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.