George R. Shirer's Blog, page 7

What do you want? What do you need?

When we're children, we're often asked by adults what we want to be when we're grown up? The usual answer is some kind of profession. Fireman. Policeman. Soldier. Doctor. Dancer.
If someone asked me that question today, I don't know how I would answer it.
What do you want to be?
I don't know. Rich? Happy? Powerful? Younger? Healthier? Slimmer? Hairier?
You'll note that no profession entered into my answer. Because a job is not a goal. A job is a means to a goal. And I think everyone's goal should be something more intangible than physical.
I would like to be rich. A million dollars would suit me just fine.
I would like to be happy. Sometimes, I don't feel like I'm happy, just 'content.' Not the same thing.
I would like to be powerful. As in, I would like my voice to carry real weight with the world at large.
I would like to be younger. If I could turn back my personal odometer, I'd set it so my body is 23 and my mind is unaffected. (Oh the trouble I could get into!)
I would like to be healtheir. I'm doing okay, but there's always room for improvement en regards to health. Right?
I would like to be slimmer. Because I'm a bit vain and I think it would be nice not to have to struggle to find clothes that fit. I've come a long way in the last few years, but my weird girth can still be challenging.
I would like to have more hair. Again, this is all about vanity. I started to lose my hair when I was in my teens and now, well, throw me in a cassock and I could probably pass for a monk of some type. At least, in appearance. So it would be lovely to have a full head of thick, black hair again.
But, these are just things that I want. They aren't things that I actually need.
So, what do you need?
That's a good question and, beyond the obvious stuff like food, shelter, etc. I don't really know.
I suppose I should give it some thought.

The Perils of Tsundoku

The problem, when you finish reading one book, is that you must choose a new one to start. For most people that isn't a problem, but I, alas, am a victim/practicioner of tsundoku.  For those of you who don't know what that is, it's the practice of acquiring and stacking books that you intend to read at some future point.
I have several stacks of books, scattered about my bedroom. And I have absolutely no idea what to read next.
The current candidates are:
Shambhala: The Sacred Path of the Warrior by Chogyam Trungpa
The Windup Girl by Paolo Bacigalupi
and Magic Lessons by Alice Hoffman.
Any suggestions as to which to read next?

Nomadlife

 I just finished reading Nomadland by Jessica Bruder. I tried watching the movie, but the pace was fucking glacial and I got bored. So, while I was out the other day, I bought a copy of the book.

And you know what?  The book is better.

Shocker! Right?

Heh.

Anyway, the book is very interesting. In case you don't know, Jessica Bruder is a journalist who reports on the various subcultures in American society. In Nomadlife she focuses on the vanlifers, people who have chosen to live in vans and cars, to escape the crushing debt of 21st century life. Most of the people that Bruder interviewed and focused on were senior citizens, who seem to have lost everything through bad luck and the accumulation of debt. She focuses predominantly on the story of a woman named Linda May, who is in her sixties, when she becomes a vandweller.

I'll admit that this wasn't my first exposure to the whole vanlife experience. I know who Bill Wells is and I've seen younger vanlifers posting trendy videos on YouTube. Also, vanlife videos tend to get lumped in with the 'tiny house dwellers' in YouTube algorithm. Start looking at tiny houses and you'll eventually come across a video of someone living in their van.

Bruder's book, however, is a lot more honest than most of the videos. You get a strong sense that the people she's interviewed don't see themselves as victims. They see themselves as hacking the system, getting out of a rigged game that they just don't want to play any more. The vanlifers on YT are younge people who seem less genuine, in comparison, and more slick with their sponsored ads and curated content. More affected. Less real.

Overall, I'd recommend Nomadlife. It was a good read and I learned things that I did not know before I picked it up. It's scraped away a lot of the romanticism of living life in a vehicle, while portraying its interviewees, not as victims, but matter-of-fact pragmatists.

God Smiling

Sun shining so bright,it was like God was smiling.More days like this, please.

Books & Movies & Writing, oh my!

 I slept in today and it was nice. Because when I finally got up, the sky was gray and it was drizzling rain. Again. 

I am so tired of rain.

Thank heavens it eventually cleared up and the sun came out. It was the sun that drew me out of the house and along the streets, to one of the few bookstores left in my city. There, I bought a copy of Nomadland, the book that the recent movie is based upon. I tried watching the movie, mainly because I think Frances McDormand is an excellent actress, but found it far too slow and boring. I'm hoping that the book will be more engaging.

And, speaking of book, I have the urge to write something for the first time in ages. I've had incomplete works flitting about my head for a while, but I feel like I can maybe get something short down on paper. (Well, on screen. I haven't written anything on paper since my old electric typewriter packed it in, ages and ages ago.) So, I may have something new showing up on my Amazon Page in the future. *fingers crossed*

Less a Pleasure, More an Obligation

On Sunday evenings, I get together with a group of friends. We play games: tabletop RPGs, cards, board games.  It's generally a nice time and I usually look forward to it.
But today, the sun was out and the sky was clear and the thought of gaming just didn't inspire excitement or joy. Perhaps, because of the weather, game night felt less like a pleasure and more like an obligation.
And then, game night was cancelled. Two of the group weren't able to attend and our host wasn't feeling well. It was probably something he ate. So, all of a sudden, I have the night to myself.
And what do I do with this wonderful free time? I drive. I drive out to the overpriced book store in the fancy schmancy mall on the northeast side of town. I drive to a cool little gas station I know of that has the BEST hamburgers. And then, I drive home.
And now I'm sitting in my bedroom, on a second-hand couch that is super-comfy. I've showered and my scalp is still a bit damp. The lights are off and I have a couple of candles burning, as well as some lotus incense.
And I'm sitting here, typing this, feeling cozy and warm and generally content.
There are worse ways to spend a Sunday night.

Sunny and clear and DRY!

 I'm writing this at work, which is weird and I feel like I should be hurrying even though I'm actually a partner in the business and not an actual employee. But it's been a pretty good day so far, even if I am doing a water fast. Plus, the weather is nice (sunny and clear and DRY!) which is a nice bonus.

Hope y'all are having a good day!

Tired

 It's been a long, tiring day.  So y'all will please excuse me for not writing anything tonight? I just want to take a shower and maybe go to bed early. 

A Sad Day :(

Today is a sad day for me.  This morning, I received word that my friend, J. Tuberski, had passed away. I am not entirely surprised by this news as Tuberski had a history of heart/circulatory problems. He was about 7 feet tall and I'm told that very tall people often have similar issues. I know that he was on a plethora of blood pressure related medications.
It's been a while since we spoke, but we would email quite a bit.
I'm sad, but I'm doing okay. I'm sitting here, thinking about my friend and remembering his life. I think he had a good one. I think he enjoyed his life. I think that the one thing that would have made his life better is if he could have found a quality lady to share it with. I think he would have liked to have been a husband and father.
My friend is gone now and I will miss him. But I take comfort in the fact that he had a good life that he seemed to enjoy. I hope his passing was gentle.
Goodbye, Tuberski.

Boozy Writers Withering Away in Unheated Garrets

It occurs to me that when I write poetry, I am seldom inspired by anything 'bright' and 'good.' I usually write when I'm feeling down or angry. Negative emotions seem to fuel those particular creative fires, and so I wonder if I need a more stressed and negative environment to write anything at all?  It's an interesting question, at least from my point of view. And if it's true, it might explain that old trope of the boozy writer whithering away in an unheated garret.
If there is any truth to it then I'm afraid I won't ever be a successful write. I enjoy comfort far too much to sacrifice it for 'art.'
Does that make me weak? Or sensible?