It's wise to set expectations accurately--I am never going to hit 500 words tonight. There isn't a vestige of a shadow of an inkling of a semblance of what might be mistakenly considered hope of that this evening. I lean over and mention this to my wife and she tells me to "think positive," so I tell her "I'm positive I won't hit 500 words tonight."
Day 6, and the honeymoon is over for the 500 Word Challenge. I've consumed those few ideas that sustained me through signing up and breaking past inertia, and now it's supper time in Mother Hubbard's Cupboard.
The holiday season is truly over (Merry Christmas by the way--it's twelfth night, the final day of Christmas, the day your true love presented twelve drummers drumming, no receipt). Work has resumed in earnest and the December backlog looms, a persistent creditor, the Pied Piper demanding his wages.
Now we see whether writing works into the daily grind; we begin to feel the little sacrifices throughout the day made necessary to squeeze in 500 words. Less time to read, less time for the daily amusements to which we've become accustomed. Each moment becomes a choice in a relentless series of choices, another opportunity to choose poorly. A raised consciousness can be exhausting.
But be positive. Here's an odd question for you--guess my blood type. Got one picked? Answer: "B-". Yes, "be negative." Fairly rare, I understand, which makes it seem that much more like destiny. Writers are prone to melancholy, yes? Is this a stereotype or has someone done the math on scribblers? In the grand scheme there is cause for nothing but joy, but still, always the little ache, the shadow, the love for rainy days, the cloistering snow, a steaming cup of coffee to bow into. We work harder on the day, don't we, keen attention on people, knowing that giving away even a morsel of kindness can pull a stranger from despair, tracing back in memory the morsels that have rescued us.
That would be a worthwhile exercise, logging a manifest of when another has reached down to us, extending uninvited a hand to help us regain our feet. But tonight? Not so very likely tonight.
Be negative. Which reminds me it is time again to make an appointment to donate blood--missed one due to the busy-ness of the holidays and that's another habit I need to make more consistent. A good and noble thing, donating blood. Giving away "B negative" can be positive, the draining of self to help another. That's syrupy, but behind it there's something workable, perhaps even profound for someone willing to stretch that out and develop the subtleties of how giving away your negatives can be a positive for others. Wait--actually, I read that blog a few days ago, and it was quite good.
I'm glad someone gave that concept the attention it deserved, because I haven't the energy tonight, not even 500 words.
Coaxing technology into obedience.
Monday, January 6, 2014
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Tea and Mocha
Writing today's 500 words seems inordinately difficult for two reasons:
1) Thanks to Mr. Goins retweeting a note about yesterday's letter to him, I had a few visitors to this blog. As my blog has rarely seen anyone in the past, not even me, the attention is a bit unnerving. That said, sincere thanks to everyone who took the time to comment, tweet me, or simply read what I've written. I'll do my best to fully engage this kind community of writers.
2) One of my three dogs keeps chasing me from room to room, making it a challenge to settle and write.
This dog, a wee thirteen pound black-and-tan dachshund we'll call "Mocha," is not, in fact, chasing me in the sense of a "game of tag" or "Friday the 13th" movie. That would be ridiculous. She is almost entirely blind, entirely deaf, and her old joints appreciate a boost climbing the stairs. As to explanation, allow me to proceed briefly and with delicacy, after which we'll continue with today's writing exercise.
By way of example, imagine a tableau, thus:
Living room with three folding chairs, a sofa, a loveseat, occupied by, in no particular order, three married couples and a single woman, engaged in pleasant conversation. Hot tea, slices of Dutch apple pie, fruit salad among them on the coffee table. A Bible study, it would appear.
From the kitchen a low slung dachshund plods, her chin flecked with grey, eyes unseeing; she navigates through the doorway by whisker. In the past she skulked along the baseboards like a greasy ferret, but in her oblivious dotage she has abandoned subtlety and simply rotates twice to lie down unnoticed under the coffee table. Minutes pass. In the distance, a faint train whistle.
This we'll call the "before" picture.
For those nearest the coffee table, there is no warning. They are speaking; they are happy. The little dachshund curled inches below their tea and pie and fruit salad has fallen asleep, and in falling asleep has fully relaxed, and in fully relaxing has started venting toxins. Out of kindness and propriety we shall restrain ourselves from employing similes or metaphors or adjectives describing this scent, except that it is "bad." Wicked, sizzling, bad.
The results are beyond etiquette. Mouths clamp shut. No one is happy; no one is speaking. It's purely up to the hypothalamus now--fight or flight, fight or flight--flight it is.
And so they flee in all directions, keeping in mind that during an emergency the nearest exit may be behind you. Forks crash, chairs wobble. And the room is clear, save for the dog.
They will carry on in the family room. No one is sure how exactly to add this to the prayer list.
This is the dog that curled up alongside my chair a moment ago. Her senses are almost gone but she is a black specter that somehow tracks my movements. She has fallen asleep.
The calendar rustles as I pass. The daily quote is an Irish Proverb stating that God's help is nearer than the door; if that's true then God's help and I must be sharing the same trousers because I am already out.
1) Thanks to Mr. Goins retweeting a note about yesterday's letter to him, I had a few visitors to this blog. As my blog has rarely seen anyone in the past, not even me, the attention is a bit unnerving. That said, sincere thanks to everyone who took the time to comment, tweet me, or simply read what I've written. I'll do my best to fully engage this kind community of writers.
2) One of my three dogs keeps chasing me from room to room, making it a challenge to settle and write.
This dog, a wee thirteen pound black-and-tan dachshund we'll call "Mocha," is not, in fact, chasing me in the sense of a "game of tag" or "Friday the 13th" movie. That would be ridiculous. She is almost entirely blind, entirely deaf, and her old joints appreciate a boost climbing the stairs. As to explanation, allow me to proceed briefly and with delicacy, after which we'll continue with today's writing exercise.
By way of example, imagine a tableau, thus:
Living room with three folding chairs, a sofa, a loveseat, occupied by, in no particular order, three married couples and a single woman, engaged in pleasant conversation. Hot tea, slices of Dutch apple pie, fruit salad among them on the coffee table. A Bible study, it would appear.
From the kitchen a low slung dachshund plods, her chin flecked with grey, eyes unseeing; she navigates through the doorway by whisker. In the past she skulked along the baseboards like a greasy ferret, but in her oblivious dotage she has abandoned subtlety and simply rotates twice to lie down unnoticed under the coffee table. Minutes pass. In the distance, a faint train whistle.
This we'll call the "before" picture.
For those nearest the coffee table, there is no warning. They are speaking; they are happy. The little dachshund curled inches below their tea and pie and fruit salad has fallen asleep, and in falling asleep has fully relaxed, and in fully relaxing has started venting toxins. Out of kindness and propriety we shall restrain ourselves from employing similes or metaphors or adjectives describing this scent, except that it is "bad." Wicked, sizzling, bad.
The results are beyond etiquette. Mouths clamp shut. No one is happy; no one is speaking. It's purely up to the hypothalamus now--fight or flight, fight or flight--flight it is.
And so they flee in all directions, keeping in mind that during an emergency the nearest exit may be behind you. Forks crash, chairs wobble. And the room is clear, save for the dog.
They will carry on in the family room. No one is sure how exactly to add this to the prayer list.
This is the dog that curled up alongside my chair a moment ago. Her senses are almost gone but she is a black specter that somehow tracks my movements. She has fallen asleep.
The calendar rustles as I pass. The daily quote is an Irish Proverb stating that God's help is nearer than the door; if that's true then God's help and I must be sharing the same trousers because I am already out.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
A sealed, secret, personal letter to Jeff Goins from no. 286
Note that this is NOT an Open Letter. Were this a paper letter it would be folded into a wax-sealed envelope. Due to conditions of Jeff Goin's 500 Word Challenge, I get no writing credit unless I post this letter on my blog, so here it is. If your name isn't "Jeff Goins" you can't read it. It's much too personal and full of mortifying secrets to be read by the Internet at large. Instead maybe find some baby otter photos to look at. Thank you.
Dear Mr. Goins,
It's Day 4 of the 500 Word Challenge and I have no idea where the words will come from, but I'm showing up at the keyboard and trust the words will too.
At 3:42 PM Eastern an incredible 799 people have signed up for your challenge. I'm one of them--number 286 in fact, a good number for a computer person--and thought I'd drop you a note and let you know what this particular one means.
Early success can be a curse. The popularity of my "Turnip Man" and "Captain Klink" comics, surreptitiously passed around during elementary school classes, gave me a taste of the amazing satisfaction gained by creating something and finding an appreciative audience.
After years of similar triumphs, by high school I had my answer whenever anyone asked what I wanted to be: "A writer."
In the first year of college I majored in journalism, wrote for the school newspaper, had an internship offer from the local city paper. One problem: I hated journalistic writing, and so did what any sensible person would do; figuring I couldn't make a living as a writer, I changed my major to actuarial science, for no other reason than I read in a magazine that it was a good job. It made sense at the time, and bystanders are accustomed to blaming these sudden moves on my red hair. Perhaps you get that too?
Fast forward to the second semester of my senior year in college. Three years as a math major, a few months away from a bachelor's in actuarial science, and a company already has me placed at a job in Kentucky post-graduation. All set, it would seem.
But no. Captain Klink and Turnip Man and a hundred stories since have started a throbbing in my gut, an ache strengthening as the diploma approaches. Red head. I grab my student dossier from the math department at Altgeld Hall--a cramped and fantastically unpredictable building that I love, by the way--and stride across the UIUC campus to the English building.
I'm no longer a math major on the brink of graduation; I'm an English major (specializing in British literature) with a lot of catching up to do. A sympathetic student advisor juggles my credit hours and determines I'll need a summer and two semesters to change that BS to a BA. So be it--I'm back in the game.
I'm writing and I'm writing and I write my way to that English degree and looking to become a smoke jumper in California after graduation--a fellow recreational skydiver is already out there and all I have to do is go. Someone performs a play I wrote at the university's Krannert Center for the Performing Arts. Then someone in Georgia wants to be my literary agent. So of course I go to Georgia and get an apartment.
What happens next should best be abbreviated, but bits of it are on the 10 o'clock news and my now former literary agent needs to focus all his energies on staying out of prison. Fortunately I know how to put a roof on a house and pay the first month's rent. A friend finds a job for me in a corporate accounting department--rescued by those math skills! I have a knack for computers and get recruited by the IT department after a few months.
Seduced by corporate employment and a rapidly increasing salary, I'm enjoying myself, gainfully employed in the technology field. Time, lots of time, rushes by and it's suddenly today. A wife, four kids, three dogs, two rabbits and a hermit crab. Life is rich, rewarding, and abounding in love from family and friends. Not easy, by any means--the valley of the shadow leaves its scars and wrinkles on anyone old enough to walk very far.
But the throbbing returns. I'm not so old yet, but old enough to know we're all running out of time, and I'm not writing. Haven't for many years. The Captain Klink and Turnip Man comics are long lost, and there's no student advisor to help me juggle the time I have left.
I've been reading your works for some while now, and at the perfect moment, a small fraction of time that could have easily passed without consequence, I see your challenge: Write 500 words, don't edit, show up. Not the great American novel, but an exercise.
Red head. I'm in. Thank you Mr. Goins. Number 286 is writing again.
Truly yours,
--Mark
Dear Mr. Goins,
It's Day 4 of the 500 Word Challenge and I have no idea where the words will come from, but I'm showing up at the keyboard and trust the words will too.
At 3:42 PM Eastern an incredible 799 people have signed up for your challenge. I'm one of them--number 286 in fact, a good number for a computer person--and thought I'd drop you a note and let you know what this particular one means.
Early success can be a curse. The popularity of my "Turnip Man" and "Captain Klink" comics, surreptitiously passed around during elementary school classes, gave me a taste of the amazing satisfaction gained by creating something and finding an appreciative audience.
After years of similar triumphs, by high school I had my answer whenever anyone asked what I wanted to be: "A writer."
In the first year of college I majored in journalism, wrote for the school newspaper, had an internship offer from the local city paper. One problem: I hated journalistic writing, and so did what any sensible person would do; figuring I couldn't make a living as a writer, I changed my major to actuarial science, for no other reason than I read in a magazine that it was a good job. It made sense at the time, and bystanders are accustomed to blaming these sudden moves on my red hair. Perhaps you get that too?
Fast forward to the second semester of my senior year in college. Three years as a math major, a few months away from a bachelor's in actuarial science, and a company already has me placed at a job in Kentucky post-graduation. All set, it would seem.
But no. Captain Klink and Turnip Man and a hundred stories since have started a throbbing in my gut, an ache strengthening as the diploma approaches. Red head. I grab my student dossier from the math department at Altgeld Hall--a cramped and fantastically unpredictable building that I love, by the way--and stride across the UIUC campus to the English building.
I'm no longer a math major on the brink of graduation; I'm an English major (specializing in British literature) with a lot of catching up to do. A sympathetic student advisor juggles my credit hours and determines I'll need a summer and two semesters to change that BS to a BA. So be it--I'm back in the game.
I'm writing and I'm writing and I write my way to that English degree and looking to become a smoke jumper in California after graduation--a fellow recreational skydiver is already out there and all I have to do is go. Someone performs a play I wrote at the university's Krannert Center for the Performing Arts. Then someone in Georgia wants to be my literary agent. So of course I go to Georgia and get an apartment.
What happens next should best be abbreviated, but bits of it are on the 10 o'clock news and my now former literary agent needs to focus all his energies on staying out of prison. Fortunately I know how to put a roof on a house and pay the first month's rent. A friend finds a job for me in a corporate accounting department--rescued by those math skills! I have a knack for computers and get recruited by the IT department after a few months.
Seduced by corporate employment and a rapidly increasing salary, I'm enjoying myself, gainfully employed in the technology field. Time, lots of time, rushes by and it's suddenly today. A wife, four kids, three dogs, two rabbits and a hermit crab. Life is rich, rewarding, and abounding in love from family and friends. Not easy, by any means--the valley of the shadow leaves its scars and wrinkles on anyone old enough to walk very far.
But the throbbing returns. I'm not so old yet, but old enough to know we're all running out of time, and I'm not writing. Haven't for many years. The Captain Klink and Turnip Man comics are long lost, and there's no student advisor to help me juggle the time I have left.
I've been reading your works for some while now, and at the perfect moment, a small fraction of time that could have easily passed without consequence, I see your challenge: Write 500 words, don't edit, show up. Not the great American novel, but an exercise.
Red head. I'm in. Thank you Mr. Goins. Number 286 is writing again.
Truly yours,
--Mark
Friday, January 3, 2014
The results are in! (Spoiler: the results are bad.)
Here on Day 3 of the 500 Word Challenge, I best tidy up some loose ends that have been wantonly dangling until now. As with 2012, in 2013 I signed up for the FiftyFifty.me challenge of reading 50 books and watching 50 movies during the year, though I hedged on watching 50 movies (if you want to read about it, here's a link that will make you circle the Internet to travel several inches down this page).
Back in 2012 I read thirty-four books and watched twenty-four movies. In 2013? Thirty-five books and twelve movies. Also, I've read deep enough into two additional quite thick books that could compassionately nudge the total up to 37, so let's split the difference and call it 36 books, 12 movies.
We could ramble on fruitlessly--again--about my miserable, abject, total failure to hit 50 units in either category, but rather, given we have four whole data points, let's submit these figures to deep statistical analysis. And a graph.
According thus to Science and here submitted for Peer Review, the graph indicates that in 2020 I will hit my goal of reading 50 books a year. But we mustn't celebrate yet--while we're in good shape with books, something goes horribly awry with movies.
Firstly, I will see absolutely no movies this year. Not a one. And the year after? Minus 12. In 2020, the year when I hit my stride in books? Minus 72.
Minus 72 movies? I'm not sure what it means to consume minus 72 movies, but I'm fairly certain some wild speculation is in order. We must go where the data leads.
I submit the following hypothetical explanations for negative movie consumption:
--I could begin rapidly forgetting movies I have already seen. My memory isn't what it used to be, but this hypothesis seems rather unlikely. I'll never forget that classic film where the guy goes to that place with the lady and something bad happens with the thingy. You know. That one.
--I could become a director and craft movies so impossibly bad as to damage the concept of film itself. I must confess; this is something of a dream of mine. Consider adding this hypothesis to your fantasy team.
--Another me in another dimension of the "multiverse" could consume irresponsibly vast volumes of movies, forcing my negative movie consumption to maintain the balance of existence. This is about as likely as anything else coming out of the multiverse, and actually puts me in the running to be Doctor Who in six years. I'm not British, but I am ginger. Even odds, then.
There is nothing in the graph to contra-indicate the possibility of ALL THREE of these possibilities occurring simultaneously, meaning I'll be a Doctor Who traveling the multiverse directing awful movies while forgetting everything he knows about film. If the poignant resonance of that doesn't make you excited about the future, I don't know what will.
Back in 2012 I read thirty-four books and watched twenty-four movies. In 2013? Thirty-five books and twelve movies. Also, I've read deep enough into two additional quite thick books that could compassionately nudge the total up to 37, so let's split the difference and call it 36 books, 12 movies.
We could ramble on fruitlessly--again--about my miserable, abject, total failure to hit 50 units in either category, but rather, given we have four whole data points, let's submit these figures to deep statistical analysis. And a graph.
According thus to Science and here submitted for Peer Review, the graph indicates that in 2020 I will hit my goal of reading 50 books a year. But we mustn't celebrate yet--while we're in good shape with books, something goes horribly awry with movies.
Firstly, I will see absolutely no movies this year. Not a one. And the year after? Minus 12. In 2020, the year when I hit my stride in books? Minus 72.
Minus 72 movies? I'm not sure what it means to consume minus 72 movies, but I'm fairly certain some wild speculation is in order. We must go where the data leads.
I submit the following hypothetical explanations for negative movie consumption:
--I could begin rapidly forgetting movies I have already seen. My memory isn't what it used to be, but this hypothesis seems rather unlikely. I'll never forget that classic film where the guy goes to that place with the lady and something bad happens with the thingy. You know. That one.
--I could become a director and craft movies so impossibly bad as to damage the concept of film itself. I must confess; this is something of a dream of mine. Consider adding this hypothesis to your fantasy team.
--Another me in another dimension of the "multiverse" could consume irresponsibly vast volumes of movies, forcing my negative movie consumption to maintain the balance of existence. This is about as likely as anything else coming out of the multiverse, and actually puts me in the running to be Doctor Who in six years. I'm not British, but I am ginger. Even odds, then.
There is nothing in the graph to contra-indicate the possibility of ALL THREE of these possibilities occurring simultaneously, meaning I'll be a Doctor Who traveling the multiverse directing awful movies while forgetting everything he knows about film. If the poignant resonance of that doesn't make you excited about the future, I don't know what will.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
The Day of Zeroth, satisfactorily explained
Exceptionally alert readers will have noticed that yesterday I made a blog "post." Don't be alarmed. I voluntarily signed up for a 500 Word Challenge, which mandates I write 500 words each day in January and deposit them on this blog.
Altering my blog in this way wasn't something I took lightly. The static immutability of this site has brought it no small fame as a historical snapshot representative of blogging culture in the early 2000s. The charming blend of links, photos, seamless background image, even a Twitter widget (since broken), made this humble site a favorite reference of computer science theses and nostalgic "web log" articles.
Alas, one must move on. Thus, a second post in as many days.
Yesterday's suggestion of adding a new day to the calendar--Zeroth, the day between years--has provoked numerous questions as to how, exactly, such a beautiful thing would work.
Question: What is this new day, Zeroth, that you want to add to the calendar between 12/31 and 1/1?
Answer: Zeroth, the date 0/0, the Day Between Years, can be thought of as an "airlock" between the previous year and the coming year. Just as an airlock provides a transitional refuge between external and internal environments, Zeroth is a contemplative refuge between years.
Q: Where would this additional day come from? If we blithely add calendar days, our descendants will end up celebrating Christmas during the summer solstice.
A: Excellent question. To accommodate the additional day of Zeroth, we will remove the last day of February. February will have 27 days, 28 during leap years. Few will notice the difference.
Q: What happens to February 29th?
A: It is already the case that February 29th comes around rarely. Now the 29th will come around exceptionally rarely.
Q: How rarely?
A: Never. Let it go. Greater good. All that.
Q: Won't this new day of 0/0 cause havoc with computers?
A: Yes. Gloriously so. Zeroth will knock computers back on their heels and fuel IT industry jobs for years.
Q: Don't you work in the IT industry?
A: Stop getting distracted.
Q: Given the focus on reflection and rumination, are you concerned about the commercialization and merchandising of the Zeroth holiday?
A: Yes. This idea hasn't put a single penny in my pocket, which concerns me greatly. I'm mocking up some Zazzle t-shirts, however, which all the cool people are already probably pre-ordering.
Q: Are these actual real questions from actual real people?
A: No. I am making these up.
Q: Do you honestly think this "Day Between Years" will catch on?
A: Stranger things have happened. If a small circle of deeply committed people embrace the brilliance of Zeroth, I have some hope of being internationally labeled as the crackpot who hatched it. That's a gift of sorts. Good enough for a CNN interview or two, certainly.
Q: Have we hit 500 words yet?
A: No, but we're very, very, very, very close.
Q: Will you be writing about this yet again tomorrow?
A: Absolutely not. Something new tomorrow.
Altering my blog in this way wasn't something I took lightly. The static immutability of this site has brought it no small fame as a historical snapshot representative of blogging culture in the early 2000s. The charming blend of links, photos, seamless background image, even a Twitter widget (since broken), made this humble site a favorite reference of computer science theses and nostalgic "web log" articles.
Alas, one must move on. Thus, a second post in as many days.
Yesterday's suggestion of adding a new day to the calendar--Zeroth, the day between years--has provoked numerous questions as to how, exactly, such a beautiful thing would work.
Question: What is this new day, Zeroth, that you want to add to the calendar between 12/31 and 1/1?
Answer: Zeroth, the date 0/0, the Day Between Years, can be thought of as an "airlock" between the previous year and the coming year. Just as an airlock provides a transitional refuge between external and internal environments, Zeroth is a contemplative refuge between years.
Q: Where would this additional day come from? If we blithely add calendar days, our descendants will end up celebrating Christmas during the summer solstice.
A: Excellent question. To accommodate the additional day of Zeroth, we will remove the last day of February. February will have 27 days, 28 during leap years. Few will notice the difference.
Q: What happens to February 29th?
A: It is already the case that February 29th comes around rarely. Now the 29th will come around exceptionally rarely.
Q: How rarely?
A: Never. Let it go. Greater good. All that.
Q: Won't this new day of 0/0 cause havoc with computers?
A: Yes. Gloriously so. Zeroth will knock computers back on their heels and fuel IT industry jobs for years.
Q: Don't you work in the IT industry?
A: Stop getting distracted.
Q: Given the focus on reflection and rumination, are you concerned about the commercialization and merchandising of the Zeroth holiday?
A: Yes. This idea hasn't put a single penny in my pocket, which concerns me greatly. I'm mocking up some Zazzle t-shirts, however, which all the cool people are already probably pre-ordering.
Q: Are these actual real questions from actual real people?
A: No. I am making these up.
Q: Do you honestly think this "Day Between Years" will catch on?
A: Stranger things have happened. If a small circle of deeply committed people embrace the brilliance of Zeroth, I have some hope of being internationally labeled as the crackpot who hatched it. That's a gift of sorts. Good enough for a CNN interview or two, certainly.
Q: Have we hit 500 words yet?
A: No, but we're very, very, very, very close.
Q: Will you be writing about this yet again tomorrow?
A: Absolutely not. Something new tomorrow.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
New Year's Day, fixed.
New Year's Day is a horrible way to start the year. You stayed up too late stuffing your gullet with greasy snacks and glutinous dip, imbibed a bit more bubbly than was prudent, perhaps even shook a booty that--be honest--needed more than a few minutes of stretching before attempting such rhythmic indignities, and now, here, January 1st, when all the buoyant resolutions have come due, you are exhausted, bloated, stiff, dehydrated.
This is not a day of triumph; it is a day of convalescence. Happy, happy new year, indeed.
But enough about me. Perhaps, instead, you are the sort who retired to bed early, awoke early, ate something incorporating kale, and then embarked on an invigorating run, singing hymns as the sun broke majestically across the horizon. You kept your resolutions, but have much to lament today as well. Specifically this: everyone hates you. I'm sorry, but truthfully, we're all hoping for an opportunity to clip your kale-fortified flank as we head to the drive-through at Dunkin' Donuts.
Either way, there's no winning on New Year's Day. One might think the solution would be to look inward, to seek moments of quiet introspection, to start with "the man in the mirror." But why, when we can construct elaborate schemes such as, say, completely altering the calendar?
What do I have in mind? First, some background.
Historically speaking, calendar alterations have not been uncommon. The Julian calendar was broadly used before adoption of the current Gregorian calendar, but there have been dozens of others. Even today, people have suggested new calendars that would bring uniformity to the number of days per month. We're already accustomed to Leap Years and the wanton vacillations of Daylight Savings Time, why not nudge the calendar a bit?
What I'm suggesting is a new day--a true new year's day. Much like noon and midnight are technically neither AM nor PM but rather simply noon and midnight, this day would be between years, neither past nor future year. Rather than go from 12/31 to 1/1, we would go from 12/31 to 0/0, and then tomorrow to 1/1. The zeroth day of the zeroth month. I quite fancy that--and so it shall be called Zeroth, the day between years. A day to rest and recuperate from yesterday's revelries and initiate the loin girding for tomorrow's conquests.
On the day of Zeroth, time is suspended. It is like a baseball thrown high into the air that is, at its apex--for that brief moment between rising and falling--floating in stillness. You have this stillness, this moment, to reflect. The previous year has passed; it is a dissipated vapor. The next year waits, with all its promise, for you and your resolutions.
And your kale-eating. They say your body craves what it needs, and if your body craves kale then something is terribly, terribly wrong with you. We both know this. Don't worry, we'll figure it out together, this year.
This is not a day of triumph; it is a day of convalescence. Happy, happy new year, indeed.
But enough about me. Perhaps, instead, you are the sort who retired to bed early, awoke early, ate something incorporating kale, and then embarked on an invigorating run, singing hymns as the sun broke majestically across the horizon. You kept your resolutions, but have much to lament today as well. Specifically this: everyone hates you. I'm sorry, but truthfully, we're all hoping for an opportunity to clip your kale-fortified flank as we head to the drive-through at Dunkin' Donuts.
Either way, there's no winning on New Year's Day. One might think the solution would be to look inward, to seek moments of quiet introspection, to start with "the man in the mirror." But why, when we can construct elaborate schemes such as, say, completely altering the calendar?
What do I have in mind? First, some background.
Historically speaking, calendar alterations have not been uncommon. The Julian calendar was broadly used before adoption of the current Gregorian calendar, but there have been dozens of others. Even today, people have suggested new calendars that would bring uniformity to the number of days per month. We're already accustomed to Leap Years and the wanton vacillations of Daylight Savings Time, why not nudge the calendar a bit?
What I'm suggesting is a new day--a true new year's day. Much like noon and midnight are technically neither AM nor PM but rather simply noon and midnight, this day would be between years, neither past nor future year. Rather than go from 12/31 to 1/1, we would go from 12/31 to 0/0, and then tomorrow to 1/1. The zeroth day of the zeroth month. I quite fancy that--and so it shall be called Zeroth, the day between years. A day to rest and recuperate from yesterday's revelries and initiate the loin girding for tomorrow's conquests.
On the day of Zeroth, time is suspended. It is like a baseball thrown high into the air that is, at its apex--for that brief moment between rising and falling--floating in stillness. You have this stillness, this moment, to reflect. The previous year has passed; it is a dissipated vapor. The next year waits, with all its promise, for you and your resolutions.
And your kale-eating. They say your body craves what it needs, and if your body craves kale then something is terribly, terribly wrong with you. We both know this. Don't worry, we'll figure it out together, this year.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
34/24 < 50/50 :-(
A fiftyfifty.me retrospective
In 2012 I fell short of my 50/50 goal by 16 books and 26 movies; not terribly impressive. Numbers like that yield no medal, no ribbon, no fat corporate sponsorships, but merely a small mention in the local newspaper, and then only because I paid for it.
In the face of abject failure, the best question we can ask is, “Who can I blame?” These days the answer to that is, “just about anybody.” But the second best question, and the one we’ll be addressing here is, “What did we learn from this?”
We--and I’m using the royal “we”, as there is only one of us--learned that we aren’t really big on movies. Socially speaking, this is akin to not liking pizza, or not being on Facebook, or worse, not “liking” pizza on Facebook. But there it is, a stark truth--I tend not to like movies.
Not entirely a revelation, as movies have long not been my favorite pastime, but until I was challenged with watching many, many films did I realize that I avoid doing so. The “time spent/enjoyment found” ratio rarely pays off.
So what were these awful movies I watched?
Of the total twenty-four films, half were children’s movies that I viewed with my kids. I did like the majority of these--none were actually awful--but a big part of that is simply the pleasure of spending time with my children, laughing and curling up on the sofa. I’m not terribly critical of children’s movies; I understand when I’m not part of the target audience.
Of the remaining half, I rated four movies good, five okay, and three bad. Of the three “bad” movies, “Transformers: Dark of the Moon” earned special distinction as a film that should be prescribed only by doctors as a powerful emetic.
Thus, two-thirds of the time I spent watching “big person” movies, I wasn’t really enjoying myself. Part way through the year I realized I would never, ever, ever, hit 50 movies. I reached a point where I simply wasn’t willing. Goal or not, I decided to spend my time otherwise.
What of the books, then? Of the thirty-four read, I enjoyed thirty-two, with the remaining two being “okay.” None were “bad.” Several of the books I absolutely loved. Many taught me things I didn’t know and some changed my perspective. A much better return on time invested.
What, then, for 50/50 in 2013?
Book-wise, the plan going forward is to continue following the bloodlines of two mystery authors who are writing series I enjoy, but likely not pick up any additional mysteries. Instead I’m going to expand the variety this year based on recommendations I’m collecting from various sources: friends, twitter, magazines, and the like. I’ll probably more actively scout books from other 50/50 participants as well. Expect a few more “youth” titles also; I may pad my total with shorter books that my younger kids are reading, though I’ll try to keep it below a certain level of shamelessness.
I am, then, trying to hit 50 books in 2013.
And the movies? I feel a bit guilty about this, and question whether I should officially sign up for the 50/50 challenge this year. It developed in 2012, and it remains today: an unwillingness to spend the time required to watch 50 movies.
That said, I’m signing up with the intent to improve, using a two-fold approach:
--I need to discern better what movies I tend to like, so I don’t feel like I’m wasting time.
--I should watch movies in smaller portions, rather than attempt to watch each film in one sitting, as large blocks of time are hard to find.
Forward, then. Wish me luck.
I'm tracking my 50/50 progress on Pinterest. Have any book or movie recommendations? Please let me know!
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