Kyle Garret's Blog, page 11

I Love Halloween (but a specific version of it)

Tone is hard.

Of all the various aspects of writing, from character to plot to rhythm to sentence structure to theme to on and on and on, the hardest to get right is tone.  Tone is at the mercy of perception, and everyone brings their own perception to the party.

The more specific the tone, the harder it is to get right, or at least to get it so that it comes across accurately.  Big, broad, general tones are easy.  Writing something that's meant to be optimistic or sarcastic is easy enough.  But if you are trying to drill down into something more subtle, you run the risk of not creating the tone you're going for.

Halloween has a variety of tones.

I hate slasher movies.  I find them stupid and awful.  I don't understand the appeal.  I liked the first Scream movie well enough, but part of that was the fact that it was making fun of slasher movies.  But you can only go to that well once, which is why the sequels were all awful.

Halloween is meant to be supernatural.  I'm fine with it being scary because, hey, the unknown is the scariest thing there is.  But Jason and Michael Myers and Leatherface are scary in a way that has nothing to do with Halloween. There's no supernatural element needed there, save for their uncanny ability to survive almost anything.  In the end, they're dudes with weapons killing teenagers, and that shit happens every day.

I don't need death and destruction in my Halloween, either.  I want creativity.  I want the strange and the disconcerting, I want the creepy and wondrous.  Halloween should be the time of the year when we walk around in a haze of the bizarre.

Here are my essential movies to watch around Halloween:

Zombieland
Cabin in the Woods
Batman vs. Dracula
Nightmare Before Christmas

Okay, yes, Cabin in the Woods has a lot of slasher elements to it, but just barely.  It's rather perfect for me in
that it upends slasher movies and embraces the supernatural.  Zombieland makes the list because it's the best zombie movie I've seen in years (I will no doubt watch many other zombie movies during this time, too, but Zombieland is a must).

Nightmare Before Christmas nails the tone of Halloween perfectly, with Batman vs. Dracula coming in a close second.  They're both dark and scary without resorting to death.

Speaking of Nightmare Before Christmas, my favorite Halloween thing in the entire world might be the Haunted Mansion at Disneyland.  Every year, they turn the Haunted Mansion into Jack's Nightmare Before Christmas, modifying the various scary aspects of the house to fit with the movie.  I've been on that ride more times than I can count and it might be the single thing I miss most about living in Southern California.

The upside of my version of Halloween is that it's more or less all ages, so our kid is going to be in for a treat some day...

Fruitful: Boy vs Girl (Ignorance is Bliss)

We're having a boy.

I told Nicole the other day that having a boy can be problematic for men -- specifically men of a certain generation -- because it blurs the line between being friends and being a parent.  It's already something of a stereotype among men of my generation that we become buddies with our sons, in that we embrace all the nerdy, childish things that they do even more so than they do.  I already watch cartoons.  I already read comic books and play video games.  This kid is going to love me.

That's not to say that I wouldn't do those things with a daughter.  I would.  The problem is that I've been a boy, so I have some amount of knowledge there.  I'm going to see this kid as an extension of myself, more so than I would if he were a girl.  Every man of my generation wants to give their son the childhood they wanted, even if their childhood was perfectly fine.

To a certain extent, it comes down to ignorance being bliss.

Growing up is hard.  It's easier for some, but it's still hard.  In fact, it should only ever been measured in degrees of difficulty, with the starting point being "hard" and going from there.  Even the most privileged kid has a difficult time growing up.  It's just the nature of the beast.

I can try my hardest to understand what it's like to grow up as a second class citizen in this country, but I'll
never really know.  I'm a straight white guy from a middle class family.  All I know is growing up a straight, while guy from a middle class family.

But I'm intimately aware of that experience, and my son is going to be a possibly straight, definitely white, definitely male, hopefully middle class kid and the fact that I have any legitimate frame of reference for that makes it real to me.  And since it's real to me, I want to help him, even though that's not entirely possible (and parents trying to relate to their kids through shared experiences a generation apart usually comes off as more creepy than anything else).

I have no idea what the experience of growing up as a girl in this country is like, so I don't carry any delusions about being able to relate.  I carry plenty of other delusions about helping, but none about relating.

But I know the type of situation my son is coming into.  I've been there and I've done that.  And I think that automatic connection can be difficult for men with sons in a way that isn't the same for men with daughters.  We want to get it right this time, even if we didn't really get it wrong before.  Hindsight is 20/20 and now we know how to grow-up the best way possible.

We would rule as kids.

Sure, that's a load of garbage.  Every child is different and every experience is different and lord knows the world my son is coming into is much, much different than the one I was born into.  But it's hard to deny the baggage that comes with having a son.

The goal, of course, is to keep that baggage to myself, to let my kid live his life the way he's meant to live it, not to live my life better than I did.

But I wouldn't have to worry about any of that if we were having a girl...

...I'd be worrying about different things all together.  And everything I wrote above would probably apply to my wife.

Week 23!

Rewatching Buffy: Season Five

Season five of Buffy is my second favorite, behind the third season.  It's more consistent than seasons two or four, but the overall story arc (and the main villain) pale in comparison to season three.

Dawn Finally Arrives/Origins of the Slayer
This is probably an unpopular opinion, but I liked the addition of Dawn to the cast.  Giving Buffy a sister changed the dynamic of the show in a positive way.  In some ways, it could have been seen as desperate, as the show spent all of season four floundering around, looking for a direction.  And perhaps that's why this season works for me -- from the first episode, it's about something.  There's a level of cohesion across all 22 episodes that we haven't seen since season three, and season five actually does it better.

The cohesion comes from Buffy digging into the origins of the Slayer, something that was hinted at in the season four finale.  This show has always worked best when it embraced its mythology, but it often seemed to shy away from that, perhaps as a way to gain new viewers.  But staying on the surface is why season four (and season six) were so hard to enjoy.  The drama was manufactured, which was all the more frustrating when avenues for organic drama were available.

Dawn was sent to Buffy because she's the Slayer (side bar: technically speaking, she should have been sent to Faith, but I guess the monks did their research before assigning the Key to a protector).  It has nothing to do with who Buffy is, it has to do with her lineage.  In one, simple move, they've expanded Buffy's role beyond the city limits of Sunnydale.  She has a larger part to play in the world, and this season goes along way towards making that clear.  High school is over Buffy; it's time to grow-up.

Thanks to a shockingly well written premiere featuring Dracula, Buffy becomes motivated to find out what she is even before Dawn is introduced.  And with Buffy's new found enthusiasm for being a Slayer comes new found motivation for Giles, who spent all of last season as something of a hanger-on.

Speaking of hanger-ons, this season actually manages to accomplish the nigh impossible task of making Spike relevant and, better yet, making his continued existence seem less unbearably stupid.  Giles can provide Buffy with all the information in the world, but what she needs are details from someone who actually lived it.  Spike telling Buffy about the two Slayers he's killed was some of the best stuff of the season.

Granted, that also forces us to ignore the fact that Spike, who has killed two Slayers, should have been dusted by now, but we do what we can.

The Scooby Gang
The introduction of Spike being in love with Buffy actually works initially because it's a response to his inability to kill her.  He's obsessed, and since he can no longer express that obsession through violence, it twists into a perverted love.  It's nicely done and almost makes up for the last season of Spike, but it's sadly
soon flipped into another mind numbing story line that is, thankfully for season five, fleshed out the most in season six.

Willow arguably receives the least screen time of the Scooby Gang, which is fine, as they are able to focus on her relationship with Tara and her dynamic with Xander and Anya more.  Willow coming out in season four was enough of a change that just dealing with that over the course of season five was enough.  They did a nice job of slowly showing her increasing power, too, without resorting to the stupidity coming next season.

Tara and Anya both get nice spotlights.  Both stories are rooted in the characters' pasts and both make good use of their connections within the Scooby Gang.  While Tara's episode was more emotional, Anya's ends up working better, if only because it captures the group dynamic better.

Xander finally gets the episode that we've been waiting for since he was introduced.  Honestly, Xander peaks in season five, which is great at the time, but unravels in the next season.  While he was adrift at seas all of last season, he comes into his own in season five, and suddenly you seem as the most stable member of the group.

Riley is all but largely destroyed in season five.  His story makes up much of what went wrong during this season.  He could have been an interesting addition to the group, particularly when placed at odds with Xander, but he was entirely defined by Buffy, and he wasn't going to survive like that.

In the End...
Despite all the positives, the cracks definitely begin to show during season five.  Perhaps because of the meandering nature of season four, the writers spend a lot of time placing the focus on Buffy even when it's unnatural.  Like it or not, but there are times when Giles is more qualified to make decisions than Buffy.  It's
not meant to be a slight against her, it's just that he's smarter and more experienced.  Giles is also willing to make hard choices that Buffy just won't.  This creeps up again in season seven.  I appreciate that Buffy the titular character, but so was Angel, and they were able to push him aside when it made sense.

Listen, as much as I loved the musical and a handful of episodes from season seven (like the premiere, "Him," and "Conversations with Dead People") it's hard not to feel like Buffy would have been better served by ending with season five.  Sure, we'd need an extra episode to wrap things up, bug given how powerful the season five finale is, and how mediocre (at best) the final two seasons were, you have to wonder if they should have gone out on top.

Stand out episodes: The Body (top 5), the Gift (top 5), The Replacement, Fool For Love, Checkpoint

Fruitful: The cats are helping out.

Not one of our cats, but looks like oneThe first thing that parents will point to when we tell them that we're having a kid is that we should get used to surviving on very little sleep.  It is, I'm assuming, the biggest adjustment in those first few months.  I would imagine that, for someone who is used to getting a solid 7-8 hours a night, having a child is torture.

If I have a leg up in any way with this parenting thing (and that's debatable), it's that I've spent most of my life being sleep deprived.  Seriously, I think my sleep study revealed that I was getting intermittent sleep totaling, at most, around five hours.  That is how I lived my life for probably fifteen to twenty years.

Being sleep deprived is brutal.  People talk about not getting much sleep without really knowing what they're talking about.  I literally felt like I was going to fall asleep on the drive to work every single day of my life.  Sleep deprivation is brutal physically, but it's even worse mentally and emotionally.  It's like a gateway drug for ADD and depression.

My problem was twofold: I had insomnia and I have sleep apnea.  The sleep apnea is really bizarre for someone of my physical traits.  The insomnia is pretty common for someone with my neurosis.  I would lie in bed for hours before falling asleep, and then I would wake up multiple times over the course of the night because I couldn't breath properly.  I think my sleep study recorded that I woke up every 40 minutes, which means the most amount of sleep I ever got at one time was less than an hour.  Because of all this, I'm also a light sleeper.

For the longest time, Nicole and I joked that I would be the one to get up in the middle of the night to handle
everything that I'm physical capable of handling and that I would, whether I liked it or not, wake up when she had to as well.

The cats were something of a case study -- there was many a night that one of them would puke in the middle of the night and the sound would wake me up.  So I'd get up and clean it up and go back to sleep, with Nicole none the wiser.

About a year or so go, I went to the aforementioned sleep study and discovered my ailment.  I also learned some ways to deal with my insomnia.  That was actually fairly easy to overcome for the first few months, as my body associated my CPAP mask with "time for sleep" and responded accordingly.  It's not as automatic as it was back in the beginning, but it's still much better than it used to be.  There are still other factors at work that can make it better or worse.

But I'm up to right around seven total hours of sleep most nights, although I still wake up a half dozen times or so.  I have an amazing ability to wake up and be completely awake, which often makes it hard for me to get back to sleep.  Nearly every day, I wake up an hour or two before my alarm and consider just staying awake and having a leisurely morning.  I almost always opt for more sleep.

I can all but guarantee that I will be woken up an hour before my alarm goes off because one of our cats starts meowing his fool head off.  He does this nearly every morning.  He does it because he wants food,
Yeah, that's me...but skinnier.even though he already has food.  He meows and meows and meows unless I get up and check his food bowl...or I spray him with water.  It's generally the latter.

Clearly, he's trying to prepare us for parenthood.  I'm not sure how well the spray bottle will work out in that case, though.

I'm not so far removed from my pre-sleep study life that I don't remember what it was like to live sleep deprived.  It's funny, because a few months after I got the CPAP, I had a bought of insomnia, and went to work the next day on, at most, 4 hours of sleep.  And I remember walking around, dead tired, and feeling a strange sense of comfort.  It was like seeing an old friend.  Being that tired tends to slow everything down.  In some ways, it's actually kind of nice.

So I'm prepared for the lack of sleep.  Waking up multiple times, being forced to stay awake, never getting more than an hour or two at a time -- I'm prepared for all of this.  It is the one way in which my ridiculous life (and our cats) has prepared me.

Changing diapers, trying to placate a crying baby, trying to stay healthy, finding time for normal things like showering and eating -- that's going to be a different story all together.

But I think I'm up for the challenge.  At the very least, I'll be awake.

Week 22!

Selling Yourself

A few weeks ago I showed an apartment (that is my day job -- I rent apartments to people and, yes, it is more or less a sales job and yes, it does make me feel dirty) to a very nice couple. The female half of said couple was a bartender and, it seemed, the bread winner, as the male side of said couple was an actor of sorts. I say "of sorts" because he was mostly an indie type actor or, to be more accurate, a struggling actor.

At one point in the tour, the guy said to me "what else do you do?" It was an odd question, of course, as people don't generally care much about me beyond whether or not they like me (I'm actually really good at renting apartments and it's entirely dependent upon whether people like me or not). I responded with my standard line: "I'm an unsuccessful writer."

He said he knew that I most do something creative, evidently gleaned from our back and forth during the course of the tour up to that point. Once this was out in the open, we got into a fairly interesting conversation about the nature of art and commerce, as -- and you should all know this -- Los Angeles (and Hollywood) exists for the sole purpose of marrying art and commerce.

There are, in fact, certain people in this city who are able to live in both words, those being the artistic one and the business one. Most of the people I know, though, are stuck in one or the other.

Sadly, that's the nature of the world, isn't it? Talent is almost a secondary gift. What matters most is your ability to sell yourself.

The problem for most writers, of course, is that selling yourself requires a completely different skill set than, say, writing a novel or a short story or (god forbid) a poem (that was for all my poetic friends). It requires being able to string together specific words in specific orders for a specific purpose, and we don't know how to do that. It is, in fact, contrary to our nature. It's actually part of what baffles me about screenwriters: they have rules. I can't imagine writing with rules.

But this is the dilemma I now face on a regular basis. As most of you know by now, I have written a book about my grandparents. I'm seeking an agent to represent said book to the big, fat publishers of the world. And getting an agent requires the aforementioned skill set.

There are levels to writing. There's the "send your work to journals that pay you (at most) $50 and 10 copies of their journal so that you can add that publication to your bio so that maybe you'll get published by that journal that pays $100." And while the financial reward of this level isn't much above scouring the neighborhood for cans to recycle, there's a degree of control involved. You write the story, you send it in, you get an answer. The only skill required is the ability to write a story that at least one person likes.

Then there's the next level, those people who are very nearly able to live off their work, but who have to constantly create new material to do so. They're the ones who, probably without an agent, get a small publisher to put out their book. And then they work to cultivate that audience, writing articles on various sites, constantly updating their web sites and blogs, and, ultimately, becoming a carnival barker in order to stay afloat.

Next comes the moderately successful, those who find an agent and get a modest offer from a modest publisher and, of course, have to maintain even that modest level of output to insure that they don't fall by the wayside.

Fruitful: Hunger (or, Ditch Digging Redux)

I used to work at Wendy's.  I worked there twice, actually, once the summer after I graduated from high school, the other time when I was a junior in college.  I have a fairly long history of working horrible, horrible jobs, which is something I'll probably write about at some point.

Anyway, during my first stint at Wendy's, I worked mostly with middle aged women who were all working there for one reason and one reason only: to support their family.  None of these women liked working there, although they did take a certain amount of pride in their work ethic.  None of them were well educated per se, but all of them had experienced an awful lot in life.  Some of them were on their second marriages.  All of them had children.  That's where their motivation came from; they were flipping burgers, working the drive-thru, for those children.  That's all that mattered to them.

Honestly, I hope my kid gets to work some shitty jobs when he's old enough.  It's an eye opening experience.  It teaches you to appreciate any number of things.  It also makes you realize that we, as human beings, have a common existence that is only modified by the details.  There is a thread that runs through all of us, it's just not always easy to see.

Anyway, a long while back I wrote a blog called "The Upside of Ditch Digging."  The gist of that post was that I have had many cushy jobs in my day, and that begs the question as to whether my cushy jobs have gotten in the way of my pursuit of writing.  The idea here is that the worse your situation, the further you will go to change it.  If life is okay, then the desire to improve it isn't as strong.

I currently have a pretty cushy job.  I like the people I work with.  I like the work, even.  I have some flexibility and, as of late, I even have ownership of what I do, which is a big thing for me.  I'm not part of Fringe Division or anything, but what I do has an impact on at least a few people.

But my job isn't ideal.  It's not where my passions lie.  So despite how cushy it is, I still have motivation to escape it.  Sure, I will always write no matter what my lot in life, but the pie in the sky of writing for living is always there, always calling me, and always relevant as long as I'm working a job that isn't it.

I wonder how much of that will change when I have a kid.

Right now, I have the job that I do because we have bills that need to be paid.  My motivation for having this job is necessity, but even then it's only just.  Nicole and I are adults; we can take care of ourselves.  We've lived through unemployment before and we could live through it again if we had to.  We can always get by.

That will change when we have a kid.  Everything will change.  But, specifically, this job will be that much more important.

I've always had a problem not being other.  I've had problems for years with being happy, because I
Not Winterson's best, but still really good.assumed that being happy took away some kind of perceived necessary edge.  I have the same problem with my jobs.  Once they become meaningful, will I lose that desire to write, to make writing my life?  What becomes of me when my life is job, home, family?

Listen, I know for a fact that this kid is going to be my number priority and that's an understatement.  No one has to tell me that's what it will be like because I already know.  But if that happens, what happens to my writing?  When my life becomes about being successful at work so I can provide for my family, what will become of me?  How will I change and what will that mean for my writing?

You know, in high school, I always got my best grades in the fall.  There was a simple reason for this: I was playing soccer.  On top of school and a vague social life (and later, a band), I was also on the soccer team, which meant practice every day and games on the weekend (and during the week).  It meant that my free time was limited.  When my time for doing something well was limited, I actually succeeded.  More time just gave me more time to over think things.

Maybe that's what it will be like for my writing.  Maybe I'll become more diligent about it when the time I have becomes scarce and, therefore, sacred.  Maybe it will be easier for me to access that tiny part of my brain where the good writing lives.

And maybe, suddenly, I will have perspective.  And those few hours a week that I get to write will have meaning and that meaning will come across in the writing.  Maybe having a son will just be added motivation and another source of inspiration.  Maybe this will change my writing for the better.

As I said to Nicole today, having a kid is kind of terrifying, but it's only "kind of" because of how awesome it is.

Week 21!

Best Albums of 2002

Time for another random jaunt down memory lane, this time with my favorite albums that were released in 2002.

I should point out that 2002 saw some classic albums.  A number of these can be considered pinnacles for the careers of their respective creators, and many of them would make my all time favorite albums list, if such a list existed (I do have a top ten list).

Trail of Dead -- "Source Tags and Codes"

This is the greatest record Trail of Dead have ever produced, although I'm sure they don't think so.  I have since fallen out of love with this band as they seem to be writing the same record over and over again.  But this album is unbelievable.  Plenty of math rock hooks and catchy vocals with the occasional punk rock angst.  You listen to "Another Morning Stoner" and tell me this isn't some brilliant songwriting.

Foo Fighters -- "One by One"

This record is oft-maligned (even by the band itself) and I'm not sure why.  I could go into a big break down of all the things I love about this album, but I will focus on the last track, which is truly one of the best songs the Foo Fighters have ever recorded.  "Come Back" is heavy and melodic and full of urgency and the return of the chorus at the end if phenomenal.

Matt Pond PA -- "The Nature of Maps"

The first Matt Pond PA song I ever heard was "Fairlee," which is the first track on this record.  I've been a fan every since.  And while "Fairlee" alone makes this a great album, "The Party" is just fantastic, moody and driving.  Add "Closer" right after it and, further down, "Summer Is Coming" and you have a classic record, full of rich, layered songs and urgent, heart felt vocals.  A winner from start to finish.

Minus the Bear -- "Highly Refined Pirates"

Album of the year?  Quite possibly.  Minus the Bear is one of my favorite bands, but with the variety of
releases they've put out, it's hard to nail down one that's tops.  "Highly Refined Pirates" could win out, though.  It's full math rock goodness, but generally with an emphasis on the rock and not the math.  "Women We Haven't Met Yet" might be the stand out, with "Absinthe Party at the Fly Honey Warehouse" coming in a close second (yes, this back when Minus the Bear had crazy song titles).  While I prefer the mix on the demo version of "I Lost All My Money at the Cock Fights," it's still a fantastic song.

Nada Surf -- "Let Go"

Okay, I might have jumped the gun when I called the last album the best of the year, because "Let Go" is probably one of the best albums I've ever heard.  I am biased, of course, as Nada Surf is one of my favorite bands, if not number one.  "Let Go" is how I was reintroduced to the band, a statement that is probably true for a ton of people.  "Happy Kid" became a sort of anthem for me.  I saw them play an extended ending to "Paper Boats" and it gave me goosebumps.  If there's an album on this list that everyone should own, it's this one.

The Party of Helicopters -- "Space and How Sweet It Was"

Full disclosure: I know a bunch of these dudes.  I went to high school with them.  Honestly, that doesn't color my opinion, particularly since I'd long since left my hometown by 2002.  If you still think I'm biased, just listen to the first two songs on this double release and tell me they're not great.  "Bastard Motherfucker" may have great riffs, but it's the earnest vocal delivery that takes it over the top.  "Slowdance" is crazy infectious with some fantastic, frantic drumming.  PoH released a lot of great songs, but this could be their single best album.

Pretty Girls Make Graves -- "Good Health"

Remember that album of the year award I keep handing out?  Consider this another contender.  While this album hasn't stuck with me the way "Let Go" did, it almost perfectly encapsulates a certain period of my life.  This is easily Pretty Girls Make Graves' best album.  It is so full of energy that it's like aural cocaine.  The raging duel guitars, the driving rhythm section who weren't afraid of some odd time signatures here and there, and the absolutely cathartic vocals -- it's all just about perfect.  This is an absolutely classic album.

Queens of the Stone Age -- "Songs for the Deaf"

In 2002 I moved to Los Angeles.  It was only the second time I'd ever been to California and the first time I'd ever been to the City of Angels.  Queens of the Stone Age are from Palm Desert, a bit over 100 miles east of L.A., which led me to believe that they were more popular in Southern California than anywhere else -- not that they lacked for popularity when this album came out.  But I will forever associate this album with my first few months in Los Angeles, for this conflicting view I had of the city, from the meth heads in the desert, to the rock stars in the city, to all the regular folk in between.  In a lot of ways, this album is the perfect encapsulation of Southern California.  Eleven years later, and two years removed from the city, I think this record still hold ups, and still speaks to the complexity of the area.

Weezer -- "Maladroit"

I'm going to let you in on a little secret: "Maladroit" is my favorite Weezer album.  Oh, sure, I enjoy "Pinkerton" as much as the next guy (although I ultimately think the Blue Album is better), but in my heart of hearts, I want giant riffage.  Is that so much to ask from a rock and roll record?  And "Maladroit" provides those big riffs on a level that Weezer has never accomplished on any other album.  "Take Control" could be a Slash outtake.  "Burndt Jamb" is probably the last inventive song Weezer has written.  And songs like "December" and "Keep Fishin'" are classic pop Weezer.  It is the greatest of all worlds, and while everyone else sits around waiting for Weezer to release another "Pinkerton," I'm waiting for another "Maladroit."

Wilco -- "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot"

Good goddamn, 2002 was a great year for music.

Funny enough, this is not my favorite Wilco album (that would be "A Ghost is Born"), but this is probably the album that introduced a whole ton of people to this band.  And while  the battle with records labels and the documentary about the making of this record were great for publicity, it would have meant nothing if the songs weren't good -- and they are.  "Jesus, Etc." and "Ashes of American Flags" back to back?  Forget about it.  That's classic Wilco right there.  The drug use seems to have gotten a little out of hand on a few of the tracks, but I think we can forgive that.

Okay, let's see, if I'm going to pick a top 3 for the year, I think this is it, in order:

3. Minus the Bear -- "Highly Refined Pirates"
2. Pretty Girls Make Graves -- "Good Health"
1. Nada Surf -- "Let Go"

It would not be overstating it to say that I think all three of those could end up on my all time top 20; that's how great 2002 was for music.

Honorable Mention: The Vines - "Highly Evolved," Spoon - "Kill the Moonlight," Sleater Kinney - "One Beat," "Buffy the Musical," The Promise Ring - "Wood/Water," Karate - "Some Boots," Interpol - "Turn on the Bright Lights"

Fruitful: Everyone loves you when you're having a kid.

I went to the dentist last week.  That's fairly pedestrian, yes, and the visit was just that.  I mentioned to the doctor and his assistant that my wife was pregnant.  When I went to the front to schedule my next appointment, the assistant mentioned that my life would be very different when I returned.  This, of course, ended up involving the office staff in my impending fatherhood.

And then it was all knowing smiles and laughter.  There's a baby on the way!  You must be the greatest person ever, Kyle, because you're having a baby (or you are by proxy).  We love you and we will love you even more when we see you six months from now and you are no doubt running on caffeine and the fumes of caffeine.  We expect to see vomit on your shirt.  We expect you to be wearing a baseball hat to cover your unwashed hair and glasses because you're unable to get your contact in.

The other day we sold some furniture on Craig's List.  We had never met the middle aged couple who came by to buy and get the aforementioned furniture.  The woman had learned, over the course of e-mails with my wife, that we were going to have a kid soon, which was why we were getting rid of the furniture (for cheap).  When they arrived they were overjoyed for us.  The woman was just so excited to be making room for us, to be making room for such a great reason.  She actually gave Nicole a hug before she left.

Here's the thing: my wife deserves all the hugs in the world.  While she's still on the verge of the full physical toll of being pregnant (and of giving birth), she's still putting up with a lot.  She would probably kill for a few glasses of wine and she would certainly love to be able to take anything for an upset stomach.  Tylenol can be helpful for aches and pains, but it doesn't always do the trick.  More than anything, I think she would love just a few hours of a break from constantly having to consider her every action.  I think she would love to cut lose.

So, yes, everyone should love her, but, really, everyone should have loved her before, because she is amazing.  And I think it's great that so many people are enthusiastic about people having babies.  I believe that most of these people are genuine in their emotion and that's pretty impressive in this day and age.  Babies aren't just the great unifier, they're the great unifier in love.  They're positive unifier in a world where, more often than not, what unifies us is fear and anger.

Me, I haven't done squat, not really.  I don't know that I've done anything for everyone to be all nice to me about it.  I certainly haven't done what Nicole has.

But I appreciate the thought.  And I appreciate the sense of community.  I don't know how far that will take me, but I appreciate that it exists.

I wonder if they'll still love me in six months.  I have a feeling they might just pity me, particularly when I fall asleep in the chair.

It's week 20!

On Turning 38

Man, I am old.  In Utero came out 20 years ago.  I was a senior in high school then.  I'm pushing 40.

Wow.

The other day I came home from work for lunch, because my office is close enough that I can drive home for lunch and because the environment is flexible enough that I can take more than an hour and it's not a big deal.  I came home for lunch and as I was opening the front door, I thought about my life and what I had to show for it.  And I thought to myself that I had a lot to show for it.  And that is really strange.

I'm not an optimistic guy, not by trade.  I have thrived on the exact opposite for many, many years.  And, let's be honest, being a writer means you are constantly paralyzed by self-doubt.  You are constantly wondering if what you're doing matters.  There is, in fact, a part of me that thinks that if my writing isn't out there for the world, I have, on some level, failed.

But that's a much smaller part of me than it used to be.

I came home to this wonderful house that Nicole and I inherited and that we've spent two years making ours.  I came home to this wonderful gift that her parents gave us that I will be eternally grateful for, regardless of all the baggage that came with it.  I came home to a house that has known a lot of love for more than three decades, a house that has always been a home, and will be one for decades to come.

I came home to our two cats, two of the most ridiculous animals you will ever meet, two small creatures that I care for beyond logic.  These cats played an integral role in my relationship with Nicole.  I have known them as long as I've known her.  They make me happy in a way that most people don't make me happy.  They are an essential part of my life and only people with cats will understand that.

I came home to the life that Nicole and I have built together, the life that we are, day in an day out, continuing to build together.  This is the life I'm making with the most amazing person I know, whose love for me has never stopped being astonishing.  When my mind wanders and I think about the twists and turns my life has taken, I think that if I'd ever changed anything, I would always end up with her.  All paths lead to Nicole.  All paths will always lead to Nicole.

I came home to a house that has new carpet, new carpet installed in part because it needs to be clean, and it needs to be clean for a baby to crawl around on.  It will be 19 and a half weeks when this is published, almost half way.  There is a baby coming and I don't think he realizes just how much love he's going to get.

When I came home that evening after work, I brought the mail.  I came home with my contributor's copy of Best New Writing.  I opened it up and I found my short story listed under the Editor's Picks, the handful of stories that were finalists for the award.  My story made it into this literary journal because it's good, and it's good because every single day I become a better writer.  Every single day I learn and I grow and on most of those days, I write.  I look forward to the release of the issue and more people reading my work.

I come home to my home office, the one that Nicole worked tirelessly on.  It's a room that screams "Kyle," and no one else.  It is my space.  It is the one place in all the world that is purely, essentially, me.  And I look at the bookshelf and I see a copy of "I Pray Hardest When I'm Being Shot At," my first published book.  And I think about my grandmother, who, to this day, will send me e-mails about how she opens the book up to random sections and begins reading, and how much happiness that brings her.  I think about my Papa and I think that he is probably very happy and smiling down on us.

So here I am, 37 as I write this, 38 when it is published.  Here I am, with my glass of Jack Daniels, taking stock of my life.

Here I am, happy.

Isn't that all we can ask for?

I'm Having an Existential Crisis

Many of you are probably think "well, it's a day ending in 'y'" because I tend to rethink my entire life on a regular basis (can it really be REthinking if I'm always thinking about it?).  But right now there appears to be a confluence of events determined to set my head spinning.

The biggest is obviously the fact that, in five months, I'm going to be a father.  That's pretty heady shit right there, but I'm doing pretty well with it, I think, at least on a conscious level.  I will admit to feeling more nostalgic than normal and that said nostalgia is only going to get worse as we creep into October, my favorite month of the year.  My desire to act like an irresponsible child is even greater than usual, and it's usually pretty great.

And, let's face facts, the number of mind challenging questions that having a child raises is off the charts.  The only thing that will prevent me from wallowing in thought when this kid is born is going to be actually having to take care of him.

The most prominent issue I'm dealing with -- more prominent than having a child simply because it's happening right now -- is that my boss at work is leaving.  This is something of a mindfuck for many reasons, not the least of which is that he's a great boss.  My job is actually enjoyable, more or less, because I work with him.  The entertainment value alone is going to drop drastically when he's gone.  On top of that, he's the kind of guy who considers all conversations worthwhile, although I don't know that he'd phrase it like that.  He's fond of talking through a problem, or at least seeing where a discussion will take you.  He thinks creativity is important, even if we don't get a lot of chances to use it.  He's also a funny dude.

I'm taking his job when he leaves, which technically means I'm getting a promotion.  The problem is that his
Found at http://thenonist.com/job is not unlike that first ex-significant other: I don't really want it, but I don't want anyone else to have it, either.  I just can't picture myself actually working for someone else, particularly when, at this point, I'd probably know more than them simply because I've been here longer.  But my boss had an enthusiasm for his job that I simply don't have.  My job doesn't always feel like a 9 hour a day prison sentence because of the environment, but that's probably going to change.

I have to take his job, though.  Aside from the aforementioned unwillingness to let anyone else have it, there's simple fact that it will mean an increase in pay.  That whole "having a kid" thing makes earning more money very, very important.

Of course my other concern with the new job is that I'll have less time to write which is, obviously, an extremely big concern for when we have the kid.  But here's the main difference in those concerns: I'm going to be really passionate about the kid, so not being able to write as often will be less painful.  I am not, however, passionate about my job, which means I will probably start to resent it.  And then I'll get cranky.

And with writing, there's the ever present stress of not doing enough.  There's the stress of not writing enough and the stress of not getting published enough.  There's the feeling that I should be, could be doing more.  There's a ticking clock in my head at all times.

You will no doubt laugh and/or roll you eyes about this point, but it's in keeping with the perfect storm of events that's making me nutty (or nuttier than normal): the Cleveland Indians are in contention for a playoff spot.

Yeah, fine, not the type of thing that causes an existential crisis, but it's certainly something that breaks down my defenses.  Each game is important and the stress is getting to me.  Don't get me wrong, it's nice for them to be playing meaningful baseball in September, but I get really invested and so it's hard for me to calm down.  Funny how the above things would be happening now.

Speaking of the timing, I will be 38 soon, so that's not helping.  It's not that I feel old, because I don't.  But birthdays make me nostalgic and even more withdrawn than normal.  I tend to shut down and hide around my birthday each year.

The question, then, is what is the point of all of this whining?  What am I trying to say?  Or is the whining the point in and of itself?

I'll have to write a follow-up to this in five months; I have a feeling it will be very different.