It's not that I don't have more to write. It's just that I've made it in so late, and I have to be up so early in the morning.
Meeting at Gloria's at nine to help her move. Intergroup tomorrow night at six. Photo shoot Sunday morning at ten. TriState planning at two Sunday afternoon, followed by book club at 3:30.
Busy weekend ahead. Still tons to do for LASCYPAA bid, film selections for the festival, and the last few sponsor contacts for the NLGLFF.
All this and starting my new position on Monday morning. I guess my vacation is officially over.
My only question is whether or not Hall Summit will make his way up here in the next thirty-six hours. I'd be willing to let some of my responsibility slide for a little Brodeferousness.
31 May 2013
30 May 2013
Geography Club
When I mentioned to Bruce Parker II that one of the films up for me to review is Geography Club, he mentioned that he'd read the book and really enjoyed it. Of course, I instantly did a quick search to find out what bookstore in town would have a copy, which I bought as soon as I found its location. That was last weekend. Today, I put my other responsibilities aside to read the book before I see the movie (at the advice of Bruce). It only took me a couple of hours to read it in its entirety, and I was impressed. Once again, I had to think about life and love and what it means to be a family and to really experience friendship. My hope is that the film is as impressive as the book and we're able to select it for the festival so that other people who don't read as much as I do will have the opportunity to experience this really creative and beautiful story.
After an evening out with friends celebrating Mark's birthday after the Lambda meeting, I had the chance to spend a little more time than usual talking to Brodie, the dude in the pictures in the post above (who my roommate questions the actual existence of, but who I've talked to every day since Friday, March 15th)... the best way to finish any productive day.
Now off to bed and Lamb and maybe a selection short or two before the end of the last day of the usual week and the beginning of the last weekend of my vacation. I need to do it up hard. As this is the first vacation I've taken in years, I need to make these last few days count - who knows when I'll get my next one?
Proof That Unicorns Really Do Exist
Ladies and gentlemen, everybody wants to know who he is, so here you have him. This is what happens in Hall Summit.
28 May 2013
Facebook Time
I spent all my post-meeting time on Facebook tagging and editing photos that really didn't come out all that great. What's the deal with that? Sometimes, every single picture I take is phenomenal. Other times, every one of them is blurry and looks like crap. Tonight's photos fall into that latter bunch.
I've eaten up my late-night time on posting photos, so I don't know how much I have left in me to actually post something worth reading (or writing, for that matter). I can't say that the effort and energy expended on uploading and tagging wasn't worth it. It was, after all, for a very good cause: to celebrate the second year of sobriety for one of the greatest people I know, one of the people I consider to be a member of my family of choice (ya know - those people to whom you feel as close as you do to your own family, sometimes even closer). It was an honor and a privilege to share the late afternoon and evening with Meg and Angie, Sarah and Alex... the list continues exponentially. I'd like to start another gratitude list, but I feel like there will be those who will argue over their placements in the order of things no matter where their names may fall. Instead, I'll just leave this at the fact that I'm overwhelmed with joy at knowing these people and having them as parts of my life.
Moving on...
I believe that I owe The Shining more credit than I gave it in the final days in which I was finishing it.
I just ran downstairs to grab the remnants of my chow from El Compadre, scarfed it down, then got down to pray and complete my daily tenth step. I'm basically ready for bed, but I figured I'd type a while until total delirium sets in, and I have to push my laptop over to my nightstand and pull on my eye mask to blot out the infrared ultraviolet violent rays that intrude on my sleeping space every morning (I could never work the night shift and sleep in this room).
What impresses me most from the book, following what is basically my third reading (each from VERY different periods in my life), is that the horror of what is transpiring at the Overlook and among the members of the Torrence family still holds even for a jaded horror fan at the age of thirty-four. When reading the story, when suspending any sense of disbelief and just allowing yourself to become immersed in the story, the things that are happening are truly creepy.
Having done a lot of methamphetamine during my early twenties, I remember there were dark periods where I'd been up for several days and concocted all sorts of diabolical ideologies in my head. I now know that those brain-borne conspiracies and the combination hallucinations taking place simultaneously, were resulting from methamphetamine-induced psychosis. I also remember watching a film in the latter part of those days called The Salton Sea, in which everything I was ever afraid of was the reality for the characters in the film. What if those hallucinations and conspiracies hadn't been the results of a combination of speed and lack of sleep? What if everything that I know now was just a very overactive imagination was not only my reality at the time, but the true reality of the moment? That's what happened to me while reading The Shining this go-round. I really found myself looking over my shoulder, turning lights back on, and getting out of bed to check to be sure that my bedroom door was not only closed, but clicked totally shut. In other words, I was creeped.
What's not to find scary? There's a troubled family reeling from the father's tenuous grasp on fresh sobriety and the knowledge of a horrible incident that haunts them from their past. There's a big, old hotel with a massive history of bad people doing bad things there for the duration of its existence. There's a boiler in the basement that has to be checked and de-pressurized at least twice a day. There's a scrapbook found within the hotel's boxes of receipts and old records, and it details the story of the Overlook through the twentieth century. There's a little boy with a very keen power that all of us possess to some degree, but the boy has honed to perfection. There's visions of something terrible waiting to happen (REDRUM). There's a major snowstorm coming to isolate the family away from civilization, cut off from all contact with the outside world. There's animals cut into the topiary gardens guarding the front doors (and they sometimes seem to change positions when your back is turned). There's something so horrible that it defies explanation lurking in the concrete rings within the playground. There's a woman in the bathtub in one of the rooms, possibly the spirit of the jilted lady who cut her wrists in Room 217 some years before. There's Tony, Danny's friend who sometimes comes to tell the little boy about things that are going to happen, some of them good and some of them bad. There's Tony who is showing Danny all sorts of bad things about the hotel and about his father. And then there's Tony who stops coming around all-together. There's an elevator that is constantly springing to life and showing up on different floors with signs of a party taking place somewhere in the hotel. There's Jack Torrence, slowly slipping away from reality, succumbing to the wiles of the Overlook, and soon to be drinking the "bad stuff" that turns him into a totally different person. There's a dude in a dog costume hanging outside the caretakers' apartment, engaging in some sort of weird sexual pursuit of another hotel guest. And there's the bar that's suddenly fully stocked and a mallet for the roque court that is soon to be used for something other than the game played on the grounds. What's not to find scary?
I'm grateful to have taken the opportunity to re-read this work, and I'm looking forward to continuing to read and to see where the master of the twentieth century horror novel takes me next.
I've eaten up my late-night time on posting photos, so I don't know how much I have left in me to actually post something worth reading (or writing, for that matter). I can't say that the effort and energy expended on uploading and tagging wasn't worth it. It was, after all, for a very good cause: to celebrate the second year of sobriety for one of the greatest people I know, one of the people I consider to be a member of my family of choice (ya know - those people to whom you feel as close as you do to your own family, sometimes even closer). It was an honor and a privilege to share the late afternoon and evening with Meg and Angie, Sarah and Alex... the list continues exponentially. I'd like to start another gratitude list, but I feel like there will be those who will argue over their placements in the order of things no matter where their names may fall. Instead, I'll just leave this at the fact that I'm overwhelmed with joy at knowing these people and having them as parts of my life.
Moving on...
I believe that I owe The Shining more credit than I gave it in the final days in which I was finishing it.
I just ran downstairs to grab the remnants of my chow from El Compadre, scarfed it down, then got down to pray and complete my daily tenth step. I'm basically ready for bed, but I figured I'd type a while until total delirium sets in, and I have to push my laptop over to my nightstand and pull on my eye mask to blot out the infrared ultraviolet violent rays that intrude on my sleeping space every morning (I could never work the night shift and sleep in this room).
What impresses me most from the book, following what is basically my third reading (each from VERY different periods in my life), is that the horror of what is transpiring at the Overlook and among the members of the Torrence family still holds even for a jaded horror fan at the age of thirty-four. When reading the story, when suspending any sense of disbelief and just allowing yourself to become immersed in the story, the things that are happening are truly creepy.
Having done a lot of methamphetamine during my early twenties, I remember there were dark periods where I'd been up for several days and concocted all sorts of diabolical ideologies in my head. I now know that those brain-borne conspiracies and the combination hallucinations taking place simultaneously, were resulting from methamphetamine-induced psychosis. I also remember watching a film in the latter part of those days called The Salton Sea, in which everything I was ever afraid of was the reality for the characters in the film. What if those hallucinations and conspiracies hadn't been the results of a combination of speed and lack of sleep? What if everything that I know now was just a very overactive imagination was not only my reality at the time, but the true reality of the moment? That's what happened to me while reading The Shining this go-round. I really found myself looking over my shoulder, turning lights back on, and getting out of bed to check to be sure that my bedroom door was not only closed, but clicked totally shut. In other words, I was creeped.
What's not to find scary? There's a troubled family reeling from the father's tenuous grasp on fresh sobriety and the knowledge of a horrible incident that haunts them from their past. There's a big, old hotel with a massive history of bad people doing bad things there for the duration of its existence. There's a boiler in the basement that has to be checked and de-pressurized at least twice a day. There's a scrapbook found within the hotel's boxes of receipts and old records, and it details the story of the Overlook through the twentieth century. There's a little boy with a very keen power that all of us possess to some degree, but the boy has honed to perfection. There's visions of something terrible waiting to happen (REDRUM). There's a major snowstorm coming to isolate the family away from civilization, cut off from all contact with the outside world. There's animals cut into the topiary gardens guarding the front doors (and they sometimes seem to change positions when your back is turned). There's something so horrible that it defies explanation lurking in the concrete rings within the playground. There's a woman in the bathtub in one of the rooms, possibly the spirit of the jilted lady who cut her wrists in Room 217 some years before. There's Tony, Danny's friend who sometimes comes to tell the little boy about things that are going to happen, some of them good and some of them bad. There's Tony who is showing Danny all sorts of bad things about the hotel and about his father. And then there's Tony who stops coming around all-together. There's an elevator that is constantly springing to life and showing up on different floors with signs of a party taking place somewhere in the hotel. There's Jack Torrence, slowly slipping away from reality, succumbing to the wiles of the Overlook, and soon to be drinking the "bad stuff" that turns him into a totally different person. There's a dude in a dog costume hanging outside the caretakers' apartment, engaging in some sort of weird sexual pursuit of another hotel guest. And there's the bar that's suddenly fully stocked and a mallet for the roque court that is soon to be used for something other than the game played on the grounds. What's not to find scary?
I'm grateful to have taken the opportunity to re-read this work, and I'm looking forward to continuing to read and to see where the master of the twentieth century horror novel takes me next.
Epic Vacation Continues
Only three books into the fifty plus novels and nine or ten short story collections from the man who is the main focus of my blog (until I ?finish? my passage through and move onto another idea) for the time being. Granted, I'm ahead of the book club that I co-created and meets once a month to discuss his work in chronological order of publication, but I'm behind on some of my other reading. Specifically, Lamb: The Gospel According to Biff, Christ's Childhood Pal, which is due Sunday in the Super Secret and Selective Book Club. I'm writing this as a preface to the fact that my trajectory may divert a bit for the next few days while I read this selection, before I move onto Rage, the next book in my path toward finishing this pretty mammoth goal that I've set for myself.
As my epic summer vacation continues (with less than a week remaining in my off days), I have plenty of time to write, to paint, to read, and to blog. Expect lots of updates as I continue to try to soak up as much freedom as possible before it's all snatched away from me for several months of work.
I started the day around 8:30, but didn't actually get out of bed until a little after nine, which made me late to make it to the funeral service of a close friend's grandfather, which I'd hoped to have no excuse to miss. Since I knew I couldn't read, pray, meditate, and make it to St. Joseph's on time, I decided to spend my morning leisurely, and to begin reading Living Sober, a gift from my buddy Mark R., as a new supplement to my morning routine (Drop the Rock and A New Pair of Glasses have already been finished). After throwing some clothes in the wash and running to Walgreen's (I should buy stock in the corporation) for some Rock Star energy drinks, I watched Groom's Cake, a possible selection for the upcoming NLGLFF, and I'm ready to paint a little something for my best friend, Meg, who has achieved two years of sobriety today.
In spite of being without the burdensome responsibility of work at the moment, I'm trying to stay on track with all of my other extracurricular responsibilities (PACE, LASCYPAA bid, the NLGLFF). I don't want to fall behind when I have the opportunity to get ahead. More later. I feel like I still owe The Shining a better remembrance than that which I gave it last night.
As my epic summer vacation continues (with less than a week remaining in my off days), I have plenty of time to write, to paint, to read, and to blog. Expect lots of updates as I continue to try to soak up as much freedom as possible before it's all snatched away from me for several months of work.
I started the day around 8:30, but didn't actually get out of bed until a little after nine, which made me late to make it to the funeral service of a close friend's grandfather, which I'd hoped to have no excuse to miss. Since I knew I couldn't read, pray, meditate, and make it to St. Joseph's on time, I decided to spend my morning leisurely, and to begin reading Living Sober, a gift from my buddy Mark R., as a new supplement to my morning routine (Drop the Rock and A New Pair of Glasses have already been finished). After throwing some clothes in the wash and running to Walgreen's (I should buy stock in the corporation) for some Rock Star energy drinks, I watched Groom's Cake, a possible selection for the upcoming NLGLFF, and I'm ready to paint a little something for my best friend, Meg, who has achieved two years of sobriety today.
In spite of being without the burdensome responsibility of work at the moment, I'm trying to stay on track with all of my other extracurricular responsibilities (PACE, LASCYPAA bid, the NLGLFF). I don't want to fall behind when I have the opportunity to get ahead. More later. I feel like I still owe The Shining a better remembrance than that which I gave it last night.
27 May 2013
Leaving the Overlook
I'm a writer.
At the core of my being, I'm a writer. Not an overnight admissions tech. Not a nursing student. Not an office manager to a dysfunctional private practice. None of the litany of qualifiers that I have used to describe myself over the past several years. And over the past several years, I've allowed my love for the written word to fall by the wayside.
I love to write. I feel better when I write. I feel more focused, more alert and oriented, more attuned to the ways of the world, and far more open to praying and believing in life in lieu of having contempt prior to investigation. When I'm writing regularly, I feel a constant draw, a sort of inner urge to write all the time. I find my mind wandering and dreaming throughout the daily routine towards whatever it is that I'm working on, the tons of stories that I have brewing in my head, and all the things that I want to write as soon as I can get away from the everyday to do it.
Although I love books and reading as much I like creating stories and putting all of my ideas on paper, there are many times -while reading even some of the best work there is- that I find my mind wandering away from the tale that I'm reading to whatever idea I have flowing through my head.
Such is not the case when reading anything that Stephen King has ever published, and The Shining is no exception. Tonight, as I read the final hundred pages, I found myself so engrossed in the end of the novel that I literally jumped when my text message alert binged to break the silence that permeated my room. After finishing the book and going outside to smoke in the last of what remained of dusk, I thought about what it is that makes King's work -all of it, not only this novel- so scary...
Well, I was going somewhere with this. Maybe I'll get back to it later.
Brodie is texting me back (I sent that message an awfully long time ago), so I'll take that as a sign that it's time to get ready for bed and send a few messages back his way.
A nice ending to a not-entirely-unpleasant Memorial Day weekend.
At the core of my being, I'm a writer. Not an overnight admissions tech. Not a nursing student. Not an office manager to a dysfunctional private practice. None of the litany of qualifiers that I have used to describe myself over the past several years. And over the past several years, I've allowed my love for the written word to fall by the wayside.
I love to write. I feel better when I write. I feel more focused, more alert and oriented, more attuned to the ways of the world, and far more open to praying and believing in life in lieu of having contempt prior to investigation. When I'm writing regularly, I feel a constant draw, a sort of inner urge to write all the time. I find my mind wandering and dreaming throughout the daily routine towards whatever it is that I'm working on, the tons of stories that I have brewing in my head, and all the things that I want to write as soon as I can get away from the everyday to do it.
Although I love books and reading as much I like creating stories and putting all of my ideas on paper, there are many times -while reading even some of the best work there is- that I find my mind wandering away from the tale that I'm reading to whatever idea I have flowing through my head.
Such is not the case when reading anything that Stephen King has ever published, and The Shining is no exception. Tonight, as I read the final hundred pages, I found myself so engrossed in the end of the novel that I literally jumped when my text message alert binged to break the silence that permeated my room. After finishing the book and going outside to smoke in the last of what remained of dusk, I thought about what it is that makes King's work -all of it, not only this novel- so scary...
Well, I was going somewhere with this. Maybe I'll get back to it later.
Brodie is texting me back (I sent that message an awfully long time ago), so I'll take that as a sign that it's time to get ready for bed and send a few messages back his way.
A nice ending to a not-entirely-unpleasant Memorial Day weekend.
No Post X 2 Days?!?!!
I haven't posted in a couple days, but with good reason: Arrested Development season 4.
Sarah E. and I made plans to get together Saturday night to prepare for the release of the fourth season of one of the greatest television series of all time. Unfortunately, either out of excitement or pure laziness, we failed to read the fine print regarding the correct time that the new episodes would hit Netflix. I stopped at the Gucci Brookshire's on my way to her house to pick up everything we'd need to create homemade Humphreys (and some apples and Nutella for good measure), and we settled into her living room to smoke cigarettes and talk about life while we watched old episodes and waited for one minute after midnight to arrive.
12:01 arrived. The new episodes did not.
It was only after re-reviewing the information on the actual premier time that we realized that we would be able to see the fourth season at 12:01... Pacific time.
So, Saturday night was totally blown (as was Sunday morning and afternoon, as I had to sleep at some point), and last night was busy while I worked on a project to help a friend.
But I'm back on track today. I woke up at a decent hour (9:30 is decent - I am, after all, on vacation), and I completed my morning prayer and meditation before finishing A New Pair of Glasses, and starting a load of clothes. Now, I only need to vacuum and shower and I'll be ready for the rest of the day.
The Shining should be finished tonight, and I'll hopefully have more to write and post later.
Sarah E. and I made plans to get together Saturday night to prepare for the release of the fourth season of one of the greatest television series of all time. Unfortunately, either out of excitement or pure laziness, we failed to read the fine print regarding the correct time that the new episodes would hit Netflix. I stopped at the Gucci Brookshire's on my way to her house to pick up everything we'd need to create homemade Humphreys (and some apples and Nutella for good measure), and we settled into her living room to smoke cigarettes and talk about life while we watched old episodes and waited for one minute after midnight to arrive.
12:01 arrived. The new episodes did not.
It was only after re-reviewing the information on the actual premier time that we realized that we would be able to see the fourth season at 12:01... Pacific time.
So, Saturday night was totally blown (as was Sunday morning and afternoon, as I had to sleep at some point), and last night was busy while I worked on a project to help a friend.
But I'm back on track today. I woke up at a decent hour (9:30 is decent - I am, after all, on vacation), and I completed my morning prayer and meditation before finishing A New Pair of Glasses, and starting a load of clothes. Now, I only need to vacuum and shower and I'll be ready for the rest of the day.
The Shining should be finished tonight, and I'll hopefully have more to write and post later.
24 May 2013
The Eye of the Tiger
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I don't know what the hell this is that's going on with my eyelid, but it is preventing me from getting anything done, and I'm not happy about it. More tomorrow.
23 May 2013
Just Because
Why miss a day now? Especially when I've written a little something here every night for the entire month of May. I hate to lose sight of sticking to something important in my life, particularly when I've got a dude down in Hall Summit waiting to read what I have to write. Who am I to let a fan down?
Unfortunately, I have nothing to post that's worthwhile other than to say that I'm suffering from an eye twitch that has plagued me for the past several weeks. I consulted WebMD (and google, in general), and what I've found is that the twitch is related to either increased levels of stress, eye strain, increased caffeine consumption, fatigue, or some combination of these catalysts. Most likely, it's the combination that's got it going. The only bad part is that it's gone on for such a long period of time that I am actually now experiencing a little pain in the corner of my eye.
I'm hoping a solid night's sleep at my mom's will serve me well.
We watched Paranormal Activity 4, and I followed it with Hitchcock. Other than the climactic scene of Hitch watching the audience react to the shower scene in Psycho, I much preferred the first DVD selection over the second (that and the director's correction over being called Mr. Hitchcock by admonishing, "just the Hitch, hold the cock" - nice).
Unfortunately, I have nothing to post that's worthwhile other than to say that I'm suffering from an eye twitch that has plagued me for the past several weeks. I consulted WebMD (and google, in general), and what I've found is that the twitch is related to either increased levels of stress, eye strain, increased caffeine consumption, fatigue, or some combination of these catalysts. Most likely, it's the combination that's got it going. The only bad part is that it's gone on for such a long period of time that I am actually now experiencing a little pain in the corner of my eye.
I'm hoping a solid night's sleep at my mom's will serve me well.
We watched Paranormal Activity 4, and I followed it with Hitchcock. Other than the climactic scene of Hitch watching the audience react to the shower scene in Psycho, I much preferred the first DVD selection over the second (that and the director's correction over being called Mr. Hitchcock by admonishing, "just the Hitch, hold the cock" - nice).
22 May 2013
Matters of Life and Death
Page 543/683. Part Five: Matters of Life and Death. Chapter 45: Stapleton Airport, Denver.
From Chapter 40: In the Basement -
"A drink. A drink would fix him up, and there wasn't a thing in the goddamn house besides cooking sherry. At this point a drink would be medicinal. That was just it, by God. An anesthetic. He had done his duty and now he could use a little anesthetic...He had served the hotel. The hotel would want to reward him. He was sure of it...Just a little drink. Just one. To ease the pain...He had served the Overlook, and now the Overlook would serve him."
I was waiting for my car to complete its full wash and rinse cycle at Road Runner today when I read those words. This is another section that goes along with my theory of The Shining being as much (maybe more) about alcoholism as about an actual haunting. Couldn't everything be metaphorical for the roles that are played in an alcoholic household? Or maybe Jack is just more susceptible to the demons possessing the hotel because of his own demons that he has brought along for the ride.
I'm curious to find out what I have to discuss once I finish this sucker (tonight?).
From Chapter 40: In the Basement -
"A drink. A drink would fix him up, and there wasn't a thing in the goddamn house besides cooking sherry. At this point a drink would be medicinal. That was just it, by God. An anesthetic. He had done his duty and now he could use a little anesthetic...He had served the hotel. The hotel would want to reward him. He was sure of it...Just a little drink. Just one. To ease the pain...He had served the Overlook, and now the Overlook would serve him."
I was waiting for my car to complete its full wash and rinse cycle at Road Runner today when I read those words. This is another section that goes along with my theory of The Shining being as much (maybe more) about alcoholism as about an actual haunting. Couldn't everything be metaphorical for the roles that are played in an alcoholic household? Or maybe Jack is just more susceptible to the demons possessing the hotel because of his own demons that he has brought along for the ride.
I'm curious to find out what I have to discuss once I finish this sucker (tonight?).
21 May 2013
A Dark and Stormy Night
Page 442/683 (the paperback version I have). Part Four: Snowbound. Chapter 35: The Lobby.
This is the perfect weather for reading Stephen King and really sinking one's teeth into the story of the horror that befalls the Torrence family as caretakers to the very well haunted Overlook hotel.
I'm thinking back to the first time I was ever exposed to this story, which was the first time I was ever exposed to the author as well. It was the summer before my second grade year, and my sister carried two books to our kitchen table. A family of horror fans (mostly cinematic), I was truly one of the brood, and I remember picking the two books up to see what she brought home to read. The Shining was one, Cycle of the Werewolf was the other. I remember looking through the second tome, mostly glancing through the colorful illustrations sprinkled throughout the work, but it was The Shining that really got my attention. It was the book that I carried to my bedroom to lay on my bed during that long, hot summer to begin reading.
I don't remember just how far I'd gotten during that initial foray into a world I was far too young to truly comprehend, but I do remember it being the first time I ever read the word "prick." I recognized that it was a bad word - I could infer as much in the context in which it was used - but I wouldn't ask anyone to define it for me. I'd done so with another word the previous Christmas when my sister got me my very first album: Madonna's Like a Virgin, and after learning all the words and singing and dancing around my bedroom in the days that followed the holiday, I finally asked my sister, "Missy, what's a virgin?" I got the definition, and that was when I realized why I had to hide the tape from displaying it for my great aunt or my grandparents when they came to see what all Santa had brought me.
In addition to learning a new bit of profanity, I remember feeling very afraid by several elements and feeling even greater levels of fear much later when I re-read the book in my adolescence. The most specific aspect I remember really freaking me out was that of the hedge animals becoming animate characters and first chasing Jack, then Danny over the grounds of the Overlook. I also remember being struck by the fact that there was no maze (at some point between my introduction to King in second grade and my later reading of the book when I was old enough to understand, I'd seen Kubrick's film, which - though considered one of the greatest horror films ever made - bears strikingly little resemblance to the source material). The maze is something which stands out to me from the film because I think that the film's scene in which Wendy takes Danny on a picnic deep in the labyrinthine depths of the meticulously created puzzle was my actual first exposure to anything related to man whose work I'm reading and researching. I have a very early memory, from what age I do not know, of attending a party (New Year's Eve, I'm sure) at my Aunt Didi's where the film was playing on the television in her living room. I remember walking through the room to sit on the floor with newspapers (we always made our own confetti, but I don't remember ever being up late enough to count down and throw it) and that particular scene playing. That memory has always left a very profound and unsettling feeling in my stomach, and it is the same feeling with which I associate this particular book, even though that scene never occurs in print.
I see that YouTube is littered with all sorts of documentaries and shorts that investigate the multiple layers of the film, and I'm curious to know what all these people have to say about the Kubrick masterpiece, but I really have no interest in viewing any of these until after I've finished reading, which may very well be tonight if I can get busy and not find any reason to procrastinate. I know that Stephen King has always generally disliked the film that Kubrick made, and I can see why. Neither Jack Nicholson nor Shelley Duvall are anywhere close to the way I picture Jack and Wendy while reading. The family is mostly a happy one, just trying to escape the ghosts of their past in the novel. In the film, they seem to be generally scared and troubled from the very first scene. The novel gives greater depth to the demons with which Jack is constantly barraged as the result of the wreckage he created in his active alcoholism, and the gift with which Danny has been bestowed is given much more explanation - both Jack and Wendy going so far as to take Danny from the hotel to have him examined by a doctor and the couple later speculating as to just what is really going on with Danny and that gift (an idea that excites me more than ever now that I know King is soon to publish Dr. Sleep, a sequel to The Shining, which has something to do with Danny's abilities).
I suppose I'm rambling a bit tonight. As a dear friend in high school once critiqued about an episode of our school soap opera that I'd written, this is "a little short and incoherent, but not bad."
Before I lose the great sound of occasional, rumbling thunder in the distance and the continued splatter of rain outside my bedroom windows, I suppose I ought to pull out the book and see if I can't get it finished tonight.
This is the perfect weather for reading Stephen King and really sinking one's teeth into the story of the horror that befalls the Torrence family as caretakers to the very well haunted Overlook hotel.
I'm thinking back to the first time I was ever exposed to this story, which was the first time I was ever exposed to the author as well. It was the summer before my second grade year, and my sister carried two books to our kitchen table. A family of horror fans (mostly cinematic), I was truly one of the brood, and I remember picking the two books up to see what she brought home to read. The Shining was one, Cycle of the Werewolf was the other. I remember looking through the second tome, mostly glancing through the colorful illustrations sprinkled throughout the work, but it was The Shining that really got my attention. It was the book that I carried to my bedroom to lay on my bed during that long, hot summer to begin reading.
I don't remember just how far I'd gotten during that initial foray into a world I was far too young to truly comprehend, but I do remember it being the first time I ever read the word "prick." I recognized that it was a bad word - I could infer as much in the context in which it was used - but I wouldn't ask anyone to define it for me. I'd done so with another word the previous Christmas when my sister got me my very first album: Madonna's Like a Virgin, and after learning all the words and singing and dancing around my bedroom in the days that followed the holiday, I finally asked my sister, "Missy, what's a virgin?" I got the definition, and that was when I realized why I had to hide the tape from displaying it for my great aunt or my grandparents when they came to see what all Santa had brought me.
In addition to learning a new bit of profanity, I remember feeling very afraid by several elements and feeling even greater levels of fear much later when I re-read the book in my adolescence. The most specific aspect I remember really freaking me out was that of the hedge animals becoming animate characters and first chasing Jack, then Danny over the grounds of the Overlook. I also remember being struck by the fact that there was no maze (at some point between my introduction to King in second grade and my later reading of the book when I was old enough to understand, I'd seen Kubrick's film, which - though considered one of the greatest horror films ever made - bears strikingly little resemblance to the source material). The maze is something which stands out to me from the film because I think that the film's scene in which Wendy takes Danny on a picnic deep in the labyrinthine depths of the meticulously created puzzle was my actual first exposure to anything related to man whose work I'm reading and researching. I have a very early memory, from what age I do not know, of attending a party (New Year's Eve, I'm sure) at my Aunt Didi's where the film was playing on the television in her living room. I remember walking through the room to sit on the floor with newspapers (we always made our own confetti, but I don't remember ever being up late enough to count down and throw it) and that particular scene playing. That memory has always left a very profound and unsettling feeling in my stomach, and it is the same feeling with which I associate this particular book, even though that scene never occurs in print.
I see that YouTube is littered with all sorts of documentaries and shorts that investigate the multiple layers of the film, and I'm curious to know what all these people have to say about the Kubrick masterpiece, but I really have no interest in viewing any of these until after I've finished reading, which may very well be tonight if I can get busy and not find any reason to procrastinate. I know that Stephen King has always generally disliked the film that Kubrick made, and I can see why. Neither Jack Nicholson nor Shelley Duvall are anywhere close to the way I picture Jack and Wendy while reading. The family is mostly a happy one, just trying to escape the ghosts of their past in the novel. In the film, they seem to be generally scared and troubled from the very first scene. The novel gives greater depth to the demons with which Jack is constantly barraged as the result of the wreckage he created in his active alcoholism, and the gift with which Danny has been bestowed is given much more explanation - both Jack and Wendy going so far as to take Danny from the hotel to have him examined by a doctor and the couple later speculating as to just what is really going on with Danny and that gift (an idea that excites me more than ever now that I know King is soon to publish Dr. Sleep, a sequel to The Shining, which has something to do with Danny's abilities).
I suppose I'm rambling a bit tonight. As a dear friend in high school once critiqued about an episode of our school soap opera that I'd written, this is "a little short and incoherent, but not bad."
Before I lose the great sound of occasional, rumbling thunder in the distance and the continued splatter of rain outside my bedroom windows, I suppose I ought to pull out the book and see if I can't get it finished tonight.
20 May 2013
Mary Louise Clapping for Attention
And Again... Me for the Next Two Weeks (Minus Lucille's Martini)
Lucille mistook the drowsy eye alcohol warning for a winking eye alcohol suggestion...
19 May 2013
Snowbound
Although the weekend has almost passed, I feel as if it's still pretty much continuing in the upper eastern room at 843 Gladstone.
Other than calling to confirm the last of my sponsors list for PACE's upcoming NLGLFF, making a few decisions regarding work (mainly the date that I want to start my new position with Tiger Axles), balancing my checkbook, and working on LASCYPAA bid information, I really don't have anything planned.
Definitely not work. I took care of that last week when I finally grew a pair and suddenly developed a backbone that wouldn't allow for me to take it supine anymore. One of the things that stands out most in my brain these days, especially related to the topic of recovery and my own spiritual path, is the fact that working thorough sixth and seventh steps creates in one's self a sense of humility - it doesn't mean that you have to be a doormat. To explain, and to address the work denouement once and for all: for nearly two full years, I put up with the impossible, irrational, and totally sick relationship that existed between one of my bosses and his textbook clinical wife. There were barrages of insults, attacks against my integrity and work ethic, and one particular situation in which I was forced to listen to this woman totally assault my character and attempt to take away my dignity. All this while her husband is telling me before, during, and after that I'm to listen to her and nod my head and understand that both he and I both know that nothing she says is accurate, that he knows it's all in her head, that I'm to understand that she is irrational - but I have to listen and I have to allow her to say and do these things to keep her off his back. Real integrity there, eh?
So, Thursday, I finally reached a boiling point. Notice had been given nearly three weeks before, and I'd planned to stay through the end of the month (a length of time generally unheard-of in the professional world) to help train a replacement (as if such a person could possibly exist - I poured my heart, soul, and spirit into that practice for more time than I ought) and to help get the last of my big projects off the ground and flowing heartily. At some point on Thursday morning, I'd gone to the bathroom, and I remember looking down while I was peeing and having the sudden, certain knowledge that it would definitely be my last day at the practice. I had no way of knowing that she would show up or that there would be any sort of reaction or that I really even wanted to leave. I just knew that I'd be leaving by the end of the day (it turned out to be before lunch), and I'd never be going back. When she arrived and began her usual and customary behavior, I was soon to make my exit.
Enough of that. I've been meaning to write more about it, but what does it change? Nothing. What does it fix? There's nothing on my end of the street that's broken. Before I left, Ryan made me promise to figure out a specific number of days to take off from work all together - a set time (not one nor two) that would fit for a practical vacation, one of which I've not had in two years between the time that I leave the practice and the day that I start with Matty at his place. At dinner that night, Mark R. told me without hesitation that two weeks is the perfect amount of time. To me, that sounded like an unlikely amount of time, but I'm wondering if two weeks wouldn't be absolutely perfect. That two weeks gets me through the end of May and ready to start at the beginning of June, rested and refreshed and ready to take on the new world at hand.
My main objective this weekend was to buy a bookcase. As if hearing directly from my wants and needs, my friend Kathleen posted on her Facebook page that she had a bookcase that she was itching for someone to take off her hands. I was only too happy to oblige. Along with finishing the second season of The Killing on Friday (I never saw that ending coming), beginning to call my list of NLGLFF sponsors, the LASCYPAA bid committee meeting, shopping for groceries, reading, visiting with friends and family, and making multiple meetings this weekend, I also managed to pick up the bookcase, get it totally set up, clean up my room, and set up my easel and canvas to get to work on some of the creative endeavors that I've not really done much to nurture these past several months.
I don't remember the last time that I was unemployed, really unemployed. Not stuck in a semester at school nor working miscellaneous jobs to make ends meet. Not behind on bills or worried sick about making rent. Not drinking my problems away or swallowing handfuls of bunnies to obliterate reality. Not depressed. Not lonely. Not feeling and acting worthless as a whole.
This is the first time in my life that I can ever remember feeling truly fulfilled and pleased with my life and my set of circumstances. With time on my hands to make a few healthier habits: to eat right, to exercise, to get plenty of sleep, and to begin trying my hands at meditation (in addition to re-committing to do another 90 in 90 - not for any reason, just because), I feel kinda giddy with excitement. I can actually go meet people for lunch. I can stay up way past my bedtime. I can watch the stacks of movies I have surrounding my television. I can read tons of literature (and a little trash). I can go with the group to play their weird Mafia game. I can do what I want, when I want, and under my own set of time constraints.
I feel like a kid walking into his first summer vacation and relishing every single moment.
My only regret is that Nick at Nite doesn't show the old episodes of Rhoda and Mary Tyler Moore like I remember from way back in my high school days.
...meanwhile, at the Overlook, Danny's been attacked by the woman in room 217 and Jack's imagining a bar covered with martinis, the CB radio has been destroyed, and things aren't looking exactly right with the Torrences. I'm eager to climb into bed and get a little reading done for the night.
I need to get my copy of the next book club selection, Lamb by Christopher Moore so that I can have it completed in time for our next meeting on the second of June (the day before my return to work, maybe). I have plenty to read in the interim.
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18 May 2013
17 May 2013
Shining
I didn't read any in the book last night. That is a trap that I don't want to fall into. Neither do I care to fall into the trap of getting lost in all these making-of featurettes and direct film analyses that I'm finding posted to YouTube. The first and most interesting that I've found I posted earlier tonight, but I'm not sure that one can read anything that Stephen King has written while simultaneously watching any film version of his work. Never could that be any truer than with Stanley Kubrick's version of The Shining - a terrific horror film, but a very different tale from that which King published in the latter part of the seventies.
I can feel sleep kicking in (at 10:34 on a Friday night?!), so I'm prepping to get into bed and to do some reading for the night.
St. Luke's is at ten in the morning, and I may want to rise and shine early enough for breakfast before my meeting and the remainder of my day.
I can feel sleep kicking in (at 10:34 on a Friday night?!), so I'm prepping to get into bed and to do some reading for the night.
St. Luke's is at ten in the morning, and I may want to rise and shine early enough for breakfast before my meeting and the remainder of my day.
16 May 2013
Just a Post
No content.
Although my day was filled with major developments: in my employment status and the circumstances surrounding the change; in the weather and the way it all went down; in my view on things in general... I'm at the end of a marathon of The Killing.
And I have nothing to do tomorrow. I'll have more tomorrow.
No tags tonight. No labels.
Although my day was filled with major developments: in my employment status and the circumstances surrounding the change; in the weather and the way it all went down; in my view on things in general... I'm at the end of a marathon of The Killing.
And I have nothing to do tomorrow. I'll have more tomorrow.
No tags tonight. No labels.
15 May 2013
I Should Have More To Post Tonight
And it's not that I don't have plenty to write about. It's just that this pesky sleep stuff always seems to get in the way of everything else that I need to be doing, and all the things that I'd rather be doing.
I need to be crossing off the final names on my list of people to contact for festival sponsorship, but it's too late; so, I want to be laying in bed with Mary Louise curled up beside me and The Shining cracked open in front of me.
I need to be writing my ideas for the LASYPAA bid committee skit and Needs Statement for the meeting on Friday night, but I've already re-packed my notebooks and planner and ink for the night; so, I'd really rather be eating some strawberry ice cream and watching one of the movies for the NLGLFF selection committee (which I also NEED to be doing).
It's already past the time that I should have this laptop closed and this blog already posted and a couple of chapters already read and my dog already snoring softly beside me.
I wish there were more hours in the day.
I haven't lost any of that gratitude that I found at the close of things yesterday. I just used up a ton more energy than I anticipated, and Wednesday nights are supposed to be my me-nights, my evenings to rest and relax and watch a movie and not do anything that requires much thought or much effort. So much for that. In fact, I'm not sure that I ever have any nights like that at all. Maybe I can make for some over this coming weekend.
I know I need to buy a bookcase, and I need to clean my room.
And.
Supposedly.
I have a visitor making his way up here from some place called Hall Summit.
But that remains to be seen.
It's a nice thought anyway.
I need to be crossing off the final names on my list of people to contact for festival sponsorship, but it's too late; so, I want to be laying in bed with Mary Louise curled up beside me and The Shining cracked open in front of me.
I need to be writing my ideas for the LASYPAA bid committee skit and Needs Statement for the meeting on Friday night, but I've already re-packed my notebooks and planner and ink for the night; so, I'd really rather be eating some strawberry ice cream and watching one of the movies for the NLGLFF selection committee (which I also NEED to be doing).
It's already past the time that I should have this laptop closed and this blog already posted and a couple of chapters already read and my dog already snoring softly beside me.
I wish there were more hours in the day.
I haven't lost any of that gratitude that I found at the close of things yesterday. I just used up a ton more energy than I anticipated, and Wednesday nights are supposed to be my me-nights, my evenings to rest and relax and watch a movie and not do anything that requires much thought or much effort. So much for that. In fact, I'm not sure that I ever have any nights like that at all. Maybe I can make for some over this coming weekend.
I know I need to buy a bookcase, and I need to clean my room.
And.
Supposedly.
I have a visitor making his way up here from some place called Hall Summit.
But that remains to be seen.
It's a nice thought anyway.
14 May 2013
The Scrapbook (Okay, So I Didn't Get Far Last Night) and Meditations on the Day in Question
Jack's found the scrapbook, buried in the piles of boxes in the basement of the Overlook, and he's begun to read the stories detailing the hotel's past.
Today was a bad day, but I found the courage and the strength to really take time out and to look at my part (or lack thereof) in my perception of the situation that is the bad situation of which I'm soon to be free. I feel like the bulk of my blog posts lately are all about how much I hate my job, which is true, but I don't want this to be a defining moment for me. I want to look back at how much I learned about people and how much I've learned about how not to do things. I want to add this into my spiritual pocketfuls of experiences that are working together to transform me into a better man - nothing like the miserable and difficult sick people for whom I soon will no longer work.
I called Ryan at lunch, something that I haven't done for months. The last time was the day that I was called into the office and forced to listen without comment to the wife assault me with a barrage of insults toward my integrity, my ethics, my intelligence, and my dignity (this was the day after which EVERYONE begged me to leave, to find something else - not necessarily better, because in their minds, ANYTHING else would be better)... and then forced to hug the very person who I was previously and subsequently told to disregard. Ryan talked me down from the proverbial ledge. He pointed out to me that nothing is really different, the situation hasn't really changed, the people are all the same people. I'm just a different man today than I was before, and I ought to take the opportunity to feel a little gratitude for the experience. I took his advice and I found the time to back away to the office and to take a few moments to pray and to invite God in to drive the rest of the afternoon. I didn't necessarily feel tremendously better, but at least my outlook on the situation changed. It's only The Devil Wears Prada as long as I view it that way. From any other perspective, it would be more One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, with me as Randle McMurphy instead of Andrea Sachs.
Of course tonight's meeting was all about gratitude. What's funny is that a gratitude list was something that popped into my head the second I got in my car this afternoon and drove away from the The House Where Evil Dwells.
Here it is:
1. Sobriety
2. Alcoholics Anonymous - the program
3. Alcoholics Anonymous - the fellowship
4. Ryan
5. Christina and Kristi being my beacons for hope
6. Angie and Meg being my role models for love
7. Sarah E. being the coolest thing in my life
8. PACE
9. Stephen King
10. Brunch and Breakfast at Tiffany's with Mom and Missy
11. Matt and my new job
12. Tuesday night supper at Dahn's Garden with Mark
13. Texts from Brodie Vines
14. Conversations with Bruce Parker
15. The Pink Party
16. Peggy H.
17. The Walking Dead
18. My health
19. Morning spiritual centered-ness
20. Prayer
21. Meditation
22. Dario Argento
23. Arrested Development
24. Gloria's peanut butter cookies
25. The Thursday night Lambda meeting
26. Saturday mornings at St. Luke's
27. Saturday Night Live
28. Julia B.'s pulled pork sandwiches
29. Oakwood
30. Andrew P.
31. Blogging
32. My love for writing
33. Art
34. Depeche Mode
35. Baylor Boyd
36. "Upon awakening..."
37. "When we retire at night..."
38. GOB's chicken dance (Lindsey's and Lucille's as well)
39. The c-word
40. Zombie candles
41. Super Hit incense
42. Neutrogena
43. The Son of Baconator at Wendy's
44. Shrimp Pad Thai
45. Blue Bell ice cream
46. Mary Louise
47. Lola
48. Equality
49. Hope
50. Perseverence
... I could continue the list ad infinitum, but the truth is that I have far more in my life for which to be grateful than I have for which to be down.
Nothing that happened in that room with my boss and his wife has anything to do with me or with who I am or who I am becoming. It doesn't define me. Nor do these final days at the practice. The defining factors are the assets with which I leave, the lessons I've learned, and the knowledge I take. No matter what, no one can ever take any of those things from me.
Today was a bad day, but I found the courage and the strength to really take time out and to look at my part (or lack thereof) in my perception of the situation that is the bad situation of which I'm soon to be free. I feel like the bulk of my blog posts lately are all about how much I hate my job, which is true, but I don't want this to be a defining moment for me. I want to look back at how much I learned about people and how much I've learned about how not to do things. I want to add this into my spiritual pocketfuls of experiences that are working together to transform me into a better man - nothing like the miserable and difficult sick people for whom I soon will no longer work.
I called Ryan at lunch, something that I haven't done for months. The last time was the day that I was called into the office and forced to listen without comment to the wife assault me with a barrage of insults toward my integrity, my ethics, my intelligence, and my dignity (this was the day after which EVERYONE begged me to leave, to find something else - not necessarily better, because in their minds, ANYTHING else would be better)... and then forced to hug the very person who I was previously and subsequently told to disregard. Ryan talked me down from the proverbial ledge. He pointed out to me that nothing is really different, the situation hasn't really changed, the people are all the same people. I'm just a different man today than I was before, and I ought to take the opportunity to feel a little gratitude for the experience. I took his advice and I found the time to back away to the office and to take a few moments to pray and to invite God in to drive the rest of the afternoon. I didn't necessarily feel tremendously better, but at least my outlook on the situation changed. It's only The Devil Wears Prada as long as I view it that way. From any other perspective, it would be more One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, with me as Randle McMurphy instead of Andrea Sachs.
Of course tonight's meeting was all about gratitude. What's funny is that a gratitude list was something that popped into my head the second I got in my car this afternoon and drove away from the The House Where Evil Dwells.
Here it is:
1. Sobriety
2. Alcoholics Anonymous - the program
3. Alcoholics Anonymous - the fellowship
4. Ryan
5. Christina and Kristi being my beacons for hope
6. Angie and Meg being my role models for love
7. Sarah E. being the coolest thing in my life
8. PACE
9. Stephen King
10. Brunch and Breakfast at Tiffany's with Mom and Missy
11. Matt and my new job
12. Tuesday night supper at Dahn's Garden with Mark
13. Texts from Brodie Vines
14. Conversations with Bruce Parker
15. The Pink Party
16. Peggy H.
17. The Walking Dead
18. My health
19. Morning spiritual centered-ness
20. Prayer
21. Meditation
22. Dario Argento
23. Arrested Development
24. Gloria's peanut butter cookies
25. The Thursday night Lambda meeting
26. Saturday mornings at St. Luke's
27. Saturday Night Live
28. Julia B.'s pulled pork sandwiches
29. Oakwood
30. Andrew P.
31. Blogging
32. My love for writing
33. Art
34. Depeche Mode
35. Baylor Boyd
36. "Upon awakening..."
37. "When we retire at night..."
38. GOB's chicken dance (Lindsey's and Lucille's as well)
39. The c-word
40. Zombie candles
41. Super Hit incense
42. Neutrogena
43. The Son of Baconator at Wendy's
44. Shrimp Pad Thai
45. Blue Bell ice cream
46. Mary Louise
47. Lola
48. Equality
49. Hope
50. Perseverence
... I could continue the list ad infinitum, but the truth is that I have far more in my life for which to be grateful than I have for which to be down.
Nothing that happened in that room with my boss and his wife has anything to do with me or with who I am or who I am becoming. It doesn't define me. Nor do these final days at the practice. The defining factors are the assets with which I leave, the lessons I've learned, and the knowledge I take. No matter what, no one can ever take any of those things from me.
13 May 2013
Danny Doctor's Appointment and My Perceptions of the Day
Today has probably been the best Monday that I've experienced in some time. I don't really know that I can write definitively that any one thing is any different from any other. I think that it's really just my perception of the day, the fact that I know I could theoretically walk out the practice doors at any point and I'd be okay. Compound that with the fact that my morning reading and meditation helped me to make a decision that I wasn't going to run home from work, peel off the slacks and tie, slide on some comfortable pajamas, and do everything in my power to relax as quickly as possible. Instead, I let things happen organically. I'd texted Erin and Angie during the day, and I told them that it had been since Thursday that I'd last attended a meeting (once again, I must reiterate that this is the longest I've been without a meeting since 05 February, 2012), and Angie agreed to go to whichever meeting I picked. I got to hang out with her (one of my best friends, one of the most important people in my life) for a bit before we hit an eight o'clock that I haven't been to in some time. In fact, it's been quite a while since I last attended a Monday night meeting at all. What was different about today as a whole is that I allowed everything to just sort of happen. Organically ("we'll slide down the surface of things"). Today was a good day.
I came home from dropping Angie off, and I heated up a little of the makeshift Pad Thai that I threw together on a lark last night, and I added a healthy dose of the sriracha sauce that David told me was hidden in the cabinet with the spices and other miscellaneous cookery.
I'm following the night up with Let's Scare Jessica to Death (one of my current favorite flicks), a dabble into my nightly Big Book inventory, then I'm jumping back into The Shining, where Danny is visiting the doctors down the mountain and the professionals are trying to get to the bottom of his strange symptoms before the family is snowed into the Overlook for the weekend.
The morning alarm clock is getting nearer every moment. I still need to call or text Brodie before I turn things off for the night. And I still require as much of what I'd like to consider my beauty sleep as possible.
Grateful. Today, I feel grateful.
And hopeful.
And pleased.
Content.
I came home from dropping Angie off, and I heated up a little of the makeshift Pad Thai that I threw together on a lark last night, and I added a healthy dose of the sriracha sauce that David told me was hidden in the cabinet with the spices and other miscellaneous cookery.
I'm following the night up with Let's Scare Jessica to Death (one of my current favorite flicks), a dabble into my nightly Big Book inventory, then I'm jumping back into The Shining, where Danny is visiting the doctors down the mountain and the professionals are trying to get to the bottom of his strange symptoms before the family is snowed into the Overlook for the weekend.
The morning alarm clock is getting nearer every moment. I still need to call or text Brodie before I turn things off for the night. And I still require as much of what I'd like to consider my beauty sleep as possible.
Grateful. Today, I feel grateful.
And hopeful.
And pleased.
Content.
12 May 2013
The Wasp's Nest Continues
So the weekend's winding to a close and another week is all set to begin. Not that I'm looking forward to it - another week, but at least I begin it with the knowledge that it's the first of only three that I have left. I'm hoping that freeing me from what I consider the bondage of a bad situation will also free me up to do a little more writing (and reading) than I have been lately. There are certain personages in my life who are sort of subconsciously urging me to do so. Ideas, that's what I've got a ton of these days: ideas. I'm just not yet making the time to get them down on the page.
I spent the better part of the weekend fighting this treacherous cold that's sinking more and more into my chest, but I pushed through to enjoy as much of the free time as I could; however, I realized this evening that I've not been to a meeting since Thursday night. This is the longest I've gone without a meeting since I got sober, but it's also the longest that I've been under-the-weather since I've been sober. I plan to spend the week making up for that.
A call list of potential sponsors also awaits, as does a new list of movies to watch and comment on for the film festival, and the other usual list of things that I need to be doing to live happier and healthier and better in general. Hopefully, I'll spend a good night in slumber and awaken to a less congested head and chest tomorrow. For now, I've got to get back to the book so that I have something to write about regarding it instead of the boring whatever that is in my daily life.
I spent the better part of the weekend fighting this treacherous cold that's sinking more and more into my chest, but I pushed through to enjoy as much of the free time as I could; however, I realized this evening that I've not been to a meeting since Thursday night. This is the longest I've gone without a meeting since I got sober, but it's also the longest that I've been under-the-weather since I've been sober. I plan to spend the week making up for that.
A call list of potential sponsors also awaits, as does a new list of movies to watch and comment on for the film festival, and the other usual list of things that I need to be doing to live happier and healthier and better in general. Hopefully, I'll spend a good night in slumber and awaken to a less congested head and chest tomorrow. For now, I've got to get back to the book so that I have something to write about regarding it instead of the boring whatever that is in my daily life.
11 May 2013
The Wasp's Nest
This is as far as I've gotten: The Wasp's Nest.
Not feeling much like writing tonight, and I really don't have much to write anyway. My day was uneventful. I've got a head full of snot and a chest filled with that nasty taste that reminds me of mornings that end up in a doctor's office and a shot of penicillin in my rear end. I keep thinking that this is nothing more than sinuses that are acting up as the result of all the crazy weather that we've been having - a little infection that's scraped its way down into my throat and landed in my chest where it's decided to make a home for a few days.
You'd think I'd have more to write with a little time on my hands, but I really have very little to say.
Not feeling much like writing tonight, and I really don't have much to write anyway. My day was uneventful. I've got a head full of snot and a chest filled with that nasty taste that reminds me of mornings that end up in a doctor's office and a shot of penicillin in my rear end. I keep thinking that this is nothing more than sinuses that are acting up as the result of all the crazy weather that we've been having - a little infection that's scraped its way down into my throat and landed in my chest where it's decided to make a home for a few days.
You'd think I'd have more to write with a little time on my hands, but I really have very little to say.
10 May 2013
Holly Golightly on Equal Rights
Although I plan to pick The Shining back up in time for bedtime reading tonight, I took the day off from the world of Stephen King after I fetched a copy of Breakfast at Tiffany's from the library. I've never read it, and the plans are for Missy and I to take Mom to Abby Singer's Bistro at the Robinson Film Center for Mother's Day brunch on Sunday. The meal is to be followed by an afternoon showing of the legendary film, which I have seen - never while sober. I wanted to read the well known book before I venture back to seeing the story on the big screen (as it was meant to be seen).
As so often happens with so many great American works, I now have mixed feelings toward the story. The film is one that I've loved since the first time I saw it, but after having read the novella, I have to say that the written work is far better. It's not that the movie changed very much (other than the fact that Audrey Hepburn's version of the heroine is a far cry from the vision I had in my head while reading today) - it did, however, leave out a HUGE amount of plot. The story's protagonist has a few hints of homosexuality, and Holly is basically a high priced hooker living off the kindness of men in swinging WWII New York. I don't recall Audrey Hepburn being arrested and leaving in the face of a major mafia scandal, nor do I remember the many colorful suitors that Golightly has in the novella. I'm eager to see what my thoughts are on these things on Sunday afternoon.
Something struck me from Truman Capote's prose, something for which I made a mental note to consider here in my blog. Even in the frigid, far-more-morally-driven landscape of 1958 (although the world that Truman Capote and his characters enjoyed was pretty much the antithesis of that of the Cleavers or the Nelsons), auguries toward ideas that are making international headlines today were present in Holly's tirade on marriage: "If I were free to choose from everybody alive, just snap my fingers and say come here you, I wouldn't pick Jose. Nehru, he's nearer the mark. Wendell Wilkie. I'd settle fro Garbo any day. Why not? A person ought to be able to marry men or women or -listen, if you came to me and said you wanted to hitch up with Man o' War, I'd respect your feeling. No, I'm serious. Love should be allowed. I'm all for it."
Thanks, Holly. I agree.
Now, back to the world of Stephen King in 2013.
As so often happens with so many great American works, I now have mixed feelings toward the story. The film is one that I've loved since the first time I saw it, but after having read the novella, I have to say that the written work is far better. It's not that the movie changed very much (other than the fact that Audrey Hepburn's version of the heroine is a far cry from the vision I had in my head while reading today) - it did, however, leave out a HUGE amount of plot. The story's protagonist has a few hints of homosexuality, and Holly is basically a high priced hooker living off the kindness of men in swinging WWII New York. I don't recall Audrey Hepburn being arrested and leaving in the face of a major mafia scandal, nor do I remember the many colorful suitors that Golightly has in the novella. I'm eager to see what my thoughts are on these things on Sunday afternoon.
Something struck me from Truman Capote's prose, something for which I made a mental note to consider here in my blog. Even in the frigid, far-more-morally-driven landscape of 1958 (although the world that Truman Capote and his characters enjoyed was pretty much the antithesis of that of the Cleavers or the Nelsons), auguries toward ideas that are making international headlines today were present in Holly's tirade on marriage: "If I were free to choose from everybody alive, just snap my fingers and say come here you, I wouldn't pick Jose. Nehru, he's nearer the mark. Wendell Wilkie. I'd settle fro Garbo any day. Why not? A person ought to be able to marry men or women or -listen, if you came to me and said you wanted to hitch up with Man o' War, I'd respect your feeling. No, I'm serious. Love should be allowed. I'm all for it."
Thanks, Holly. I agree.
Now, back to the world of Stephen King in 2013.
09 May 2013
Closing Day
Now that I've opened my blog up for further comment and possible future ammunition (I've given out the link to a few more people than I thought I would at this point), I feel it's necessary to stick to my guns and continue posting everyday. The problem is that by the time I make it home from a full day of work (where the life and creativity gets sucked from my brain and my soul by the succubi that are my co-workers) and get a little reverb and recharge from the serenity of meetings and fellowship, I'm pretty exhausted. All I really want to do is come inside, turn my bed down and stack all the pillows just the way Mary Louise and I life them, knock out my nightly reading and inventory, then crawl between the sheets and turn on some Midnight Syndicate or Nox Arcana and chill out with a little Stephen King.
That's usually when the reality of having to return phone calls and text messages that I've been putting off throughout the day really hits me. Do I send the responses that begin the conversations? Do I only send two or three to the two or three people that I really wouldn't mind talking to a bit? Or do I put them all off until tomorrow morning in the hopes that I'll be alert and oriented before o-six-hundred-hours and ready to engage in a little pre-work banter?
Regardless of the outcome I opt for, the last case scenario is very rarely one to come to fruition. I need my morning time to get my nose in the literature and my knees by my bed to connect with my higher power and the spiritual side of things. I have to do this to prepare for the hellish existence that I feel I'm walking into every morning as I make my way down Interstate-20 to the tenth exit. Contrary to constant remonstrances with the Serenity Prayer and reminders that I have only three weeks yet, I still can't help allowing my thankless job and co-existence with assholes to continue to suck me dry. Still, I felt angrier today than usual, and I'm sure it showed. The end of the month and a new beginning cannot arrive quickly enough. I'm kind of surprised I'm writing this, but I feel like treating this space the way it was originally intended (and originally treated so many months ago now that the time passed has turned into years).
My time may be full, my social life fruitful, my recovery on track, and my extracurricular involvements both plentiful and rewarding, but the anxiety and worthlessness that I feel from staying in a position far beyond the point of hope has gotten me down. My sinuses are screaming at me (along with this twitch in my left eyelid that I've had for the past couple of weeks - I looked it up on WebMD: stress!) and my body is aching for some good, solid rest and relaxation. Truth be told, I have nothing for which to complain. I'm a generally happy guy, relatively wholesome and overwhelmingly pleasant. It's funny how one tiny aspect of one's life (meant to be tiny, but I'm one of those people who sometimes allows himself to be defined by what he does between the hours of eight and five) can really run riot on the senses and the soul.
To combat the blues and the periods of undue stress, I've got the book clubs and Stephen King, the people in the fellowship and the lovely souls beyond, meetings and meditations, family life and my writing, Arrested Development and The Killing, Brodie V. and Sarah E., Meg and Angie, Mary Louise and my mom - for what do I really have to complain? What are my sufferings compared to those of those chicks locked up in that house in Ohio for ten years of their lives? Compared to the amputees surviving the bombings in Boston? Compared to the tons of sick and scared and starving people in the world? I have a roof over my head and warm bed with a loving dog. I have friends and family. I have food and showers. I have everything I could ever want or need. Things aren't anywhere near as bad as I allow my job to make me think they are.
Enough of my reckless ranting for one night.
Where are we in The Shining, and what are my thoughts on the novel today?
I remember originally opening the book either the summer before, or the summer following, second grade. I remember doing it again later in life. Before sobriety. Maybe drinking at the time, maybe not, but before sobriety (and exposure to AA) regardless. So, my thoughts and feelings toward the work may be predisposed to relating it to the ideologies that fascinate and drive me today. I definitely believe that it's a work that feels more about a troubled family than a troubled place. I still don't know if it's more the hotel that's haunted or Jack Torrence, but I did note in my reading last night that Dick's story of the thing that he saw in Room 217 occurred long before Jack or Wendy or Danny were even blips on his radar, so there has to be something in the setting as evil in itself. I do know, though, that there is undoubtedly something in Jack's weak hold on the separation between himself and his last (or next) drink.
The guests are all departing, Danny is learning about his gift from the good chef, and the entire idea of having a job like theirs for the winter is sounding like something that would really be magical, something that would really do a busy guy like me a lot of good - something to give me time to rest and think and read and write.
Of course something like that would sound great to someone who loves to retreat from the world into books and alternate realities. If only I didn't already know how it all ends...
That's usually when the reality of having to return phone calls and text messages that I've been putting off throughout the day really hits me. Do I send the responses that begin the conversations? Do I only send two or three to the two or three people that I really wouldn't mind talking to a bit? Or do I put them all off until tomorrow morning in the hopes that I'll be alert and oriented before o-six-hundred-hours and ready to engage in a little pre-work banter?
Regardless of the outcome I opt for, the last case scenario is very rarely one to come to fruition. I need my morning time to get my nose in the literature and my knees by my bed to connect with my higher power and the spiritual side of things. I have to do this to prepare for the hellish existence that I feel I'm walking into every morning as I make my way down Interstate-20 to the tenth exit. Contrary to constant remonstrances with the Serenity Prayer and reminders that I have only three weeks yet, I still can't help allowing my thankless job and co-existence with assholes to continue to suck me dry. Still, I felt angrier today than usual, and I'm sure it showed. The end of the month and a new beginning cannot arrive quickly enough. I'm kind of surprised I'm writing this, but I feel like treating this space the way it was originally intended (and originally treated so many months ago now that the time passed has turned into years).
My time may be full, my social life fruitful, my recovery on track, and my extracurricular involvements both plentiful and rewarding, but the anxiety and worthlessness that I feel from staying in a position far beyond the point of hope has gotten me down. My sinuses are screaming at me (along with this twitch in my left eyelid that I've had for the past couple of weeks - I looked it up on WebMD: stress!) and my body is aching for some good, solid rest and relaxation. Truth be told, I have nothing for which to complain. I'm a generally happy guy, relatively wholesome and overwhelmingly pleasant. It's funny how one tiny aspect of one's life (meant to be tiny, but I'm one of those people who sometimes allows himself to be defined by what he does between the hours of eight and five) can really run riot on the senses and the soul.
To combat the blues and the periods of undue stress, I've got the book clubs and Stephen King, the people in the fellowship and the lovely souls beyond, meetings and meditations, family life and my writing, Arrested Development and The Killing, Brodie V. and Sarah E., Meg and Angie, Mary Louise and my mom - for what do I really have to complain? What are my sufferings compared to those of those chicks locked up in that house in Ohio for ten years of their lives? Compared to the amputees surviving the bombings in Boston? Compared to the tons of sick and scared and starving people in the world? I have a roof over my head and warm bed with a loving dog. I have friends and family. I have food and showers. I have everything I could ever want or need. Things aren't anywhere near as bad as I allow my job to make me think they are.
Enough of my reckless ranting for one night.
Where are we in The Shining, and what are my thoughts on the novel today?
I remember originally opening the book either the summer before, or the summer following, second grade. I remember doing it again later in life. Before sobriety. Maybe drinking at the time, maybe not, but before sobriety (and exposure to AA) regardless. So, my thoughts and feelings toward the work may be predisposed to relating it to the ideologies that fascinate and drive me today. I definitely believe that it's a work that feels more about a troubled family than a troubled place. I still don't know if it's more the hotel that's haunted or Jack Torrence, but I did note in my reading last night that Dick's story of the thing that he saw in Room 217 occurred long before Jack or Wendy or Danny were even blips on his radar, so there has to be something in the setting as evil in itself. I do know, though, that there is undoubtedly something in Jack's weak hold on the separation between himself and his last (or next) drink.
The guests are all departing, Danny is learning about his gift from the good chef, and the entire idea of having a job like theirs for the winter is sounding like something that would really be magical, something that would really do a busy guy like me a lot of good - something to give me time to rest and think and read and write.
Of course something like that would sound great to someone who loves to retreat from the world into books and alternate realities. If only I didn't already know how it all ends...
08 May 2013
07 May 2013
More About Alcoholism
Maybe it has more to do with where I am in my life, more to do with everything that I've been through in the past several years -most specifically, since. 05 February, 2012- but it seems that The Shining is more about alcoholism than I remember it being when I originally read the novel in my youth. I remember it being more of a straight horror story than one of a man attempting to get his life and his family back together while struggling to maintain a tenuous grasp on a very fragile sobriety.
Does this make it any less of a straight horror story? Not at all.
In fact, this component, a facet that I don't recall as being so pronounced, may make the story more horrifying than before. I had to stop reading tonight to write that. I'm not sure where I'll be headed with this third book, but I'm quite curious to find out.
Does this make it any less of a straight horror story? Not at all.
In fact, this component, a facet that I don't recall as being so pronounced, may make the story more horrifying than before. I had to stop reading tonight to write that. I'm not sure where I'll be headed with this third book, but I'm quite curious to find out.
06 May 2013
The Shining Continues...
I started reading last night, and I planned to be as productive as possible this evening after work. Other than meeting up with a buddy for coffee to talk about life and change, I came home, and just now -just after 10:30 PM- I'm sitting down on my bed to begin to be as productive as possible.
Ready to pray and to meditate and to get into bed to read further into this great, American novel.
05 May 2013
Stephen King in 2013 Rejuvenated
After the first meeting of the Stephen King in 2013 Book Club met today at Rhino Coffee - and right on the heels of pouring my heart out to a fun and interesting guy at last night's Pink Party - I am feeling a sort of rejuvenation to my soul and my desire to get back to blogging and to writing. The truth is, be it blogging, scrawling in my journal, or putting pencil to paper for some other creative literary endeavor, I'm only ever truly focused when I'm writing. Words are like nourishment for my innermost spiritual chi, they are something of a sustenance, a salve to pain or any other negative emotion that I'm feeling.
Then why, do you suppose, is it that more than a month - all of April - has passed since the last time I've been here?
The most likely answer is the profound degree of over-commitment that I've had to everything selfless lately. Scarcely a day, and definitely no weekend, has come to pass since February wherein I was not totally accounted for and double booked. Today had two book clubs, a Tri-State planning meeting with AA, and time hanging out with different groups of the best people I know (my mom, Mary Louise, Sarah, Jamie, Christina, Jonathan, Neely, David, and Kristi). Last night was my attendance of the Pink Party, which culminated in some time away from the crowd to talk to someone who really helped me see that this is something that I haven't been doing and really ought to be doing. Sometimes, there are perfectly aligned spiritual movements somewhere just below our feet that re-pave a path for us when we've been focused on the wrong trajectory
Tonight, I'll begin The Shining, and I'll continue posting. Hopefully more often than the first weeks of this 2013 blog series.
Then why, do you suppose, is it that more than a month - all of April - has passed since the last time I've been here?
The most likely answer is the profound degree of over-commitment that I've had to everything selfless lately. Scarcely a day, and definitely no weekend, has come to pass since February wherein I was not totally accounted for and double booked. Today had two book clubs, a Tri-State planning meeting with AA, and time hanging out with different groups of the best people I know (my mom, Mary Louise, Sarah, Jamie, Christina, Jonathan, Neely, David, and Kristi). Last night was my attendance of the Pink Party, which culminated in some time away from the crowd to talk to someone who really helped me see that this is something that I haven't been doing and really ought to be doing. Sometimes, there are perfectly aligned spiritual movements somewhere just below our feet that re-pave a path for us when we've been focused on the wrong trajectory
Tonight, I'll begin The Shining, and I'll continue posting. Hopefully more often than the first weeks of this 2013 blog series.
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