Reading/read/about to read

Fitzgerald's Tender is The Night. I was handed a well-notated copy of this title by a friend with whom it was discussed and decided upon that we swap recommendations that would draw us out of our respective literary safety zones. She insisted that I read it, make notes, and return it for scrutiny. Done. When I finished I asked for her next recommendation. I was given a choice between Nabokov's Lolita and Gibran's The Prophet. I chose the latter. Done.

I enjoyed both books immensely. Both were a refreshing departure from the escape provided by raucous contemporary fiction and creative non-fiction that is my habit. However, it remains to be seen if I continue to be interested. It's been a great start nonetheless.

Yann Martel's Life of Pi: Richard Parker and I need to get reacquainted. I loved this book deeply when I read it the first time. I chose to read it again to form a more stable foundation to stand on when discussing it with my friend (see above) to whom I recommended it and hope she will read. I can't wait to get swept up in this story again.

The Complete Flannery O'Connor: I really know nothing about O'Connor's works. I have been given recommendations in the past but never put forth the effort. I recently heard a discussion about a new biography of Flannery O'Connor on Slate.com's Audio Book Club podcast. I was intrigued, so I'm going to dive right in. On that same podcast was a discussion about a new biography of John Cheever. Another author of whom I know nothing. I shall add him to my list.

I am happy to consider any recommendations forthcoming.

Portland Fall

We hardly refer to it as autumn here
Fall is the perfect term
The homecoming of a season to its name
Everything falls from summer heights
Into newly made beds
Clothed in clinging mist
Overcast loses its sticky grip
On the day's heat
Instead relinquishing itself
Downward to smear the
Charcoal strokes of bare trees
To insinuate its non-color into
The company of summer proud
Shades and hues of house paint
And garden plots once prideful
Now only exhausted and limp
Turning over in their beds
Pulling up tight the covers
Searching for a perfect space of
Comfortable slumber to await the coming end of
Spring's long wet cold journey
Around the Earth
The leaves
Are the snow of this place
Collecting in yellow brown
Gold rust drifts in the gutters
Against born to the wind
Faces of garden walls
And under the soothing lee of
Eaves and foundations
Topmost stubborn leaves
Rebel against the downward
Migration of their kind
Safety in numbers
They cling to the treetops
Disguising themselves as
Birds nests
Foiling the principles of
The season
Grass resurrected from
Drought's trap screams
Green enticements to
The leaves above
Fields of emeralds flecked
With golden flower tops
Winter's wet gray blanket
Arrives soon
Confidently finally stealing
The last fighting clinging
Colors from the light
All ends
All will return

What should you do? (multiple choice)

What should you do when you come across an ATM that is beeping loudly and asking whether or not you would like another transaction?

a) Do nothing.

b) Push the button indicating "no", retrieve card, give card to teller inside bank.

c) Push the button indicating "yes", make a withdrawal, let card remain in ATM. (Note: this is a crime.)

d) Push button indicating "yes", transfer all but $6.66 from checking to savings, let card remain in ATM. (Note: this may also be a crime but is way more amusing.)

Dude on the bus. . .

. . .was headless!

I figured it was blog-worthy if nothing else lately has been. Although. . .I have had a ton of fun working with ('for', actually, since I've been getting paid) a good friend who is in the midst of a full home remodel. And when I say 'full', I mean down to the everloving c. 1926 studs. I've learned a lot, too. Like, how to hang sheetrock (oww!) for instance. I've also learned how NOT to hang sheetrock as well as how NOT to do a lot of things. It's a learning process and I came out knowing more than when I started. I would have to say that them most satisfying task was the demolition process (I only got to do the tail-end, though). There is something deeply cathartic about smashing plaster walls to smithereens and then yanking out the lath one piece at a time. Nevermind the cumbersome goggles and respirator. It was a blast (or, was it a smash?).

Then, there's chess. I've taken to sitting down at a chess board with a friend who has recently re-taken-up the game when I don't want to wait forever for a pool table to open up. I've known how to play the game for as long as I can remember. Or, rather, I know how the pieces move. Knowing how to play the game is something I have not yet even begun to approach. But, it's a great diversion and I find that it's good for my head. Mindfulness: that is the key to not losing. . .badly, anyway.

My Friend 1993-2008

My friend has gone. She was with me thick and thin these last twelve years. With an impact of suddenness as powerful as her presence, she disappeared. A large and very significant piece of my heart went with her - where ever she went. I will miss her every day for the rest of my life. My friend. My always companion. Be well.

Like a prehistoric mosquito trapped in amber

Such is my want and need to write -- anything. So much is whole and preserved; encased in golden sap gone agate-like from time under pressure.

It's all there in my head. So (too) much to focus on. Sicknesses of numerable stripes. Mind-numbing chemistry. This (job loss), that (infections viral and bacterial), and the other (medication juggling). Oh. . .and the other-other: my cat has gone missing. I seem to be getting shit on from several directions at once.

Shit or shaved truffle; it's all me in the middle for better or worse. My battles. My decisions. My life. Certainly I would much rather be writing stories, essays, or any number of banal utterances. But, I can't right now. There are too many tasks competing for my attention. Writing for fun and for mental health has been squeezed out; marginalized. Very frustrating, to say the least.

Alas, that I am sitting here at two in the ayem saying this much feels like progress. I shall be triumphant and my return to wit will be as such. Until then, don't stop stopping by, faithful "readers". You're faith is in evidence at the bottom of this page - seven hits since the last time I surfed by. Thank you.

How The Insurance Grinch Stole Christmas; or, Merry Christmas, Fuckers.

Now, I am aware that it's tres non chic to value capitalistic aspects of the holiday season. HOWEVER. . .gift exchange is a very old and dear tradition in my family. It has never been an extravagant tradition, nor have us kids ever been so unlucky to have been utterly spoiled by it. It has never ever been an exercise in blatant soulless materialism. It's just something we've always done for the warmth of giving and receiving. I also know that this does not make my family unique in our tradition. I do, no matter how much or how little I am able to provide to this tradition, always make a heartfelt effort to come through with somthing for everyone.

This year has brought some changes in the professional and financial aspects of my life. Being that I have recently become quasi-self-employed not only am I responsible for (among a great many things) attending to my own personal tax liabilities, I am also in the position of having to provide my own health insurance. Very generally speaking this would not be much of an issue to the vast majority of the population (though not to diminish the plight of the 40+ million uninsured Americans - of whom I was once one). My options are slim. Not only because I'm self-employed but because I also have what is called 'a preexisting condition' (that's insurance-ese for 'another reason to either charge you an outrageously inflated premium with an outrageously high deductible OR - more likely - not cover you AT ALL). Okay, my point: I don't get to 'enjoy' the 'benefits' of health coverage until I've already given the company over $4000 over the first eight months of the year, at which point I have the extremely good fortune of ONLY having to pay between one third and one half of my total medical costs (not including my $200+/month premium that increases by between 11 and 13 percent at the beginning of every year) for the remaining four months of the year. Okay, my REAL point: this is all coming into focus as I begin to take 'advantage' of my coverage to start seeing a new and very expensive doctor who will be prescribing my very expensive drugs, all of which I will be paying for 100% OUT OF POCKET!! If this was June - well after taxes and no major commercial holidays in sight - it wouldn't be that big of a problem.

Huh? Oh yeah. My point. I won't be providing my usual participation in my family's tradition of modest gift exchange. Instead, I will be providing the wives and children of insurance and pharmaceutical copmpany executives with diamond earings, Malibu Barbie beach houses, and Sony Playstations.

Merry Christmas, fuckers. Sorry, family.