Well, I've given a couple days, so if anyone considers the following comments a spoiler about the final episode of Six Feet Under, that's your problem.
I enjoyed the episode, particularly the final montage while Claire was driving east through the desert, off to the unknown. As she listened to the "Deeply un-hip mix" CD from her boyfriend, Ted, her future passed before her eyes. Not just her future, but the future of her extended family. The marriage of Keith and David, Durrell learning about the mortuary business, Ruth's death with her children and George by her bedside, Brenda dying while her brother Billy rambled on about "emotional closure," Claire's wedding to Ted, and lives taken to peaceable ends (Keith's senseless murder aside).
One other little tid-bit that made me smile was Billy's t-shirt when the family visited Brenda to meet baby Willa: "What Would Jesus Bomb." I've been told these are real shirts that people can buy. I just thought it was a well placed, appropriate detail.
I'm a little confused about the end of the show for Maggie, George's daughter. Was she at a clinic to abort a child from her tryst with Nate, the night his brain exploded, was it pre-natal care, or was she simply at a doctor's appointment? I might have missed something, but the setting had to be significant, otherwise they could have placed her in any number of other spots.
I've had numerous conversations with people who don't like the show, had no sympathy for the characters, or were turned off by the subject matter. But regardless of what one thinks of the characters, I think it was good television. Interesting stories about life's difficulties. Funny quirks in so many of the people. An honesty about death that is rarely shown on television. I appreciated all of that and rarely if ever missed an episode. I'll miss the stories of Claire, Nate (who was getting rather annoying in the end), and even David (though I can't say I enjoyed watching the soul kisses he planted on his boyfriends -- so it goes.)
Rest in peace, Six Feet Under.
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Monday, August 22, 2005
Chapter 39.55: Catching Up
Maureen and I visited my parents yesterday, and I read them the first two chapters of the novel. I chose that amount because it would only be about 20 or so pages, though I could have brought the third chapter as well, which is only a few pages long. Yet, if I had taken three chapters, I might not have noticed that the story doesn't really move until the third chapter, which involves a dream that sets up the first half of the book. Having taken only two chapters and reading them aloud, I soon discovered how problematic my opening is. So my decision is clear to me: I need to rework the opening chapters.
My goal remains to seek out an agent before the end of the year, but the fall will be busy with many different things to write and trips to make. I see a busy Saturday ahead of me, too, and I'd like to add the early chapter re-write into the mix. It may be put aside for deadline-related items.
My goal remains to seek out an agent before the end of the year, but the fall will be busy with many different things to write and trips to make. I see a busy Saturday ahead of me, too, and I'd like to add the early chapter re-write into the mix. It may be put aside for deadline-related items.
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Chapter 39.5: Coincidences and ESP
A friend sent me an email talking about how he seemed compelled to pick up a copy of a magazine he didn't normally read. It had nothing to do with what he does for a living, at least not directly, but he flipped through the pages and finally discovered what it was that "must" have called out to him as he passed the racks. A person he knew from college 20 years ago was quoted and photographed for the article. In his email, my friend discussed other coincidental moments that have occurred to him and openly asked if he had ESP.
I replied that it was coincidence, not ESP. What's missing from his thinking is the countless times a person sees something that he wasn't thinking of recently. You scan the TV pages to determine which rerun you want to fall asleep to, see Law & Order, flip to it, and it's an episode you haven't thought of in a few years, if you've even seen it before. You watch Briscoe make some wisecrack and soon slip off into dreamland with a cat nuzzling your ear or your heel dangling off the couch. And you never think of it again.
My point is, people remember the things they were thinking about when they pop up again. "Wow, I was just thinking of that episode of Gilligan's Island the other day, the one where Ginger gets all snuggly with the professor... Whodathunk that while flipping channels I'd run into just that episode?" But you're not thinking of all the other old movies, the episodes of Northern Exposure, that Roma Downey as an angel show, and some Robert Downey Jr. film that crossed your brain too but didn't pop into your television viewing schedule.
I used to do the same thing with digital watches. It always seemed that I looked at my watch right around the change of a minute. 58 seconds after the minute, 59, double zero, maybe 01 or 02. It seemed uncanny. Then I did the math: If I allow those five seconds of time to be significant, I have a 1 in 12 chance of catching one of those seconds. Odds aren't that tough at that point. Now, if I always seemed to catch the clock at 43 seconds into the minute, exactly ... well, even then it's one in 60.
My friend is a reporter and editor. It's odd that he saw the person he knew in the magazine, but I said, "Think of all the times you've looked at a magazine and NOT found someone you knew. You're a man of the world. You've covered hundreds of events, interviewed more than a thousand people. You're may be more likely to see someone you know than most readers. Even then, how often do you recognize a person?"
I don't want to blow the little ESP fantasy, because I do believe that some people are more sensitive to changes and patterns than others, and he may indeed be one of them. I subscribe to logic: there's usually a reason things happen. Science backs lots of unlikely, otherwise incomprehensible things -- black holes, time warps, moebius strips, the square root of negative-one.
It's one of the reasons this whole "intelligent design" thing pisses me off. I believe that God exists. I believe that he created us all and the universe, etc. I don't think he did it a minute ago in geological time. I think he created the Big Bang, like he was flicking on the lights, and said, "Wow, I haven't looked in here yet. Let me check this out for a little while." And as God explores, the universe keeps expanding. Naive, I know. But if it's with the eyes of a child that one enters the kingdom of heaven, then I'm going to keep my childish thoughts alive as long as I can.
There's more going on in the world than our eyes can see. If you you have ESP, I'm not going to tell you you're wrong. And I still believe in ghosts even though I've never seen one. But that's another story...
I replied that it was coincidence, not ESP. What's missing from his thinking is the countless times a person sees something that he wasn't thinking of recently. You scan the TV pages to determine which rerun you want to fall asleep to, see Law & Order, flip to it, and it's an episode you haven't thought of in a few years, if you've even seen it before. You watch Briscoe make some wisecrack and soon slip off into dreamland with a cat nuzzling your ear or your heel dangling off the couch. And you never think of it again.
My point is, people remember the things they were thinking about when they pop up again. "Wow, I was just thinking of that episode of Gilligan's Island the other day, the one where Ginger gets all snuggly with the professor... Whodathunk that while flipping channels I'd run into just that episode?" But you're not thinking of all the other old movies, the episodes of Northern Exposure, that Roma Downey as an angel show, and some Robert Downey Jr. film that crossed your brain too but didn't pop into your television viewing schedule.
I used to do the same thing with digital watches. It always seemed that I looked at my watch right around the change of a minute. 58 seconds after the minute, 59, double zero, maybe 01 or 02. It seemed uncanny. Then I did the math: If I allow those five seconds of time to be significant, I have a 1 in 12 chance of catching one of those seconds. Odds aren't that tough at that point. Now, if I always seemed to catch the clock at 43 seconds into the minute, exactly ... well, even then it's one in 60.
My friend is a reporter and editor. It's odd that he saw the person he knew in the magazine, but I said, "Think of all the times you've looked at a magazine and NOT found someone you knew. You're a man of the world. You've covered hundreds of events, interviewed more than a thousand people. You're may be more likely to see someone you know than most readers. Even then, how often do you recognize a person?"
I don't want to blow the little ESP fantasy, because I do believe that some people are more sensitive to changes and patterns than others, and he may indeed be one of them. I subscribe to logic: there's usually a reason things happen. Science backs lots of unlikely, otherwise incomprehensible things -- black holes, time warps, moebius strips, the square root of negative-one.
It's one of the reasons this whole "intelligent design" thing pisses me off. I believe that God exists. I believe that he created us all and the universe, etc. I don't think he did it a minute ago in geological time. I think he created the Big Bang, like he was flicking on the lights, and said, "Wow, I haven't looked in here yet. Let me check this out for a little while." And as God explores, the universe keeps expanding. Naive, I know. But if it's with the eyes of a child that one enters the kingdom of heaven, then I'm going to keep my childish thoughts alive as long as I can.
There's more going on in the world than our eyes can see. If you you have ESP, I'm not going to tell you you're wrong. And I still believe in ghosts even though I've never seen one. But that's another story...
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
Chapter 39.3: PGA-OK
Finally the PGA Championship has left our sleepy little Springfield, though not without raising its temperature. For weeks before the tournament began, rumors spread through the town about where the professional golfers were going to live. Go to the post office and someone was whispering about how much so-and-so was getting for renting his home to Tiger Woods for the week. Thousands, said some; a million others had heard.
I don’t know where he lived, nor do I care. My home wasn’t quite close enough to attract offers of any money for parking on my lawn, but others charged $50 or more per car per day. There were some who were making money off those who brought their cell phones – banned by the PGA from the course. I made nothing from the event, though I enjoyed having it around.
My wife and I both volunteered to serve as EMTs during the week. Maureen ended up doing three different days, including Monday, when play resumed after storms caused a suspension. She was on national television tending to patients after the tree limb collapsed, injuring three. For the first time since I’ve known her, she seemed happy to watch golf on television.
I was on the course for the Saturday morning shift and stuck around to watch the rest of the tournament’s third day of competition. I saw Tiger. I saw Phil. I saw Vijay. I stood a couple of feet away from Steve Elkington when he punched out his ball that had landed in the woods from the third tee. I was along the fairway on 17 when John Daly became the first person to twice reach the green on two shots. And I witnessed some pro trying to pick up a couple of big-breasted twenty-somethings as he practiced on the putting green. (At least that’s how it appeared to me, and if I knew who he was I still probably wouldn’t name him here.)
There were some interesting little tid-bits that I’ll remember. For instance, in the radio traffic, Tiger was “The Package” and had a crew of two EMTs and a paramedic assigned to follow him because he attracted the most people. Some men drank obscene amounts of beer for even more obscene prices during the hottest, most unhealthy days of the summer. Even people who were drinking water were having dehydration problems because they simply weren’t drinking enough.
I’m proud of how the area handled the tournament. The people I met around town took it in stride; I witnessed more panic by New Yorkers last summer during the Republican Convention than I saw in Springfield during the PGA, and there were more people here than for the convention. (Of course, we wanted the golf; most New Yorkers didn’t want the Republicans.) I’d love to see old Baltusrol get another U.S. Open in the near future. I think we proved we can handle it.
I don’t know where he lived, nor do I care. My home wasn’t quite close enough to attract offers of any money for parking on my lawn, but others charged $50 or more per car per day. There were some who were making money off those who brought their cell phones – banned by the PGA from the course. I made nothing from the event, though I enjoyed having it around.
My wife and I both volunteered to serve as EMTs during the week. Maureen ended up doing three different days, including Monday, when play resumed after storms caused a suspension. She was on national television tending to patients after the tree limb collapsed, injuring three. For the first time since I’ve known her, she seemed happy to watch golf on television.
I was on the course for the Saturday morning shift and stuck around to watch the rest of the tournament’s third day of competition. I saw Tiger. I saw Phil. I saw Vijay. I stood a couple of feet away from Steve Elkington when he punched out his ball that had landed in the woods from the third tee. I was along the fairway on 17 when John Daly became the first person to twice reach the green on two shots. And I witnessed some pro trying to pick up a couple of big-breasted twenty-somethings as he practiced on the putting green. (At least that’s how it appeared to me, and if I knew who he was I still probably wouldn’t name him here.)
There were some interesting little tid-bits that I’ll remember. For instance, in the radio traffic, Tiger was “The Package” and had a crew of two EMTs and a paramedic assigned to follow him because he attracted the most people. Some men drank obscene amounts of beer for even more obscene prices during the hottest, most unhealthy days of the summer. Even people who were drinking water were having dehydration problems because they simply weren’t drinking enough.
I’m proud of how the area handled the tournament. The people I met around town took it in stride; I witnessed more panic by New Yorkers last summer during the Republican Convention than I saw in Springfield during the PGA, and there were more people here than for the convention. (Of course, we wanted the golf; most New Yorkers didn’t want the Republicans.) I’d love to see old Baltusrol get another U.S. Open in the near future. I think we proved we can handle it.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Chapter 39.1: Idle Chatter
New York is as I remember it. Filled with beautiful, indifferent women and smells of body functions best left undescribed. My office is in Chelsea not far from Union Square, but I still need to learn about my neighborhood. Some days I take a quick walk to ascertain my surroundings, to the park for music and observations. The farmers market is expensive, and I’m not about to tote a bag of corn back to New Jersey. Other days I meander up to Barnes & Noble to read poems or pages of philosophy texts. I find them much more nourishing than the vegetables at the market.
One morning I was walking up 14th Street when a woman was hanging the American flag at the Job Center. The only problem was she had it upside down. I called it to the attention of her co-worker, who was letting people into the building. He didn’t understand what I meant until I pointed and said, “The flag. It’s upside down.” His face seemed to open up in horror – far more dramatic than the moment required. He called out to the woman and I went on my way.
The church on 15th Street is being renovated. At least, that’s what appears to be happening. There are construction workers who toss dusty chunks of plaster into piles on the sidewalk. A homeless man sleeps on an old recliner; I wonder if he dragged it there or if it came from inside.
I’m surprised at how many dogs there are in the neighborhood. I see people walking their dogs at all hours of the day, but it’s as though two dozen dogs hit the streets at about 8 a.m. in that neighborhood. Small streams run away from the crouching dogs and mingle with the other mess on the street. The street cleaners seem to run every day, though I’m sure I’m mistaken; I just don’t care enough about the machines to pay attention to their schedule.
A cheery woman hands out copies of the free daily newspaper, amNew York at the corner of 14th and 6th. She mixes treacly comments to passersby she recognizes, which I’m not in the mood to hear before a cup of coffee. Yet, one day last week she wasn’t there. Some guy stood holding a copy of the paper and merely said “amNew York.” The next day the happy woman was back, and I took the paper, happy she was back. I enjoy doing its crossword puzzle on the PATH train back home at the end of the day. And the music information is passable.
One morning I was walking up 14th Street when a woman was hanging the American flag at the Job Center. The only problem was she had it upside down. I called it to the attention of her co-worker, who was letting people into the building. He didn’t understand what I meant until I pointed and said, “The flag. It’s upside down.” His face seemed to open up in horror – far more dramatic than the moment required. He called out to the woman and I went on my way.
The church on 15th Street is being renovated. At least, that’s what appears to be happening. There are construction workers who toss dusty chunks of plaster into piles on the sidewalk. A homeless man sleeps on an old recliner; I wonder if he dragged it there or if it came from inside.
I’m surprised at how many dogs there are in the neighborhood. I see people walking their dogs at all hours of the day, but it’s as though two dozen dogs hit the streets at about 8 a.m. in that neighborhood. Small streams run away from the crouching dogs and mingle with the other mess on the street. The street cleaners seem to run every day, though I’m sure I’m mistaken; I just don’t care enough about the machines to pay attention to their schedule.
A cheery woman hands out copies of the free daily newspaper, amNew York at the corner of 14th and 6th. She mixes treacly comments to passersby she recognizes, which I’m not in the mood to hear before a cup of coffee. Yet, one day last week she wasn’t there. Some guy stood holding a copy of the paper and merely said “amNew York.” The next day the happy woman was back, and I took the paper, happy she was back. I enjoy doing its crossword puzzle on the PATH train back home at the end of the day. And the music information is passable.
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
Chapter 39: Progress Report
It’s been too long since my last blog posting. Too long in the sense that I’ve missed the opportunity to write with sadness about the passing of James “Scotty” Doohan, the actor known for playing Mr. Scott on Star Trek. Too long to discuss my initial thoughts at my new job, which is going well. Too long to comment on the abysmal weather, hotter than I like it and dripping with humidity. Almost too long to comment on what’s been going on with my novel.
So I’ll start there. My brother and his wife have begun to read it, and they gave me some feedback. I’m starting to consider fictionalizing the second town in my book. I’m still setting it in Hoboken, but I was using a few too many real references in a second town, and they’re not really necessary. The Hoboken references are almost entirely defunct, out of business places – in fact, that’s the point. One of the messages of the book is to cherish the present, but time will pass, often with harrowing experiences that we must surmount.
Perhaps because they were family, what could have been a harrowing experience – the initial critique of my first novel -- wasn’t. My family members were equally adept at criticizing fairly and with encouragement to continue. I was going to continue anyway, but he was really good about it. I am looking forward to the thoughts of others as well, but the book is not yet ready to be consumed by the general populace. It needs more time in the oven.
I hope to be more frequent with my postings from now on. I need them even if no one else does.
So I’ll start there. My brother and his wife have begun to read it, and they gave me some feedback. I’m starting to consider fictionalizing the second town in my book. I’m still setting it in Hoboken, but I was using a few too many real references in a second town, and they’re not really necessary. The Hoboken references are almost entirely defunct, out of business places – in fact, that’s the point. One of the messages of the book is to cherish the present, but time will pass, often with harrowing experiences that we must surmount.
Perhaps because they were family, what could have been a harrowing experience – the initial critique of my first novel -- wasn’t. My family members were equally adept at criticizing fairly and with encouragement to continue. I was going to continue anyway, but he was really good about it. I am looking forward to the thoughts of others as well, but the book is not yet ready to be consumed by the general populace. It needs more time in the oven.
I hope to be more frequent with my postings from now on. I need them even if no one else does.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)