July 2004 Archives

Annowrimo update: After a weekend visiting the relatives, I'm no longer ahead of schedule. I'm still at 21,300 words. On the plus side, the time away from the manuscript allowed me to figure out a couple of things. One is yet another possible title, which struck me while listening to the XTC song of the same name: "In Another Life." I'm not sure about that one, though. I'm still leaning toward A Raven for Doves at the moment. The other thing I figured out is that I had two sections of the book in the wrong order. It's going to require a little rewriting to put them in the correct places. It's also going to mean a new section at the start of the book. What's odd is that my unconscious mind knew this long before it ever came up into the light; I was writing two characters in a lot of the scenes, and they were getting along really well, despite the fact that the plot dictated an adversary relationship for them. Once I realized that the plot was in the wrong order, they were free to get along as well as they liked. Isn't it strange how that works?

So what else is up?

We bought a new car.

This is the first one we've bought new since February of 1992, when we bought the white 1991 Ford Tempo we eventually named Max. Max was a basic, no-frills car; I sometimes suggested that we ought to decorate the hood with a big UPC symbol and the word "CAR" in generic-product lettering. We drove him pretty much into the ground, and we still see him parked near our garage once in a while. (We can tell it's him by the "Minds Are Like Parachutes..." bumper sticker.)

Our 2004 car situation was getting precarious, though. Clarice, the green '94 Taurus wagon we bought used a few summers ago has held up pretty well, but she's got almost 125,000 miles on her now. On long trips, there was always a frisson of concern in the bosoms of Kelly and myself--would Clarice make this last run? Would she throw a rod in the middle of the interstate? Would the transmission suddenly eschew reverse altogether?

And of course, the other car was Helga. Helga is a warhorse, a white '86 Volvo sedan that we got from Kelly's mom. She's outlasted TWO odometers, so we have only a guess at her actual mileage, but our estimate would be in excess of 150,000. Her air conditioner gave out some years back, and her stereo (strictly AM/FM radio) hasn't worked well since we got her. She's still running, but she's not exactly dependable, and it's been years since we dared drive her outside of a ten-mile radius from home.

We knew, therefore, that we needed to upgrade, and soon. Kelly recently got a promotion and a raise, and I'd earned a little extra from teaching summer school and getting a royalty check, so it seemed like

(We interrupt this entry to announce a first: I just now FINALLY saw a squirrel get flung off the Yankee Flipper feeder! He dove down from the top of the cylinder, seized the rim, and activated the spinning motor. I give him credit for clinging tightly to the rim--impressive for a critter without opposable thumbs--but lord, he looked like something out of a Tom & Jerry cartoon. He was flung out into a tight spin, hanging on for dear life, hind legs and tail flailing behind him like a white flag, before getting launched across the lawn and landing in a bewildered heap. Ha ha! Take that, you little grey bastard!)

(continued) a good time to make our move. Kelly did most of the research into the small wagon/hatchback class, since we knew we needed some storage space for the boys' band instruments, etc. After doing the Consumer Reports-type thing, we eventually settled on a handful of possibilities: the Toyota Matrix and Scion B, and the four Subaru wagons, the Outback, Impreza, Legacy, and Forester. The Matrix was a pleasant driving experience, but on the small side. The Scion was ridiculously cheap--it lists for around $14,000, which is cheap these days--but didn't drive well; it felt halting and awkward, and the sight lines were odd, even inside the car. But when we investigated the Subarus, we suddenly had something we both felt strongly about: the clutch.

Kelly and I are stick-shift snobs, and we admit it. I learned to drive stick when I was 16, and I taught Kelly soon after we got married. (NOT on our honeymoon, though; we were in England, and I thought trying to teach her stick on the wrong side of the road might result in a quickie divorce.) Ever since she learned about the extra control and on-demand power provided by a manual transmission, it's been her preference to drive one. (Max was a manual, as was Jetsam, the brown '84 Tempo we owned before him, but when we've bought used, we've usually had to settle for automatics.)

In any case, we knew we wanted a manual this time. Hey, it's our preference, and it's about a thousand bucks cheaper in most cases. The test for the Subarus, then, was a test of their stick shifts. Would they measure up?

Oh, yeah. Kelly used the word "buttery" while test-driving a Forester, and I had to agree. The thing shifts beautifully.

That, in the end, was what sold us on the Forester, which is, somewhat to our surprise, in the middle zone between wagon and SUV, even though the gas mileage is better than that of the more wagon-like Subarus. It's also the only Subaru with a full-sized spare tire. It's got a lot of other cool features--rear window wiper and defroster, fog lights, cruise control (which I love for interstate driving, but Kelly hates with a passion) and lots of little storage areas. It also has a cute little widget that prevents roll-backs on hill starts of greater than twelve-degree inclines--a pleasant addition.

Best of all, though, it's got a CD player--the first we've had in a car. And since we've also got our first CD-burning computer, the boys and I have started making mix CDs at a ridiculous rate, all of which seem to contain Outkast's "Hey Ya!" and the Offspring's "Hit That." With any luck, we'll have branched out a bit by the time the new car hits 150,000 miles. And at the moment, I fully expect to put 150k on this one. She accelerates like a sumbitch in first, and that clutch is just--mmm. Sweet.

One question remains: what are we going to call her? But that can wait a few miles. Hey, c'mon, we just met...

2:26 PM

LBJs

*Annowrimo update: After ten days, the new chunk o'novel stands at over 21,000 words. (This was accomplished in part by my finding a 4600-word chunk I'd written a few months ago; it was on the old computer, not this new supercharged beast.) Since I wrote 36,000 words in November, I've now passed the Nanowrimo minimum of 50,000, but I'm still estimating that this tale will take about 90,000 to finish. Maybe a bit more. Still, it's pretty easy to feel that draft one is more than halfway done. Which is good, because I'm about to put it aside for a couple of days while we're traveling.

*I wish I weren't in this position so often, but it's unfortunately familiar to me: my Congressman is a fucking loon. Or maybe an idiot. Or perhaps just a rabid ideologue with no concern for the practical consequences of his actions. Anyway, he was among the 200-odd representatives who voted yesterday to pass yet another bill claiming to defend marriage. (I'm thankful that the Senate smacked down the recent attempt at a Constitutional amendment letting my wife and me know that we're married--we knew that already, thanks, guys--because my Rep would no doubt have jumped at the chance to score big points as a Defender of Christianity by voting for it.)

The cute thing about this bill is that it specifically denies the authority of federal courts to review or strike down its provisions. As Kevin Drum of the Washington Monthly notes in his Wingnuts Unite! entry, this is a trick beloved of many who dream of circumventing the process of judicial review, which has so often been used to thwart their wiles. Basically, there are three possible outcomes here: one, the Senate smacks the bill down, which I consider fairly likely. Two, the Supreme Court strikes it down and the process of judicial review remains unchanged--possible, and if the bill gets that far, there's no way the Supremes are going to let it stand, right? But that's the third and most worrisome bit: if the bill passes, and if the Supremes rule that their own authority is not sufficient to review the bill, then Congress can pass any law it wants, merely by including the same Article 3, Section 2 exemption that the House just voted for.

In short, the Yea voters on this issue were basically voting to remove the Judicial Branch's check on the Legislative Branch. That's scary. The good news is that it's pretty easy to picture what Antonin Scalia would say to the Virginia Congressman who told him he didn't have the authority to rule on a legal isue... I think it would sound something like Dick Cheney's recent statement on the Senate floor.

*I finally found out who did the original version of "New York City," a frisky and relentlessly cheerful song from They Might Be Giants' underappreciated Factory Showroom album. Turns out it was an all-girl trio called Cubs. Yeah, now you know a lot more than you did, don't you?

*Speaking of covers, I've got to give props to my man Tony Plutonium, who recently turned me on to the delights of several cover songs I'd missed. Some are on the Me, Myself, and Irene soundtrack, which is full of songs originally recorded by one of my favorite bands, Steely Dan. (They were one of the few groups who actually held the coveted title of "My Favorite Band," back before I decided there was no point in attempting to have just one. Other past holders have included XTC, the Who, and the Jackson 5.) The Push Stars do a terrific version of "Bad Sneakers," one that surpasses the original (which was never a particular favorite of mine when the Dan did it.) Wilco's "Any Major Dude Will Tell You" is also a treat, though I must say that Smash Mouth adds nothing to "Do It Again." (Dude, if you can't sing high enough to hit all the notes, change the freakin' key.) He also pointed me to a surprisingly good Billy Idol cover: his version of "Don't You Forget About Me" actually rocks! As the Tick would say, "Roof pig--most unexpected!"

*We're just past the mid-point of the year--okay, a couple of weeks past it--and I thought I'd update you on my Big Year list. You haven't heard about the Big Year? Well, it's the subject of Mark Obmascik's excellent new book. Basically it's just a birder trying to see as many species as possible in a calendar year. The expert birders in Obmascik's book, the ones who'll spend weeks in the remote Aleutian Islands or make spur-of-the-moment flights to south Texas to log rare species, are shooting for a total of over 700 birds during 1998. So far for 2004, I have... 146.

I guess I need a strong finish.

2:32 PM

Annowrimo update:  After five days of writing, the new chunk of the novel stands at 10,400-odd words.  Yes, it's raw, and god only knows how much of it will end up in the final draft when I (someday) look it over.  But it feels mighty good to pop on the headphones, put my head down, and write again.  So far I've had several scenes take over and write themselves, which is always pleasant, and one completely new character popped up and made herself at home.  I think these are good signs, anyway.
 
As for my other interests this week, I've been alternating between outrage and a horrifying sense of cynical validation thanks to a story I missed last week:  the saga of the Florida Felon List.
 
The complete story is told in this Palm Beach Post article, but I think I can summarize it without glossing over the nuances too badly.
 
As you may recall, Florida's election practices generated a wee bit of media attention about four years back, and to prevent future accusations of disenfranchisement and electoral larceny, Republican Governor Jeb Bush and his pals have been scrambling to reform those practices--well, maybe "reform" is too strong a word.  (I might offer the word "perfect," but as I said, I'm feeling cynically validated.)  Because Florida bars convicted felons from voting, the state assembled a list of 48,000 "possible" felons to send around to local election officials prior to the 2004 election, presumably to ensure that ineligible criminals didn't vote.  (How a "possible" felon is distinguished from a felon or a non-felon is a question you'll have to take up with a Floridian.)
 
News agencies, perhaps because of certain newsworthy irregularities in the electoral process in 2000, including controversies about that year's list of ineligible felons, wanted a look at the 2004 list.  The state refused to provide such a look, but a suit by CNN eventually led to the release of the list, which contained approximately 48,000 names.
 
Why did Florida want to keep this list a secret?
 
Perhaps because of those 48,000 people listed, 28,000 were registered Democrats and only 9500 Republicans.  Naturally, the first question in my mind is this:  do Democrat felons really outnumber GOP felons three to one in Florida?  If so, why did Florida wish to hide this fact?
 
Before you answer, though, you should know that the list included only 61 Hispanics. In Florida, Hispanics make up about 20% of the population, and (especially in the Cuban community) they tend to vote overwhelmingly Republican.  Again, I have a question:  do Anglo felons outnumber Hispanic felons 787 to one in Florida?  Again, if so, why did Florida wish to cover up the impressive and statistically based virtue of its Hispanic citizens?
 
What possible conclusion could be drawn from this story?  Remember the facts:
 
*Florida's officials were accused of giving Republicans an unfair advantage in 2000.
*Their 2000 felon list was reportedly one element of this advantage.
*They denied the accusation.
*They made a new list of felons for 2004, just in case.
*They tried to keep the list secret.
*The secret list just happens to give Republicans an unfair advantage.
*That unfair advantage amounted to at least several thousand votes.
*The 2000 election was decided by 573 votes.
 
What this story tells me about the 2004 election is that I'm rejecting the right man.
 
What this story tells me about the 2000 election is that we already rejected him--and he won anyway.





8:05 AM

ACTUAL BOOK-RELATED NEWS

For a site that claims to belong to a writer, this place has had very little writing news of late. Not really surprising, given that I haven't done much writing recently, but annoying. The good news is that I'm committed (and now publicly committed) to hitting the keyboard for the next month. Yes, as an 18th anniversary present, Kelly and I are giving each other a Nanowrimo month.

Nanowrimo, as you may recall from previous posts, stands for "NAtional NOvel WRIting MOnth," and it usually falls in November. Participants are encouraged to write a 50,000-word novel during the 30 calendar days of November. Some (usually those without full-time jobs) manage it in a rush, but most of us have to be content with a steady bashing out of 1667 words per day.

Last November I went in with good intentions, but fell short of my goal. I knocked off 36,000 words of a longer novel. True Nanowrimo-ers are supposed to work on a new project, but I cheated and worked on a book I've been wrestling with for over a decade now--the one mentioned elsewhere on this site under the working title Moving Day. After two days of work in the current Annowrimo (it's not exactly Na if only Kelly and I are working, so it's our ANniversary NOvel WRIting MOnth), I've added another 3500 words. If I factor in the other bits and pieces I've written at other times, I've probably got between 45k and 60k done. It's not especially close to completion--I'm guessing it'll need to be at least 90k words before the story's events are all on paper--but at least I'm back in the saddle again.

Oh, and it has a new working title: A Raven for Doves. (Extra credit if you recognize the source. Hint: the writer wrote in English.)

No, it's not about birding. But if you think it is and buy it under that impression... well, hey, go right ahead.

4:43 PM

Over the past few days, I've had the opportunity to confront my occasionally bizarre relationship with the emotion of anger. It hasn't been the sort of cold, righteous fury I feel when John Ashcroft takes what I consider another unconscionable liberty with the Constitution, or the howling frustration I express when Idiot # 45,008,352 In A Series cuts me off in traffic without even the briefest turn signal. It's an anger I experience far less often, and over which I have far less control.

Some may find it a little odd that I do anger in the first place. While I'm perfectly capable of keeping up a low-level kvetch for hours on end (especially in traffic), I am at base a difficult person to get mad. My mother claims I have the longest temper of anyone she's ever met. I'm not sure why, exactly. Part of it is my classic liberal ability to see both sides of a question, often to the point where I'm not sure which was my original side. It's a habit with me, and it does tend to blunt one's temper a bit; it's much harder to stay mad at people when you've looked at things from their point of view. I'm scrupulous about not pre-judging people, which often means that I fail to judge them properly even when they're throwing themselves on the mercy of the court, but it does keep me from being a hanging judge, too. When I give a student demerits, they're usually accompanied by a long, boring lecture about how disappointed I am in his behavior, and how I don't want to give him D's but am duty-bound to do so. I'm sure it's even more irritating than if I blew up with fire and brimstone, but hey, it's who I am.

There is one thing, however, that bypasses my rationality altogether. It makes me quit thinking, and it even disrupts my ability to communicate clearly. When I see someone being deliberately cruel or disrespectful, I get mad. General unpleasantness doesn't do this, nor does insensitivity. What jerks my chain is one person intentionally ridiculing or taunting another. When one student does it to another in my classroom, I don't stop to think about it--I jump right in and start yelling. I set up some kind of "How'd you like ME to publicize YOUR weaknesses, bucko?" rant, usually full of equal parts bile, sarcasm, and inarticulate glowering, hoping to send the offending student into an eyes-down, head-hanging attitude of contrition.

One oddity of the experience is that I talk funny. When I get mad, I abandon the simple subject-verb-object sentences that I might use in ordinary conversation. Instead, I grit my teeth and begin spinning out, as if they were long strands of cobweb, the most arcane, Dickensian sentences one could possibly imagine, full of carefully placed subordinate clauses and appositive phrases, and occasionally losing my way entirely between subject and predicate. I've seen terrified students gradually break down in mid-rant, losing their fear and developing expressions of utter puzzlement and curiosity as they try to figure out what the hell I'm talking about. I suppose my desire to control my temper manifests itself in a clampdown on my language; if I can't keep myself from getting mad, I try to keep myself from simply bellowing. And perhaps if the Hulk could speak in compound-complex sentences, he'd seem more like Bruce Banner.

Why do I do this? Well, I know exactly why I get mad at taunting: I was a tauntee for years. I grew up down the street from a best friend who was stronger and better at sports than I was, and who wasn't shy about reminding me. In elementary school, I was bookish and shy, I panicked around girls, and I grew upset and frustrated at the mildest mockery; to this day, I can't hear "Peter, Peter, pumpkin-eater" without being reminded of the days when kids sang it to me to make me mad. In seventh grade, I was pudgy, smelly, covered with zits, and anti-social, hanging out with a group of similar outcasts, taking solace in the fact that while we might be unhygienic, we were smarter than all those clean and attractive people; those people, needless to say, weren't shy about letting us know that we couldn't be part of their society until we quit being so pudgy, smelly, zit-covered, and so on. I had long known I was academically talented, but that didn't do much to keep me from being teased. Not until eighth grade did I start to gain a certain measure of immunity from such treatment; I'm convinced that my making the Grey Culbreth Jr. High soccer and basketball teams were partly responsible, but I must say I did start using deodorant, too.

But today, when I hear a kid picking on another one--especially when the taunter is bigger, stronger, more talented, more attractive, more self-confident--I'm transported back to my days on Sugarberry Road, and I can't stop myself from lashing out. It's not really something to be proud of, but over the last few days, I've seen several of my students making fun of a student from overseas whose English is imperfect. It has, on each occasion, provoked me to a short explosion in his defense. Like I said, I'm not proud of myself, but if I'm going to have a temper, I'm glad it's shortest at the point where the weak are abused by the strong.

But in general, yeah, you really ought to use that turn signal.

4:52 AM

"Yossarian was going absent without official leave with Milo, who, as the plane cruised toward Rome, shook his head reproachfully and, with pious lips pursed, informed Yossarian in ecclesiastical tones that he was ashamed of him. Yossarian nodded. Yossarian was making an uncouth spectacle of himself by walking around backward with his gun on his hip and refusing to fly more combat missions, Milo said. Yossarian nodded. It was disloyal to his squadron and embarrassing to his superiors. He was placing Milo in a very uncomfortable position, too. Yossarian nodded again. The men were starting to grumble. It was not fair for Yossarian to think only of his own safety while men like Milo, Colonel Cathcart, Colonel Korn and ex-P.F.C. Wintergreen were willing to do everything they could to win the war. The men with seventy missions were starting to grumble because they had to fly eighty, and there was a danger some of them might put on guns and begin walking around backward, too. Morale was deteriorating and it was all Yossarian's fault. The country was in peril; he was jeopardizing his traditional rights of freedom and independence by daring to exercise them."

--from Catch-22 by Joseph Heller

Every few years I like to pick up Catch-22, which I first read in Quebec in the summer of 1977. At the time I thought it was merely the funniest book I'd ever read. I realized later that it was also one of the most truthful. And now, living in George W. Bush's America, I wonder if it wasn't also one of the most prophetic.

It's the Fourth of July, and today's the perfect day to think for yourselves--and if you disagree with me, well, you're doing exactly what I want.

Happy Independence Day, everybody.

10:27 PM