Josh Hanagarne's Blog, page 6

ALA Recap – Bropocalypse and Baby Talking Supermodels

Hi all,

I’m back from the hellish cesspool of Las Vegas. I usually like walking around the strip and gawking, but I realized something this time around: I’d never been there in the summer. It was as oppressive as Orwell’s Ministry of Love.

My talk and signings at the ALA (American Library Association) went swimmingly, and hanging out with my betters in the library world is always fun.

Happily, adding librarians to a situation improves everything, because the situation was in desperate need of improvement.

The casino was hideous. The hotel was the nicest I’ve stayed in, but the casino…It was a bropocalypse of sideways hats and smoking and strutting guys talking out the corner of they mouths like the studs they were. I heard one guy saying to his homeboy, “And then man, she told me that every girl in that room said I was a ten, and then but like I didn’t know, I didn’t hear about it until I left. And bro, they all thought I was a ten, and I didn’t even get to make a play, because I didn’t know they thought I was a ten, and so but like the…”

Indeed.

But the true diadem in the tiara of my experience came from someone who occasionally wears a tiara on TV. I got onto an elevator Saturday morning to find Tyra Banks in there with a guy who sort of looked like Gordon Ramsey, but wasn’t. She immediately turned the mirrors, possibly to avoid being recognized and spoken to.That I sympathize with, I’m sure she gets an obscene amount of unwanted (????) attention.

There were some slurpy kiss noises.

I saw her head turn. She was looking at the elevator button.

She said, in a very extreme baby talk voice:

“I’m super sad because I wish dis elevatuh was going to da spa, but iss not.” And she sounded very sad.

I don’t know anything about Tyra Banks and I hope she’s a wonderful person. She was tall, and I believe we felt some solidarity in that.

However, baby talk in adults is always the wrong choice. Take heed.

 

 

A Brief History Of Not Realizing Someone Is Missing A Limb

A recent and unsuccessful attempt to solve a robbery has reminded me that I have a strange problem. Let me back up a bit.

Maybe ten years ago I watched the movie Snow Falling on Cedars. This isn’t a spoiler since it’s obvious from the beginning, to everyone but me, but the fact that Ethan Hawke’s character is missing an arm is a big deal in the movie. I didn’t realize he only had one arm until the movie was nearly over. “Hey why is his jacket pinned up like that?” Indeed.

I watched all of Twin Peaks the next year, and then watched the movie Fire Walk With Me. One of the significant characters is a man with one arm. In the credits he is referred to as “The one armed man,” I believe. Somehow, I did not realize he only had one arm until people started referring to him as only having one arm. It’s way more obvious in Twin Peaks than in Snow, but, yes, I don’t know what else to say about that. Didn’t catch it.

Which brings us up to Tuesday of this very week, when a wonderful library patron asked for help. I have probably seen this elderly gentleman every day that I’ve worked for the past two years. He always sits in the same place, in the department where I always work.

Someone stole his backpack. He didn’t see who it was. After trying unsuccessfully to locate the backpack, I apologized and held out my hand to shake it. He laughed. Then he offered me his other hand. Because, as you will no longer be surprised to hear, his other hand was missing. I had tried to shake the stump of his wrist, which was sporting a very snazzy watch, but no hand.

So then, if you find yourself among the limbless, I want you to know that you will always feel safe in my company. You could be missing both arms and I would still be inviting you to come play tennis with me, innocently and with the best of intentions. Except I hate tennis and would never invite someone to go play, but I’m sure there’s another example.

Interview With Arthur Conan Doyle

Here is some incredibly charming footage of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle talking about his most famous creation, Sherlock Holmes. This just made my day, and my day was already going pretty well.

If you want an interesting story, look up the history between Doyle (a spiritualist) and post-escapist-career Harry Houdini, who went on to become a tenacious debunker of mysticism, seances, etc. Great stuff.

 

New Addictions – Swagger, Sauviness, etc

I’m not a fan of addiction, despite sharing some fondness for the oft-heard mantra that anything worth doing is worth overdoing. If you need something, you aren’t as free as you might be.

That said, I’ve become a happy slave to an idiotic pastime.

If you’re in the mood to laugh, groan, and/or pick up some serious street cred, do this:

1. Go to a search engine

2. Type in variations of “How to be cool,” “How to be suave,” “How to be an alpha male (or female),” “How to be irresistible,” “How to flirt,” and then ONLY READ THE WIKIHOW articles, which are usually at the top of the results list.

This has come about largely because of all of the peacockin’ men who come into the library. The guys who come up swaggering as if they are being paid a fortune simply to exist are usually the ones who whisper, “Hey yo, where the books about being cool at?”

I can’t get enough. It’s been a while since I’ve laughed this hard. Wikihow. Do it.

 

 

The Following Post Smolders

This is me as a sophomore, I think, in high school. It is crucial that I point something out: that hair is chemically straightened. That is a cultivated look. I had to have it, and I got it, by Jove.

If you could see the rest of the picture, you’d notice that I’m not wearing a belt and my legs are as thick as pencils.

Who, o who, was able to deny that smoldering lad?

EVERYONE.

 

 

Looking For Poetry Suggestions

Hi all, I’ve been in a poetry phase for a couple of weeks now. This is only strange because I don’t read much poetry, and have always felt helplessly clumsy when discussing it, or pretending to.

When I was a senior in college I took a modernist poetry class. At the beginning, we each had to tell a poet that we loved and a poet that we hated. I can’t remember who I said I hated, but I had two answers for poets whom I loved.

Shel Silverstein and Dr. Seuss.

I still love them, but am attempting to broaden my horizons a bit, to use a cliche that would be excised from any respectable poem, or so I hear.

So, over to you, geniuses. I’ve liked a lot of poetry from TS Eliot, Margaret Atwood, James Fenton, Dylan Thomas, Auden, and especially Rilke. I’ve mostly read Rilke in French, which seems to make anything sound lovely.

Do you have a favorite poet? A favorite poem? I’m in the mood to try out anything you’ll steer me towards.

Only Lovers Left Alive

I don’t go to movies very often, but I did it last night. Jim Jarmusch’s new movie Only Lovers Left Alive is one of the best movies I’ve seen in years.

There’s not much point in describing the story. Lovers is a movie that was all about the experience of how I felt while watching it. Tilda Swindon–absolutely couldn’t look away from her–and Tom Hiddleston are two vampires in love. They’re married. He is about 500 years old, and she’s a couple of millennia older.

Again, the story isn’t the point, but if I had to describe the plot I’d say:

This is about a week in the life of two vampires. He’s depressed and sick about how humans are treating the planet. She is calm, evolved, and has great taste in music. There’s no gore and very little blood. There is a lot of dancing and gorgeous cinematography.

Seriously, just give it a try. You’ll know within ten minutes whether it’s for you or not. But if it is, I think you’ll adore it.

Also, I’m not a big laugher, and Jarmusch’s movies aren’t high on traditional levity. But I got a big laugh from Lovers. My favorite line, which won’t make any sense without the context of the first two thirds of the movie, and the evolution of the characters, is this:

“Ugh, look at that shit.” I can’t explain why, but this worked so perfectly and I laughed so hard. I really did. It felt good.

Anyone here seen it yet?

New Language Project

Hi all, if you’ve been following the blog for a while, you know about my language addiction. Every year I’m committing to breaking into a new language with daily study, while trying not to let the others backslide too much.

I speak and read great Spanish, serviceable French, and now I’m in the midst of adding Japanese to the mix. I’m much farther into spoken Japanese than I am into learning the Kanji characters, but am committed to a couple of years of studying both.

If you’re into this, the best source for spoken Japanese that I’ve found is the Michele Thomas Japanese CDs.

For Kanji, so far I’m doing well (I think) with the Sticky Study Kanji app on my phone, and a book called Remembering The Kanji.

Any Japanese speakers here? Any tips would be appreciated. Join me! There are few things I enjoy more than learning languages.

 

#Yesallwomen

If you’re on Twitter, or online for that matter, you’ve probably seen the discussion of the hashtag #yesallwomen. This was a response to the hashtag #notallmen.

If none of that makes sense to you, I kind of envy you. An ignorance of social media would be a very nice thing once in a while. But if you’ve been following it, I’m interested in your thoughts. #yesallwomen has generated an enormous amount of discussion about women, sexism, abuse, misogyny, misandry (depending on who you ask), entitlement, sex, and on and on.

I don’t have much to add, but I’ll say this:

I am largely the man I am today because of the strong, kind women I’ve been lucky enough to have in my life. I owe them almost everything (love you too, dad, but I think you’d agree that we both lucked out!).

As to the harassment, sexism, and fear that women have to deal with every day, I won’t even pretend I can understand what it’s like.

But I will do my best to empathize and try not to contribute to the problem.

Grateful to all kind, decent, strong women today. Keep at it.

 

 

“You Don’t Have A Cigarette, maybe?”

Yesterday Max (my 6 year old) and I were walking across a crosswalk. The heat beat down and all was shimmering misery. Then a woman in a purple T shirt appeared. “You don’t have a cigarette, maybe?”

Max looked at her and said, “We don’t have cigarettes. We have Tourette’s.”

If you’re new to the blog, you might not know, but my son and I both have Tourette Syndrome. Mine is extreme, his is currently mild. But wow, this made me laugh.