Tags: analysis, archive, art, autobiography, self-portrait
Current Location: 85704

I sat down a while ago to write a very short entry about Cal's defeat of Arizona earlier this evening. Then it morphed into a much longer meditation on the fact that sports, even if they seem like a silly waste of time to those who have no passion for them, are no worse -- and no better -- than any other kind of investment in narrative. And then I eventually worked my way back around to say how delighted I was with today's result. But all that typing, five paragraphs worth, was lost when my application crashed before I could post or save what I'd written. I'm taking that as a sign that I should be wary of putting too much stock into the affairs of mortals. Still, I'd rather have them continue than find myself in some ascetic posture that is really a case of making a virtue of necessity. Because the messiness of love provides richer instruction than the crisp, clean reality of those who forego all interpersonal entanglements. Bear up!

Tags: analysis, everyday, sports
Current Location: 85704

For years I've listened to friends who love music the way I do describe what it feels like to pass that tipping point when they are suddenly consumed by the urge to be rid of some of their records. And I've shuddered each time, possessed by the conviction that such a move may lead to harder stuff, like dispensing with one's entire collection because it seems "redundant" in the era of digital media. Tonight, though, as I contemplated the sixteen boxes that comprise the vast majority of my CDs, I found myself identifying with that impatience towards material goods. "What would it be like," I thought, "to sell or donate all of this stuff?" It was like being tempted by the serpent. In fact, I found it much easier to imagine dispensing with my entire collection than sorting through it to figure out what I could bear to part with. But then I realized that what I was really contemplating was abandoning everything about my identity that was the result of conscious self-fashioning. It's hard to conceive of a spookier prospect, given the way I've lived my life since I was a teenager. Perhaps that's why I was momentarily seduced by its allure.

Tags: analysis, autobiography, music
Current Location: 85704

Sometimes I can get a glimpse of the real reason why writing is coming so hard for me, not to mention exercising: I'm not getting enough sleep. For the most part, though, I just trudge along with the conviction that my diminished capacities are a permanent condition. The scary thing would be that I don't always mourn the loss of my existential spark. Except that I can't really get worked up enough to be scared, which is even scarier.

Tags: analysis, everyday
Current Location: 85704

Tags: analysis, autobiography, photography, self-portrait
Current Location: 85704

When I was in grade-school, I lived in a part of Pennsylvania that was remarkably rural despite its proximity to the I-95 corridor. Even trips to the nearby Allentown-Bethlehem-Easton metropolitan area felt like expeditions, because the circuitous backroads my mother and father favored maximized the changes of scenery I'd see en route. At the same time, though, the antenna on our roof enabled us to pull in television stations -- this was long before cable arrived in that area -- from both Philadelphia and New York. I had the best of both worlds, in a sense, with the ability to wander aimlessly through the acres of dense woods surrounding our former farm house and still make it back in time for the programming I wanted.

Because I had the most stereotypical boyish interests imaginable -- sports, cars and war -- my televisual desires expressed themselves a love of auto racing of any stripe, dedication to the WWII show Baa, Baa, Black Sheep, and, above all else, a deep affection for baseball on the tube. My father was -- and is -- the kind of Yankee fan who should be above reproach from even the most passionate haters, someone who had stuck with his team through the bleakness of the post-Mantle years. Besides, if your favorite pinstriped player was Joe Gordon, who began his career alongside Lou Gehrig, you should get a pass on principle. For my part, though I rooted for the Yankees out of solidarity in most cases, I was first and foremost a Phillies fan. My favorite player was their second baseman, interestingly, the underrated Dave Cash.

When I first started paying attention to baseball, both teams were showing major improvement after years of languishing amid the also-rans. Or worse, if you consider the 1972 Phillies. I attended my first Phillies game in 1974 and then typically saw a few games each year at the Vet, despite the ninety-minute commute to get there. Because I spent a week with my dad's older sister's family in Astoria every summer from the time I was five until we moved to Maryland, I also has the opportunity to catch plenty of games at both Yankee Stadium and Shea with my much-older cousin Donnie, who was a dedicated sports fan and every bit as loyal to the Yankees as my father.

Both the Phillies and the Yankees made the playoffs in 1976. Although the powerful Big Red Machine swept them both, dreams of Phillies-Yankees World Series ran wild in my head. I was sure that it would be the best sporting event of my life. Each of the following two years, though, I was terribly disappointed to watch my Phillies go down in defeat to the Dodgers, even as the Yankees returned to the Fall Classic and went on to beat L.A. in some memorable contests.

We moved to Maryland in the summer of 1979. My father remained the same Yankees fan he had always been, even if he couldn't watch his team on Channel 11 anymore. And I remained a Phillies fan, getting rewarded with their first World Series victory over the Royals in 1980. Over time, though, my childhood dream of a Phillies-Yankees World Series took a back seat to other concerns. The Phillies spent most of the 1980s and 1990s being not very good, though I had cheered them on in 1993. I still pulled for the Yankees on my father's behalf in 1996, when they were underdogs against the Braves and prevailed on an October 26th that was special for other reasons. And I could never muster the animus against them so prevalent among my friends even at the height of their free-spending arrogance.

That's why I'm delighted to finally see my wish come true. The Phillies may only be my second-favorite team now -- I converted to being a Giants fan shortly after living in the Bay Area for a while -- and the Yankees may be a team that I mostly refuse to root against, instead of rooting for, unless they are playing a team I hate like the Angels -- see Rally Monkeys and 2002 for my entirely reasonable rationale -- yet I will still savor the games. I'm looking forward to watching C.C. Sabathia, who grew up in the town of Vallejo, CA and starred at Vallejo High when I was playing pick-up basketball games across the street, take on his former Indians teammate Cliff Lee. I'm looking forward to seeing how Ryan Howard measures up with Alex Rodriguez. And I'm looking forward to watching Derek Jeter in the Series again, as much as it may pain some of my friends for me to admit that. Because his rookie season culminated on the fateful October night in 1996, his presence comforts me. Mostly, though, I'm just excited to be able to talk to my dad about the games. I wish I could watch them at his side.

Tags: analysis, autobiography, sports
Current Location: 85704

My years on Live Journal have brought plenty of pleasure and pain, far more than I'd bargained for when I began to post, after many months of passively reading, in the hopes of putting my ideas about personal blogging to the test. Lately, though, as the active participants on my "Friends" list have dwindled and some of my long-time stalwarts have vanished, I've been finding it harder and harder to muster the enthusiasm to continue. I could go on a vacation, as I have advised others to do. But I'm fairly certain that, once I got out of the rhythm of posting regularly, I'd lose the sense of responsibility that motivates me to make personal blogging an integral component of my everyday life.

Friends have suggested that I seek out new folks for my "Friends" list in Live Journal communities. I've found a few I really like there over the years, so it's a good idea. I'm just not sure I have the mental strength to keep posting in a time of diminishing returns. I use Facebook now, which satisfies some of my need for socializing, on a daily basis. As much as I love to connect and reconnect there, however, the ephemeral and brief nature of most of the content people post can't replace the sense of continuity that Live Journal provided. I love the fact that I can go back in my archives and relive periods -- even ones that were largely negative -- through my entries about them. Facebook just doesn't offer that sense of historical depth. And that's what I want or maybe even need from the labor I expend in crafting posts. I don't know. Maybe I'm just being silly. Recent events have me feeling unsteady on my virtual feet. Perhaps I should just worry less and do more.

Tags: analysis, autobiography, blogging, everyday
Current Location: 85704

I'm not sure what happened, but I've hit a real dry spell in my writing. Wait, I take that back. I do think I know the biggest source of my woes. When Zeek went on temporary hiatus while switching to a new host, my regular deadline - I wrote a lot over the past year - temporarily went away. And then the transition turned out to be much more complicated than originally anticipated -- the new site still has a ways to go before going live -- meaning that I've gone weeks without being forced to complete a piece. Some might welcome such freedom, the opportunity to work on longer-term projects. I believe I said that I would be looking forward to the break. But the simple fact is that I always get more done when I'm under the pressure of a hard deadline. Unfortunately, my efforts to simulate that sort of due date usually fall flat. If the injunction to perform comes from within, I find it too easy to ignore its call.

Tags: analysis, autobiography, everyday, writing
Current Location: 85704

Maybe it's all the driving I've been doing, or the way my schedule seems to demand the greatest concentration early in the morning and late at night, but I've been having a hard time maintaining a steady pace through my days. Sometimes I'm overwhelmed with a desire to sleep so strong that it's all I can do to keep my eyes open. But then just a few minutes later I get another burst of energy as I get excited about all the projects I have going. It's complicated, this relationship I have with my will, as they say on Facebook. Earlier tonight, after I'd brought Skylar home from her last night of basketball practice, I could visualize getting vast amounts of work done before morning. And then, after I finally put some food in my stomach, I just wanted to curl up with a book. Now I'm torn between the conviction that I better get out on my bicycle for a late-night ride soon -- it has been weeks since I mustered the motivation to hurl myself into the darkness -- and the nagging sense that what I really need is the sleep I've been deprived of during this challenging semester.

Tags: analysis, autobiography, everyday
Current Location: 85704

My task tonight was to put all the books back on the shelves that were moved for the latest round of house painting. I was careful to box them up in an organized way, so that unpacking would be as easy as possible. But I'm finding it hard to muster the energy for the job. Or courage. At this point, I'm not so sure that the distinction between those two concepts matters.

You see, every time I pick up a book I haven't looked through in years, I run the risk of getting swept away in the white water let loose when it became temporarily unbound. Perhaps it's silly to act as though inner and outer life mirror each other. Or maybe my malady inheres in lacking what it takes to police the boundary between those two realms with sufficient force. What I do know is that the empty white shelves to which I've turned my back to write this are a powerful reminder of how easily the order we impose in the world can turn into the infinite possibilities of freedom, a freedom that stimulates me even as it summons my deepest fears.

While I had vowed to put the books back exactly where they were before the room was dismantled, I know that the impulse to do something new might be too strong to ignore. And even if I manage to keep that promise to myself, more or less, I will still face the painful moment of deciding, as I take each book in my hand, whether to break with the past. Does it even make sense to rebuild a dam that has been breached? They tried it in Johnstown, with disastrous consequences. Sometimes one really does have to go with the flow.

Tags: analysis, autobiography, everyday
Current Location: 85704

Today was one of those days when it feels like everything is going from bad to worse, but it's hard to pinpoint what, if anything, is really wrong. I mean, I did spend almost two hours in line waiting to get a car smogged and was frustrated to learn afterwards, when it passed the test, that I could have gone through a much faster line instead. But that's not really a good reason to be so down. My dentist appointment, to have a filling done, was postponed until next week. But it didn't bother me. I just don't know what's up. Maybe it's just that I wanted to go see The Thermals tonight, playing after my former students' band, yet couldn't get motivated to head down to Club Congress, knowing that I'd have to drive up to Phoenix right afterwards. Maybe it's just the realization that Giants are not going to make the playoffs. Or maybe it's the flash of insight I had that the preservation of long-term friendships often proceeds on the basis of a taken-for-granted assumption that they are worth preserving, even after the parties have ceased to have much of anything in common. Who knows? I just hope tomorrow feels better, even if it's objectively worse.

Tags: analysis, everyday, health
Current Location: 85704

I'm about to drive up to Phoenix. Thanks to the wondrous hospitality of a friend, I've been staying up there on Monday and Wednesday nights so that I can avoid the brutal early-morning commute of last fall. The strange thing, though, is that I'm actually more reluctant to go at this time than when I'm rushing out the door with the knowledge that five minutes squandered can mean thirty minutes of extra stop-and-go traffic at the other end of the journey. Maybe that will change, as I settle into my routine. At the very least, this new schedule is good practice for most of my possible futures. I just wish that the time spent on the interstate would feel shorter than it does. Somehow the knowledge that dawn would greet me en route sustained me last fall in a way that the monotony of white-line fever does not.

Tags: analysis, everyday, travel, work
Current Location: 85704

When I got home this evening, after a very long day on top of a very short and fitful sleep, I put the groceries away and then went in to my home office to do some work. Thirty minutes later I realized, abruptly, that I'd been sleeping at the keyboard. I got up, wandered out to the kitchen with the intention of getting ready for dinner, and then got sidetracked by an irresistible urge to put my feet up. Two hours late, I awoke, fully dressed -- and with my shoes still on -- to realize that I'd missed dinner and all of the other familial responsibilities bound up with the pre-bedtime hours.

Had I been less dazed, I would have felt more guilty. As it was, I said good night, then began to do the dishes, belatedly, in an effort to get myself awake enough to accomplish a little before heading back to bed. Shortly after 11pm, I suddenly remembered that I had a deadline to submit a paper proposal for a conference I'd really love to attend. I'd meant to do it earlier this week. But with being sick and dealing with a very difficult car-in-the-shop situation, I never got around to it.

My first, second and third thoughts were to blow the abstract off. I have other proposals to submit by the fifteenth. And my wits are scattered far and wide right now, what with the start of the semester and everything else that's going on. Yet I somehow mustered the strength, despite intense internal resistance, to write the damned thing. It probably won't get accepted, since my topic is not very sexy. What matters, though, is that I still went through the motions of submitting it in the first place.

Tags: analysis, autobiography
Current Location: 85704

Believe it or not, despite my sickly reputation I don't get a lot of colds. Maybe one a year, on average. And it's been longer than that since I last had one. But now I do. The strange thing is, as miserable as I feel in some ways, I have this strange sensation that it's a good cold, one I needed to have. Some of that has to do with the fact that it has accompanied -- and was no doubt triggered by -- my resumption of teaching this week. If getting a cold were always the price I had to pay for securing the classes I want, I'd happily sign up. There's more than that to the sensation. For whatever reason, when I have a cold I actually get more logical and efficient in the actions I do take, even if I'm slowed down enough to scale back the work I can accomplish. It's like my mind and body cooperate for once, agreeing that, given the limited resources at their disposal, they will work in tandem, without raising needless objections or spurting off in wasteful tangents.

Tags: analysis, everyday, health

It was one of those days. I experienced a series of fraught interpersonal communications or, to be more precise, miscommunications. I locked my keys and phone in the storage space and had to run home down Oracle, in 100+ heat, and then back, only to find that the key I had hoped was a back-up was not, making it necessary for me to return home a second time for the bolt cutters. Even simple tasks like sorting laundry went strangely awry.

And now it's one of those nights. I desperately needed to get away for a bit, so much so that a trip to Wal-Mart seemed like a legitimate pastime. But I never made it out the door. Skylar didn't want me to leave. All the stress of her first week of school and the exhaustion that accompanies it provoked her herding instinct. I understood. Nevertheless, she is sleeping while I sit here consumed by a paralytic claustrophobia.

Because I'm too antsy to read, I put in a DVD. Even that seems like more responsibility than I can handle, though. The menu screen has been playing for forty-five minutes, yet I can't bring myself to press play. Were I not fairly certain that, given the way my luck has been today, I would crash my bicycle, I would go for a ride in the hopes of dissipating some of the tension that's consuming me. I hate to resort to pharmaceutical assistance, but fear that Benadryl may be my best option.

Tags: analysis, autobiography, everyday
Current Location: 85704

Tags: analysis, autobiography, nostalgia, photography, travel
Current Location: 85704
Muse: "I was so much older then/I'm younger than that now. . ."

I feel really, really removed from the world today. While I'm pretty sure that the pseudoephedrine I took last night for a bad headache is contributing to that sensation, there are other factors at work. The good thing about this frame of mind is that it makes me more efficient. I got a lot done today. The bad thing about it, however, is that my capacity to relate to others is severely diminished, unless it be through highly mediated forms of communication like this one. I wonder whether a daily regimen of mild uppers might turn me into a productive misanthrope. And I also wonder whether I'd prefer to be that sort of individual rather than whatever it is that I am now.

Tags: analysis, autobiography, everyday, health
Current Location: 85704

For better and worse, I'm the sort of person who feels the need to try something new even when the situation seems to call for mindless repetition of the same old formula. Take the cleaning of the kitchen floor, which I just finished. No matter how many times I complete this task, which I typically undertake every other week, I always seem to give it a new twist. Today I used a much wetter mop than I usually do, in part because I was trying to ward off the Definition of Trouble, also known as our kitten Punkabella, who is prone to attack anything that moves. But my decision took shape in a less practical impulse. I wanted to break with convention, even if what passes for convention in this case is merely the distillate of my own precedent. While such tinkering keeps my mind focused on the job, it also leaves me with a feeling of unease. Why can't I just mechanically reproduce the approach that works best?

Tags: analysis, autobiography, everyday, home
Current Location: 85704

It may not be much in the grand scheme of things. In fact, it isn't much, a statement I can make, for once, with complete assurance that it represents an objective assessment. Where was I? Right: the not-muchness of the it, languorously deferred. In other words, "Meet Dave!" Who is that you ask? A what, I tell you. An under-$20 what selected and purchased this afternoon at IKEA despite the fact that I felt so dizzy I feared I would soon be looking up at stranger's faces saying, "What happened?" The purpose of Dave, you ask? He or, if you prefer, it is a smart red laptop table, composed of the same material as the cutting boards we have been using for years.

It's a little slippery and shakes at the application of pressure, to be sure, but in a way that pays homage to the most famous intellectual from its country of manufacture, Slovenia. What I like about it, aside from the fact that assembling it gave me a mild sense of accomplishment -- again, not much in the grand scheme of things -- on a day when the most insignificant tasks seemed beyond my reach, is that it permits me to write while sitting in a reclining position and elevating my legs, an outcome that I have ardently sought since last year's shin-melting bicycle accident, whose effects continue to plague me in the form of swelling of the ankle region. Oh, and because the small tabletop tilts, I can also use it for reading large hardcover books, like The Bible, that are too cumbersome to hold easily in my hands.

All in all, Dave promises to be a fine addition to my collection of devices that serve to make me forget the circumstances under which I am presently living. And that, good friends, is reason for a mild celebration, perhaps culminating in the consumption of the cornflake-studded Ritter square I found yesterday to my considerable surprise at Wal-Mart, as I roamed its vast and terrible aisles with the old woman who lives next door, whom I had consented to ferry there and back, since she is presently unable to drive. Aside from better options in the chocolate department than you might think, as well as an excellent assortment of romance novels set in Amish country, the pride -- or shame, depending on your point of view -- of Bentonville, Arkansas has the virtue of making other large emporia, such as IKEA, seem far more inviting than they otherwise might.

But I digress. Did I mention that I also picked up a stovetop espresso maker, to stand in temporarily for our dear, departed Starbucks-branded Saeco, and tried it out earlier, which led to the consumption of approximately five shots worth of bitter, black bliss? It took longer than I was hoping, but the results were potent and flavorful. That's why I was able to meet Dave tonight, despite the exhaustion that comes at the end of a day of feeling drear.

Tags: analysis, everyday, humor, shopping
Current Location: 85704

I'm back in Arizona, after nearly a week in Idaho. I can't say I was happy to see the swimming pool-studded expanse of the Phoenix metropolitan area from the plane, but I felt better about my return once I passed the Tangerine off-ramp on I-10. It's strange to be back, though. I feel like I've made some important discoveries over the summer, which were amply reinforced by my time away. Unfortunately, they aren't discoveries that I can turn into productive action anytime soon. I'd use an aquatic metaphor, describing myself as being caught in a rip current, except that my need to see the ocean is too strong to indulge such a trope. Suffice to say that I not only feel displaced, but in a way that accentuates my inability to make forward progress towards any place I wish to be. Sometimes, when I'm away on a trip, I am able to trick myself into thinking that the reality I've been living is one that I will wake up from upon my return home. Invariably, though, the riot of green I see in these fantasies turns out to be the same desiccated landscape from which I long to be liberated. Bleach the color out of things and you're left, not with white, but an abundance of brown.

Tags: analysis, autobiography, everyday, home
Current Location: 85704
Muse: I Will Haunt You - Oneida - Rated O