August 2012 Newsletter

August 2012

Top Forty

http://topforty.blogspot.com/

has been updated. It's where I try to do an overview of all the online journals I've been working on
(or neglecting, as the case may be)
and it's a work in progress, and will keep changing from day to day.

I stared a new one called Notebook Journals
http://notebookjournals.blogspot.com/

which is a project where I've gone to my oldest existing notebook and started typing journal entries in chronological order.
It could be interesting... we'll see.

Another one, Henry Reed's Journal

http://duanereed.blogspot.com/

was a "private" journal, which I've since made "public" and have decided to revive.

And I started this new photo oriented journal called The Talbe

http://randysrussell.tumblr.com/

That's not a typo. It's The Talbe!

I'm going to go out on a limb and say there are worse ways you could spend your time than

http://www.amazon.com/Zigzag-ebook/dp/B0087OS2T2

and

http://www.facebook.com/randyrussellzigzag

and

http://www.frankielatina.com/modus_operandi.html

Thank you, and have a pleasant evening.

Randy Russell

The "Haven't written here in over a year" Entry

I have all but abandoned this journal, but in my fragile memory, I never even started this journal, like a notebook with your name on the first page and the rest empty pages. But I just now scrolled through, looking at past entries, and to my surprise, there's a lot here! Some good stuff, too. Like that Altoids thing. And the Nightrider... funny! The all white with black hat look! Okay, I'm just looking at the pictures, but I assume there is some stuff worth reading here. I live in NYC and it's been THREE YEARS since I've been to the Met? I guess that's why a journal like this is valuable, to me, anyway, or any journal. I have always, pretty much since I was 12 or so, anyway, kept a journal in a notebook (I mean, there might have been some lean years). It's as much a part of my life as talking to people. Since the "blog" was invented, and I'm not sure when that was, those things have undergone tremendous popularity, and compared to people who write in notebooks, it's off the charts. Lately, however, I've noticed a lot of negativity toward blogs, at the least in general, the idea of it, and I am predicting their numbers will dwindle dramatically in the upcoming years. I think there will still be a lot though, and some good ones. I read them quite frequently, actually, more than any other kind of journalism. Hopefully these free blog sites will hold on, too, but if they don't, I think I will continue somehow, like via my own website.

It's been nearly a year since I wrote in this one, but I think I'm going to try to use it again, now, seeing how I have enjoyed looking over the past entries. Maybe the difference between a blog and an online journal is that the journal is primarily for yourself, like your journal in a notebook. Why make it public then? Well, I guess that makes it more fun, maybe makes it seem more vital. There is a little energy derived from something being "live." Would I read it if I wasn't me? That's hard to say, but I think so, at least sometimes.

When I started this journal it was set as "private" meaning that I had to invite people to read it, and they would have to follow up on the invitation, and then log in to read it and all that, which pretty much meant that like one or two people ever read it at all. The reason I did that was because I was looking for a job, or another job, and I wanted to complain about my job in these pages, and if you're looking for a job these days they likely "google" you and if they see a blog where you're complaining about your job, that can be reason enough for them not to hire you. As it turns out, I've stayed in the same job for over four years, I'm not actively looking for another one, I don't write about work much anyway, and "blogger" is one of the websites that is blocked at my workplace anyway. So now I've just decided to make this journal "public" and not worry about it.

Talking about work, I had a really weird work dream last night, or one that was based at my job. I was on an errand somewhere, and I was in the lobby of this bank and there were several celebrities who went in and out of the bank while I was there. I was telling myself I was going to look them up online once I got to a computer. But as far as I can recall, I have yet to have a dream where I'm actually looking someone up online in the dream.

Okay, well, we'll see how it goes. This journal.

Saturday the 14th (start of a new franchise)

I haven't written anything here in awhile, so how about a dream? I just woke up five minutes ago. I was working in a temp job where I reported to a dingy backroom somewhere with a lot of clutter and an old computer screen on a workbench. My boss was a guy who always wore a welding mask, so I thought he was old, but then he lifted it up and he was half my age. He was a good guy, I felt. I don't remember my job there, but they sent me over to be a cashier at some kind of electronics parts store. This store confused me when I went in, and I got in a checkout line like I was a customer. I think it was like Sam's Club for both commercial and consumer electronic parts. I was in long line, and I was eating some chunks of pineapple. A short woman in line in front of me, said, "Hey, can I have some of that coconut?" just as I put the last hunk of pineapple in my mouth. I didn't chew it yet, and she persisted, so I said, "Do you want this one." She nodded yes, so I took it out of my mouth (even though I have a sore throat, in real life) and gave it to her and she ate it. I said something, admiring her lack of squeamishness. Then I reached the customer help window, but I had no idea what I was to do there, so I left. But somehow I worked in the store all day as a cashier, though I don't remember it.

Later, at 4 p.m., I reported back to my boss with the welding mask. I was to work until 4:30, so I was trying to kill time until then. I went out on a little errand in the neighborhood. This was a small town, very quiet and residential, no people on the street. I came to an intersection, and there was an Asian woman standing there absently. Then I heard what sounded like a gunshot, though I thought it might be a firecracker. I heard another, and then glass breaking, as if someone shot out a window. The Asian woman became suddenly terrified, said "They're shooting," or something like that, and ran off in the other direction. Then I was afraid, and I started running across backyards, and I kept seeing someone duck out behind houses somewhere in front of me, who I presumed was the person who was shooting. I kept trying to get away from him, but I wasn't able to. I was terrified. That's when I woke up, from what I would describe as a nightmare, even though it's daytime and there was nothing about horses.

Why do I feel like Rod Serling is about to pop out?

Every day I think of something I'd like to write about in this journal, but by the time I'm home in the evening I have forgotten it! But today there was an event that was so disturbing, I have had no trouble remembering it. Actually, this story starts about two weeks ago when I had an errand to pick up something from an office high above Union Square. After I picked up the document, I pushed the button to take the elevator down, and it stayed red for only a second then went out. I tried to push it again, and it went out. I tried again... same thing. So I figured that the light was broken and I just waited. And waited. No elevator. Before long, a guy came out of another office and pushed the down button. I was about to say something to him about it being broken, but it stayed lit, then, and the elevator soon came.

So today, same thing, pick up the document, go to the elevator, and then I remembered the previous incident. No way that is going to happen again, I think. I pushed the down button and... it went out. I pushed it again and again, and each time it went right out. What the hell?! I tried several variations, like holding the button down longer, and pressing it multiple times in a row. Pressing it lightly. Pressing it hard. Finally, I just stepped back and stared at it. Just then, a guy came out of another office, walked up to the elevator, pressed the button, and the light stayed on. The elevator soon came. As we rode down, I wanted to ask the guy what was with the elevator button. Was there a trick? But he was talking intently on his cell phone the whole time. Communication with him was impossible.

Green

I had intended this journal as something to write in every day, or almost, not worry too much about artfulness or polish of writing. Somehow I got into a rut of having to have a subject and an idea, and almost make it like a clever little article or a story. Then I just end up neglecting it, because I'm too tired to write something like that every day. I even have an odd story, but just no energy to write it out. So today I decided this has to change. I want this journal to be like an email to a friend, not an article in a publication. I want to write whatever is on my mind that day, even if it's just complaining. Usually one thing will make me think of another thing, though.

So today is like New Year's as far as this journal is concerned. It's wear green and act like a frat guy day, and the first real day of the NCAA basketball tournament, the first week after the time change. The full moon is tomorrow and the Equinox is coming up in about three days. There are also—I noticed in the last couple of days—green things poking up out of the dirt.

At the Brink of Eternity

Coming home from work on the subway, as usual reading my book, and today’s train problem was “a fire at High Street”—so about a half-hour later than usual, if there is a usual. So today, the odd and unusual thing was that I noticed a woman reading an incredibly thick novel—at least I assumed it was a novel—I couldn’t see the title. And what caught my attention was that she was a couple pages from the end. She didn’t seem to be a speed reader either, so I started looking up at her every so often to see how close to the end she was. I wanted to see her finish it! What would happen when she finished the book? Would a bell go off somewhere in the world? Would her head light up like a plastic star on the top of a Christmas tree? Would time unfold like the tablecloth on the plane of existence and then fold us back in, never to be seen again?


As it turned out, she was still not done with the book—though I swear she was on the LAST PAGE—when we came to my stop. But to my surprise and delight, she got off at my stop—and kept reading as she walked! So I followed her, of course. Down the platform, still reading, through the turnstile, reading, up the stairs to the street—still reading! When she emerged from the depths, onto the street, she was still reading, and I was still right behind her. When we came to the first corner, however, she headed east, while my direction was north. Now I had to make a decision, and I chose to stop following her. That was where I drew the line, I decided. Maybe I missed something... maybe I lost something... maybe I escaped something—I’ll never know.

Didn't See This Coming

For quite awhile now I've pretty much depended on ALTOIDS peppermints to settle my stomach. I know they're essentially candy, and have too much sugar in them, but they also have real peppermint, which is good. Better than taking Tums or Rolaids all the time, is my justification. Plus, I like them. So, I wasn't too happy to get my latest metal tin and open it to see their latest bizarre slogan... or whatever that is supposed to be. Andie MacDowell isn't crazy about it either.

Knowledge Is So So

I’ve been listening to a lot of old David Bowie records lately, so getting songs stuck in my head. One day last week, almost 40 years after it was released, I was thinking about the album (and song) Aladdin Sane, and I finally got the pun (“A Lad Insane”). It just occurred to me while I was washing the dishes or vacuuming or something. I’m probably the last living person to get that pun. It’s kind of disappointing, actually.

A lot of the 1970s Bowie songs that sounded so exotic to me for so long are starting to, finally, after 40 years, lose their glittery paint and sound a lot closer to Bill Haley and the Comets than extraterrestrial space aliens. Maybe I have always expected too much and listened too gently, but still, it’s kind of sad.

This idea that knowledge is good, knowledge is good, knowledge is good, is something I’d like to challenge. At least for myself. Knowledge is addictive. Knowledge is fun. Knowledge is intoxicating. Knowledge costs money, and takes time, and is deceiving. It can also be disappointing, sad, depressing, devastating, and on and on. So I don’t know about “good.”

Groundhog Day/Hedgehog Day

This is about the movie PRIMER, but I don't want to describe the movie, so if you haven't seen it, stop reading right here, because this will otherwise make no sense.

The movie was supposed to come from Netflix, but was several days late, so I had them send another one, which came promptly. We didn't watch it however, and then, after about a week, the originally shipped one came. So now I've got TWO DVDs of the same movie.

Perfect.

I thought about playing them almost at the same time on two different devices. But I figured that would be overkill. n

January Roundup

I had a pretty good job offer, out of the blue (I won't go into details) around the middle of January. Then an interview, and then waiting. The rest of January turned into waiting. Why do I let myself do that? I guess there are certain situations that just don't come around often enough to learn from, and then you end up making the same mistakes over and over and over.

Another birthday, and now I'm 51. Sometimes that just sounds incredibly young to me.

I'm still working on my novel. When I started it, I was in my 30s. That's the truth.

It snowed a lot this January. Maybe I'll try to put another snow picture here or there.

One More Asshole For The Road

I really don’t like myself when I complain too much, and I really do believe I’m so lucky, just fortunate in so many ways. It seems not only unattractive to complain and whine, but also inappropriate, or just wrong. But some days are a little more rough than others, and sometimes interestingly so, at least enough to write about briefly. Today was just pretty significantly exhausting in more way than one. Another work day at my job I don’t like, and I was thinking how this was the longest week and a half of work I’ve ever experienced. This is not the way to start a year, I was thinking, unless I can somehow insure that it just gets better, which of course I can’t. But in fact, when I think about it for two seconds, I think about how good I do have it, everything, compared to so many people.

Anyway, I’ve been working at this place as a kind of temp (though more permanent and regular than a temp) at the same place for two and a half years. Today they unofficially offered to hire me as a regular employee, which would mean a significant increase in pay. So, as positive as that should be, I felt conflicted, thinking, really, shouldn’t I find a whole different job, a better paying job, a job I like better, and just generally something new? Of course it’s still a really rough time for finding a job, and this is a rough town for finding a job, especially for someone like me who is now officially “older” and who doesn’t have job skills that match up with what a lot of employers consider important. But would saying "yes" be like flashing my ID at the Gates of Hell? So in a way, I felt excited, but conflicted. A little emotional, which, you know, contributes to letting your guard down.

While considering all this, I got yelled at really inappropriately for something that was not my fault, but of course you can never stick up for yourself (considered “crazy” behavior)—it’s like telling them “you’re wrong.” Well, as I often dwell on, I am really not good about getting blamed for something that I shouldn’t be blamed for, ever since that grade school bus driver marched into the back of the bus and beat me over the head with his plastic ball bat, for fighting, which I was not, of course. I know I should just get over that, Dr. Cochrane, but you know, if I haven’t gotten over it in like forty years, it’s not likely to happen any time soon.

Escaping the workplace each day isn’t the end, there is still the subway to deal with, and the grocery store, and generally the population. I think that New York is the most amazing place I’ve ever lived, in that there are so many people at such close quarters, yet such tolerance and really, mellowness, relatively, anyway. But still, some days I just want to get home untouched, un-talked-to, and when I do get home for the evening, it’s such a relief. Due to the day’s mega-stress, I decided to take a hot bath, and in the middle of my bath I heard banging out in the hall, though nothing too alarming, and then Cindy called, just arriving outside, I guess, and said there where fire trucks and an ambulance outside. So I looked out in the hall for smoke, and there was fireman coming down the stairs from the roof. He went by my bike, which is locked to a railing in the hall, hitting it with his fire axe.

I asked, “What’s going on?” wondering if I should get dressed and get out of the building, naturally, or what. He just mumbled something unintelligible, then said, “You can’t have your bike in the hall. Get it out of the hall.” Then he proceeded down the stairs. I assumed, at that point, there was not a raging fire, at least. I'm sure firefighters have a stressful job, and more false alarms that you can imagine, and get tired of hearing things like, “Is there a fire?” but hell, from my point of view it wasn’t like this was a real person, or a real even. It was just one more asshole this day was throwing at me before I finally got to relax. But then, I guess you have to add, at least it wasn't a fire.

Museum of Art of the Moment Alright

One of my errands at work today was to go to the DOT (Department of Transportation) and pick up some kind of summons or something. I love errands like this, it makes my job seems bearable, even fun. It’s in an office building way downtown, near Wall Street, that big kind of government building, though only average security, really pretty relaxed. It’s an office you just WISH you could get a job at, things piled around here and there, very homey for an office. The employees seem pretty relaxed and going at their own, human pace.

So I’m waiting in the front of the office in some chairs by the door (there is no receptionist) while the guy takes care of my paperwork. I’m there about 20 minutes, just observing the place. There is an insane amount of Christmas decorations, hanging glittery snowflakes and stars, fake snow everywhere, including a big fake snow blanket draped over a copy machine, with a couple of elves on top of it. No way they’re going to be able to USE that copy machine! And then by the front wall is a whole scene; it’s the North Pole, with a paper igloo taped to the wall and a handmade sign that says: “North Pole”—very well done, actually, with nice lettering and icicles hanging from it. There are a bunch of wire sculpture reindeer standing about, pretty big ones, like major lawn ornament things. There is just a ton of some kind of white powdery stuff, to replicate snow, dumped all over the deep blue carpet in front of the igloo. These are just all-out winter/Christmas decorations!

But while I’m sitting there, admiring the scene, for no apparent reason, the igloo takes this opportunity to free itself from the wall—I guess the tape wore out—and limply plopped over into the snow. The back of it is brown paper, and there are big loops of packing tape which formerly held it to the wall. I’m sitting there in amazement, just staring at the fallen-over igloo. And I was thinking: there are a lot of museums in this town, and galleries, and more art than any one person could take in even if it was their fulltime job. But this little dilapidated winter scene, and the falling-over igloo, this is, without a doubt, the best art in all of New York at this moment.

I am the Nightrider!

I always liked this scene at the beginning of Mad Max (1979), for some reason, where the Nightrider is driving this stolen hotrod with his girlfriend, and they’re both high, or crazy, or both, and the police are after them, but pretty powerless to catch them because they’re just fearless. They’re just tearing along at high speeds while the police keep crashing, and he’s taunting them on a police radio, and he seems pretty indestructible, until finally, of course, Mad Max goes after him.

I guess it just occurred to me that this is how I feel about writing, sometimes, where things are going well and you just feel reckless and good, with no fear—complete confidence. You wish it could always be that way, but you know, deep inside, how that would mean you’re not human, and anything you write would be worthless anyway. I suppose there are people who just are always confident and with no fear, but they’re pretty annoying, aren’t they?

But soon enough, it always happens, no matter how well the writing—or whatever you’re doing—is going, you get to a point where you doubt everything—where you feel like you’ve just lost it. But hopefully you realize that won’t last either. It always goes back and forth, and that’s okay. I guess knowing that is one of the things that makes it bearable.

This still of the Nightrider and his girlfriend is from this scene that illustrates perfectly that moment when total, insane confidence instantly changes to fear. The next time I’m trying to write something—which is pretty much any time I try to write something—and I feel any confidence I’ve had erode to nothing, I’m going to think of this scene. You were going along at 100 mph and there was nothing going to stop you, but just like that, you lose it all—because Mad Max is on your ass.

Happy New Year!

I went headfirst into the first day of the new year confidently believing that the Rose Bowl college football game between Wisconsin and TCU would be on broadcast TV. I’m pretty sure every Rose Bowl of the past, and all the major bowl games, have been on broadcast TV. I’m sure of it, because each year I’m aware of what I can watch and what I can’t—the lesser bowl games being only available on cable. So even though the online TV listings said it was on ESPN, and the football listings said the same—well, I guess because ESPN and ABC are affiliated, and often a game will be scheduled out to the network at the last minute, based on regional interest—I just assumed it would end up on ABC. But no!

I felt like I was going insane. I mean, really, this should not surprise me or be a big deal. There are a lot of bigger things, more important and dire things, that should be a big deal to me. Yet somehow this seems like a really significant milestone. But it seems to have been ignored by the vast public. Maybe it’s just a sign of how out of it I am. I can’t escape the uneasy feeling that sooner than I think I’m going to find myself being held down by vacant eyed device zombies while they implant a chip into my neck or tattoo me with a barcode. Am I just overreacting?

Reading Devices

I’m not crazy about the big office supply chain stores, but as they have pretty much put the little stores out of business, what can you do? I have one nice thing to say about Staples, anyway. They have this program where you can take in used printer cartridges for recycling and get store credit (you can return a maximum of 10 cartridges a month for $20 credit—and while most people won’t use that many at home, at the office where I work, we go through enough that my coworker and I can each return 10 a month). So yesterday I was able to take this credit letter they sent me in the mail and get my office supply needs for free. I bought a box of envelopes to mail more of my calendars, and a new notebook, for 2011 (always an exciting thing to find).

When I was about to leave the checkout line, a guy asked a clerk if they had any Kindles left, and the clerk said they were all sold out. That struck me as kind of odd. Can you imagine having to turn down a sale of that size, just because you are out of stock? And why was this guy so keen on getting a Kindle at that moment—presumably too late to be a Christmas gift—was he suddenly keen on reading something that his Kindle would provide him? Does the popularity of the Kindle mean popularity in reading? How much do people read, anyway, and what do they read? Is this an area where statistics are any good at all?

I really don’t know how I feel about these reading devices, or whether I think it reflects on how much people read or what they read. I know that whenever I see someone reading a BOOK it kind of makes me happy, even though it’s usually a Harry Potter book or The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I read quite a bit of text on my computer, after all. I guess what it comes down to is when I think about the last book I read, or the last several, or the many books I’ve read over the years, if I imagine reading them on a reading device, a Kindle, or a computer, or a phone, the idea horrifies me. Maybe it isn’t so much what I think the problems with new ways to read are as it why does the book as an object hold so much fascination for me? Is it—again, like so many things—just nostalgia?