Health Insurance

Do you have health insurance, the concerned aunt asked.

No, but I do take vitamins, the unemployed nephew answered.

What if something happens to you?

I work out.

El Grito

Every year on September 16, thousands of Mexicans gather in front of the palace to shout with the President in an impressive display of national pride. I learned how to dance, shouted till I was horse and ate candy. All in all, a good night.

Safe and Sound

Made it safe and sound to my hostel here in Mexico City. Great place and there is electricity in the air as today is the Mexican fourth of July so to speak. Took about three hours to navigate the metro, but I made a friend named Jonathon who helped me on through. Now I just ate dinner and I am going to go out and explore the fiesta.

Land of the Suns

Phoenix smells of mayo and everyone is sunburned and has a shaved head.

PDX is the Best

Coffee and Bagel for three dollars. None of that overpriced stuff for us!

In the Air Again

On my way to Mexico. Cant shake the travel bug it seems.

Music

Native American drum circle.

Bike Hazard

Dan crashed on our ride. Road rash!

Fun at Soccer

Pass the Noodles

There are seven of us at the table. We are all keyed into our screens. Everyone looks exhausted. This is the public library.

You see, it's impossible to spend all day in your house trying to write a book. I feel claustrophobic, I feel trapped in, and most of all, I feel like a loser. Outside I hear people opening front doors, making morning phone calls, and starting their cars up.

It gets to me as I sit in my living room in sweats and a hoodie, computer on lap, feeling about as low-down as anything.

There is a solution, of course. It means getting up and doing my writing elsewhere for God's sake. The minute I get outside and onto my bike, a feeling of optimism sinks in. Look at me, off in the world, out to see and do things.

There's a problem. As I cannot afford to do my writing at a coffee shop, I go to a library. Problem with libraries is everyone is there. Everyone with a laptop clusters around the few banks of outlets like moths to flames and so here I sit, packed in with everyone else. Most of them are playing online games. Most of them haven't showered. The guy on my left is eating noodles under the table in between laughing at Youtube videos. The guy across from me is punching his mouse repeatedly as he saves Middle Earth and every now and again he pauses to push greasy hair back into his Nascar hat. None of them have shaved. All of them smell. And they're all male, in their early to late thirties.

Wait a second...

Here I am, my scruff getting longer by the day, my wallet lighter than the air around me, and last time I checked, I was a male.

Can you pass the noodles please?

New Space

We hung the bikes up and now we have more space. Space for what I dont know.

My Life As a Writer

Waiting in line with all the other nerds for the library to open.

Are You On The List?

"Are you on the List?"

"I think I am."

"What's your name?"

"Tim Lane."

"OK. Stand back. No further. Stand there. Wait there." 

There are people everywhere. The music is heavy. I breath a little quick from riding my bike. This guy is too small to be a bouncer. What is the world coming to now that this guy's a bouncer?

"Let me see some ID."

"Here."

"OK. Is he your plus one?"

"Yeah."

"OK. Go in."

Dancing and drinking. Lights everywhere. People in sun glasses in too-dark corners. Ladies in tight jeans. Men in tight jeans. Everyone is just too cool. I'm too cool.

"Ain't nothing but the hard life for us, huh Tim?"

"You go that right, Hump."

"We're on the List."

"We're on the Goddamned list!"

Stand in line, get a drink. Five choices. I'll take that one, and then I'll have that one later.

"No, no, no, you don't have to pay. I know your cousin."

"You sure?"

"Very."

"Nothing but the hard life for us, Hump."

"We're on the List."

To the dance floor. Move your feet. Look to the lights. The DJ is moving behind the table, dancing her fingers on the keyboard. She's the best in town, everyone says so. Everyone is sweating. Damn I should have worn a cooler shirt. I'm tired. I'm young. I should turn this town out. The artist's life?

"Let's get out of here."

"Let's roll."

Bike home alone. Streets pulsing until the neighborhoods. Everything is quiet there. Did you set the trash out? Breeze on my face. Night seems to breath.

Atonement

My coworker gave me an old issue of “The Believer” to read featuring an article by Ian McEwan. She had known that I was reading Atonement by Ian McEwan and I had complained to her that his writing style grated on me. For as long as I have been interested in writing, I have been told over and over again, to the point of saying it in my sleep, that a writer should show, not tell.

Instead of saying, “Jamie was sad,” you should write “Jamie’s watery eyes had trouble focusing on anything but the middle distance,” or something like that (but much less crappy). However, as I read through McEwan’s book I was struck by just how often he tells the reader exactly what is going on. Here is an example: “Briony felt suddenly ashamed at what she had selfishly begun…” He doesn’t show what this looks like. Did she study her fingernails? Did she toe the ground?

Regardless, I found the book enthralling, and I was as caught up in it as in any other book I have read – I just don’t quite understand why. How can he break the rules and have it all work so well?

Anyway, I complained of this all to my coworker and she brought in this issue of “The Believer,” and I read it and saw clearly that McEwan is an intelligent old chap.

I think that the part of his interview that stuck with me the most was that throughout his writing, he seems to be deliberate in everything he produces (whether that is a product of being able to look back on his work and imbue meaning on things post-writing is debatable). He knows exactly why he is doing the things he does. Telling rather than showing has a direct meaning for him. It has a specific goal. He is a man who has done his thinking on the subject. It is something very evident when he argues for literature being a “very elastic, mutable form that can allow us real moments of human investigation.”

He says that, “There’s something very intertwined about imagination and morals. That one of the great values of fiction was exactly this process of being able to enter other people’s minds.”

It is an interesting point to ponder. Are the ills of the world a result of lack of creativity?

And I ramble on and on…

Nameless Protest

My life

the E B training video makes me yearn for beer.

Painting

Well, sometimes you just sidestep into another avenue. For the past two weeks I have been bitten by the painting bug. Here is the result of it all. The three pictures document the progress from beginning to end. Check it out. It is entitled "Celebrity."