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.

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.