaners will arrive this afternoon to share their own comments about the glob of blue ink on the floor near the window.  So, I can't help but feel like property management is already doing its best to erase any indication that I ever lived here.

So hopefully this post can serve as a sort of time capsule.

I lived in the house on Edwards St. for two years, from August 2009-August 2011.  My stay started in the semi-famous "rappe' basemaux" unit, where I lived in a room the size of a closet and stubbed my toes on uneven ceramic tiles, before moving upstairs to a regular sized bedroom.  During that time, I was involved with my first writing group (but you knew that, because--if you are reading this--it is likely that you were also a member).  In October, I celebrated my 21st and 22nd birthdays, and Lindsay and I had our second and third anniversaries.  I played a lot of video games, learned how to cook relatively edible food, and began referring to Fort Collins as "home" and Littleton as "my folks' house."

I also rode my bike, mowed the lawn, and sat on the front stoop watching people pass on the sidewalk.  From this house, I embarked on three trips to Wyoming--two of which were successful and one of which was food poisoning.  There were failed attempts to have a "Hoity-Toity Well-To-Do Affair," to invent a new type of cocktail, and to eventually visit the Number 1 Chinese Super Buffet around the corner.  I made new friends, ate good food, wrote stories, and generally enjoyed life.

The last two years were the best years of my life thus far, and I feel like the biggest idiot for moving away.  But I think it's time to get started with being a grown up (er whatever).

So, as I write to you from a strangely empty house where only myself, a file cabinet, and three painters remain, I feel like I need to admit--as I always do--that something is changing.  Perhaps more so than ever.

College years, you've served me well and I will miss you dearly.  Thanks for everything.

Love always,
-jim.

Day 2637 - A Correction

Correction: 

In the post titled writing about 1/24/04, the following statement was written in error "remember pogs,[sic] wow those are dumb." 

In fact, pogs are awesome, and the world would be a much better place if they still existed.  We here at the [jim]b[o]log would like to apologize for this egregious error and assure you that we have fond memories of an Apollo 13 slammer shaped like the moon, which we received from Bo who lived down the street.

We realize that this correction is roughly seven years past due, but figure that late is better than never and hope that your views of the blog will not be tarnished by this lack of fact checking.

Furthermore, would anyone be interested in playing a few rounds of the Pokemon Trading Card Game?  There's a holographic Zapdos in one of my old binders that is definitely ready to throw-down.

Again, sorry about the mistake.

love always,
-jim.

Day 2602 - In Regards to a Blog Post By One James Hart

Hello everyone,

So James wrote a blog concerning his belief that the next year will be the most important period of his writing career. I thought it basically described everything that I've been feeling lately, so I thought I would comment. But I didn't know where the comment button is on Tumblr. Thus, there is this:

Last night I had a dream that I was an astronaut on an Apollo 11. I say an Apollo 11 because it was clear to me, even in the dream, that I was not on the Apollo 11. My Apollo 11 was made out of cardboard boxes with a few holes cut in the side. (Picture the TARDIS from Dr. Who but very poorly constructed, with 'Apollo 11' written on the side in really drippy paint, and the whole thing placed on the stage of my high school auditorium).

However, the feeling of being a real Apollo 11 astronaut was definitely correct. There were press people snapping photos of me as I entered the ship. Everything was sepia toned and there was some very epic music in the background--violins, drums, perhaps the occasional trumpet blast. It was all very... historically significant-ish. And right as the music reached its loudest, and the rockets ignited, and I could feel the thrust of acceleration pressing me backward into my seat--my cell phone rang.

For some reason, I had decided to bring my cell phone on Apollo 11--despite the stringent regulations about sterilization, and payload weight, and incorrect chronological time period. And instead of thinking, 'now is not the time!' I immediately thought, 'I should answer this. It could be a grad school. I wouldn't want to miss that.'

The call was muffled but still audible over the sound of the rocket engines. The sepia tones were gone now, and we were rocketing through bright greens and blues--sky and trees.

"Mr. Taggart, this is John James Williams." His voice was raspy and far away--like he was in a call center. I imagined him eating cold teriyaki chicken with rice from a Tupperware container as he stared at a computer screen. He pulled his headset away from his mouth so he wouldn't hit it with his fork.

"Hi?" I said.

"I was calling to process payment for your order."

"Uh," I said, trying to remember what it was that I had ordered. Apollo 11 was getting lower, blasting down city streets, through labyrinths of red brick buildings. "Sure, no problem."

"For the chocolate you ordered."

"Yes," I said, "chocolate." I watched out the window as Apollo 11 traveled past a fire hydrant. "Do you have an email address that I could...uh, send that, um...to?"

His email was JohnJamesWilliams @ Ambien.net, which I later thought was interesting since I was, after all, sleeping when he gave it to me. I told John James Williams that I would email him as soon as I got the chance.

Despite the fact that I was was both on Apollo 11 and about to receive a shipment of Ambien-laced chocolate (both exciting prospects), I was annoyed that John James Williams wasn't a graduate school representative.

When I woke up, I thought that perhaps my priorities were off.

I think that it's time that I get back to focusing on writing--not on waiting for grad phone calls. John James Williams was trying to tell me something, I think.

Therefore, at the behest of James Hart and John James Williams, I am going to declare the next year as "The Most Important Period of My Writing Career." Beginning on the day after my graduation (i.e. May 15), I will write at least one hour every weekday with the goal of completing one story a week. Each month, I will send at least one story out to be considered for publication.

And I will document the process on the blog.

As James' blog would say, it's time to distribute or dissipate.

Love always,
-jim.

Day 2576 - Waiting.

Hey there everybody,

Sorry about the hiatus there. I think that when you get to the point when the one metaphor you can using for your writing is vomit, it's a good time to take a break. At least a two month break. But, over the past two months I've collected my thoughts and decided that I'm going to do better. I promise. No more word vomit.

Anyway, I thought I would update you on what has been going on in my life lately.

The other day when I was in the shower, I discovered a freckle on the bottom of my foot that I had never noticed before. I have been wondering how long its been there all week. It seems strange that after 22 years you can still be suprised by those sorts of things.

I have been checking the MFA blog compulsively this week, trying to figure out when I will finally start getting responses from schools. Then I checked the mailbox about 15 times yesterday while telling myself that "the mailman just hasn't come yet. He's late today." I checked until about 10PM, when I assumed that I had no mail that day.

I keep picturing my mailbox full of envelopes--all the same size, crisp, neatly stacked, (embossed perhaps?). Probably not embossed. It reminds me of when I was in high school and Austin and I spent Physics classes talking about what it would be like if abstract concepts had mass. For example, you would need a big team of burly dudes to carry your calculus book because the sheer weight of all the theories would make it practically unliftable. Once you got the book in your backpack, it would just tear through the bottom. For some reason I just keep thinking that once my grad notifications arrive, my mailbox will buckle underneath them and crumple before falling off the wall.


I'll hopefully be posting results soon. Also, buying a new mailbox.


love always,
-jim.