Taking My Own Advice

Okay, so I don't have anything particularly profound to write about... it's been a bit of an emotional rollercoaster lately. But I have been busy this week - catching up on taking my own advice.

First up, reading. Yes, I know, the other part of the writing advice that I regularly give out (despite the fact that I'm really not qualified to do so) is that you've got to read to write. And yet, I haven't read anything that hasn't come with a glossy cover for months. So, I went to the local Barnes & Noble and went NUTS. Five books. Yup, five. In no particular order:

Erik Larson - The Devil in the White City - A book recommended by a friend that I've intended to buy on at least two other occasions, but never got it to the counter. Plus it won a whole bunch of awards... generally a good sign - and it's good so far.

Stephen King - On Writing -- A book recommended by an (about to be published) author I know. I've read just about everything else by Mr. King, including his seven book opus, The Dark Tower (which had the greatest ending in the history of storytelling). So I figured, why not?

Arthur C. Clarke - 3001, The Final Odyssey - As a general rule, Science Fiction has the most bad writing of any genre outside of "Romance" - so I tend to steer clear. Additionally, it has a well-deserved stigma of attracting a socially awkward and disconnected audience. Which despite my previous charter membership, is a group I'm no longer a part of. There are however, a few gems that I've found that really are quite worth the read. I last read this book in college - and remember being blown away by the vision of the world a thousand years from now... especially one based on some real research. I'm truly excited to read this with my adult brain. We'll see if it's still as good.

Clive Barker - Mister B. Gone - The book opens with the following:

"Burn this Book. Go on, BURN THIS BOOK. Go on. Quickly, while there's still time. Burn it. Don't look at another word. Did you hear me? Not. One. More. Word."

Now tell me you wouldn't read that... So, turns out it's about a demon trapped in a book. The one you're holding. I know. Some deeply dark and very cool shit. Plus Clive Barker is just sick enough to be scary without being stupid. I shouldn't be as excited as I am to read it.

Greg Cox - Infinite Crisis - Okay this one's a discount rack dog. But my guilty reading pleasure is reading novel adaptations of comic books. Shut up. You read Danielle Steele when no one's looking.

Second, I finally submitted some query letters to write an article for Gourmet magazine. I know it's not Esquire, but I'd like to have something besides my Broo articles and my blog to attach as clips when I finally send a letter in to my favorite magazine. We'll see how that goes.

Finally, I'm going to visit my best friend - who I've been neglecting for far too long. Case-in-point, I'm taking him his Christmas present... on January 27th. And I'm late.

Stay tuned!

Red State People - You Can Come On Out of your Bomb Shelters ... Again.

I was a little over nine years ago now... so far back that many of you may have forgotten it - but there was a disturbingly large segment of the population that believed that world was at genuine risk of coming to an end as the clock struck midnight on December 31, 1999. These people bought up dry stores, bottled water, and built out nuclear bomb shelters in preparation - sneering and laughing at those of us who were cavalierly preparing to ring in the new year with formal wear, champagne and an eerily robotic looking Dick Clark. It's hard to forget the obvious shame and embarrassment that they wore all over their faces as they poked their heads out of the aforementioned shelters like Punksawtawney Phil (yes, that's how it's spelled... I looked it up!) only dumber... and with opposable thumbs that they hardly seemed worthy of any longer.

I'm happy to welcome those same red-state folks back into the sunlight, as the general doom and gloom, multiple assassination attempts, stock market crash, civil war and other assorted harbingers of the Apocalypse that were to accompany the start of the Obama Presidency, failed to materialize.

Seriously folks, get a grip... come on out and smell the democracy.

First off, if you don't know - I'm a Republican. Yep, that's right - been registered that way since I was 18. Second, I voted for Obama. Yep, that's right, too. I won't get into it here... mostly because I'm tired of explaining to people who don't really want to listen, and because I wrote about it six months ago (Switching Sides of the Aisle:My Secret Shame as Navy Republican). But, don't worry, I haven't lost my access to right wing propoganda - because my family sends it to me via forwarded e-mails pretty much every day. You see, the fear campaign, as ludicrous as it appeared, that was conducted by the GOP in the waning months of the election was actually successful in scaring the majority of people who live outside big cities and nowhere near an ocean.

The once maligned Y2K crowd was headed back into their newly-stocked shelters to avoid the pestilence and strife that was to accompany today's inauguration.

But then President Obama took his oath, everyone cheered, and the world went on.

And his speech was epic.

http://www.cnn.com/video/#/video/politics/2009/01/20/obama.inauguration.speech.cnn

There's nothing I can say that he didn't say better than I could. Our generation has it's "I have a dream..." speech. And while I may not believe in all the same things that the new President does - I'm proud of what he did today. Of course, it wasn't all hearts and flowers on inauguration day - the folks in attendance did their best to try and strip the event of any class and dignity by actually boo-ing the outgoing President.

Honestly people, it's not a football game or a WWE wrestling match, put your home-made signs down. It is, in fact, the peaceful transfer of power - one of the most awe-inspiring and original things about our great nation. In the midst of my appreciation and enjoyment, I was deeply ashamed of being associated with the gathered masses as an Obama supporter. Because whatever message or moral they could possibly take from today's events, was lost on them.

This wasn't good defeating evil: it was hope over malaise; youth over the establishment; and action over apathy... although to be perfectly honest, in the case of the transfer of the Vice Presidency, it actually is good over evil. (Seriously, is Dick Cheney the only person besides Hannibal Lecter who is actually more scary in a wheelchair?!)

I'm sure there will be e-mails forwarded to me shortly from loved ones, decrying the secret Communist messages in today's inaugural address, and shedding light on the budding conspiracies that will no doubt characterize this terrifying new regime. But for now, I'm looking forward to four years of hearing my Commander in Chief speak without cringing, a little bit of hope, and a whole new excuse to point and laugh at people begrudingly coming up out of their reinforced basements wondering just what in the hell they're going to do with a hundred pounds of uncooked rice.

Philly... from just far enough away to not find a decent cheesesteak

So here I am at the Townplace Suites in East Nowhere, PA... that's right, the Townplace Suites. The "good news" given to me by overly friendly "Jay" at the so-called "front desk" of said hotel establishment was that due to my numerous recent hotel stays at the Marriott chain hotels - I was getting upgraded. Which turned out to mean that I would have a crappy suite with two bedrooms. Awesome.

Basically my travel itinerary went thusly: fly into a vibrant urban center on the eve of a momentous historical and political event, rent a "standard" car from Avis (Hyundai Azera - which, it turns out is the fourth generation of a car originally called the Hyundai Grandeur, arguably the greatest automotive oxymoron of all time, which made its debut in 1986... honestly, how horrible does a car need to be to only have had four generations in 23 years?... at least Avis is still buying), then use my trusty iPhone to drive my cool-mobile as far as I can possibly get from any appreciable civilization, finally to rendezvous with suspiciously upbeat Jay and check into my pimp castle at the Towny Swee. Of course, all of this would have been slightly more tolerable if the outside temperature was, say, somewhere north of 20 degrees.

Instead, I'm enduring this tragic procession to a deep social sinkhole in parts east of the Keystone State in conditions that, if they occurred in Los Angeles, would be declared an Emergency Condition. The worst part of it all was that other hotel patrons were quick to inform me that I was lucky that I hadn't been in town in the week before, when the weather had been, unbelievably, colder. That's right, in weather cold enough to freeze the majority of your bodily fluids inside of ten minutes, residents were reveling in their good fortune to have temperatures not in the single digits. It's no wonder everyone from this part of the country hates California. In terms of weather, Pennsylvania is a chess club president to California's sunshiney prom queen.

But of all the wholly disappointing things about Montgomery County, PA, the worst was that it was so far from Philadelphia that the only place for 20 miles that was offering cheesesteaks was SUBWAY... No thanks, I can get that hot mess of a sandwich served up to me back in the land of palm trees and widespread (and completely acceptable) sociopathy.

So, on balance, my trip to Philadelphia offered nothing truthfully redeeming in the way of value - save the opportunity to understand why I pay so much for rent, and to appreciate the unbounded coolness of having been able to transfer shows from my TiVo to my phone, and foresight to have done it before week-tripping into the land that God forgot.

Someone Told Me I Should Write Shorter Posts...

There. Happy?

A little dedication, and a lotta love...

Right... so I've been really lazy about this blogging thing. I'd like to say that I have a host of convincing (or at least serviceable) excuses. But I don't. All this is especially hypocritical given the fact that I'm often overheard giving the advice "If you want to be a better writer, you've got to practice!"

But hey, isn't it the hallmark of a great motivational speaker that they don't follow their own advice? (e.g. Bill Clinton speaking on family values, Jimmy Swaggart speaking on faith, Paris Hilton just speaking)

Right, so here's my blog new year's resolution: At least 1 a week. All year. That's right. So, maybe this will actually become readable - or something like that.

So, I made it down to STAPLES Center last night - to watch my beloved Clips lose their 12th straight game... bleh. And just as the game was coming to its woeful close, heard from a dancer friend (...FRIEND, F...R...I...E...N...D) seated close by, who, to protect her name, we'll call "Whacky", lamented about her lifetime dream to have black children. A little deeper analysis revealed that Whacky didn't necessarily want to (nor is she currently willing to) date or have children with a black man - she just wants the "cute" kids.... Brangelina style.

In true Hollywood fashion, the whimsical and ill-advised behavior of the rich and famous has now become haute couture for the proletariat. As if primped up children in $500 outfits isn't a disturbing enough accessory - now we've added a white-guilt assuaging component to it, by dolling up refugee children from developing nations as effigies to our own self-esteem issues. It's almost enough to make me long for the days when all you needed to look rich and famous was the furry carcass of some dead animal draped around your shoulders. I wonder if these girls realize that these "cute kids" will someday grow up to be difficult teenagers, and that they'll still be responsible for their care and feeding... maybe I can use a "puppies grow up to be dogs" analogy.

Luckily for the rest of us (and for what's left of the moral fabric of our society) adoption is a lengthy and expensive process (even from Uganda) - which deters the casually interested... and luckily for me, just a moment later, Whacky decided that she didn't, in fact, want "black children" anymore... she was over it.

Whew.