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.

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.