New Moon or No Moon?

No full Moon, or maybe The Moon has left the orbit... or maybe it's that people are getting laid off left and right at my job... or maybe it's that strange tea the Thai woman gave me, at lunch, and insisted I drink... or perhaps it's that I'm reading Philip K. Dick's Ubik... or was it that I was looking at facebook right before bed, and the news about Hostess... but all night long I dreamt I was eating Shredded Wheat, all night long... when I woke up, half the mattress was gone. That's an old Danny O'Day joke that means I had sick dreams, but in this case the sick dreams took the form of not having the correct connection on a computer cable, and then not having the right program to run something, and then something else that was wrong, totally wrong but abstract, missing, wrong, over and over...

Fortunately, somewhere in there came a flood of concrete, crystal clear, straight (more or less) narrative dreams, a breath of fresh air in comparison. First there was some kind of job dream, though the job was different, my co-workers were around, and in my hand I was holding a 24 ounce cheap can of beer... I popped it open and started drinking it,  very refreshing. One of my co-workers protested that I would become sick, but I said, "No, this will help me." And I did feel better. Then I was in a huge wind-swept apartment high above the city, no one there but an anonymous group of young girls... and my boss... who was walking around totally naked. We all noticed what good shape he was in. We were worried about the terrorists, but he assured us that we shouldn't be, that we were safe, that the time wasn't right, something like that, as he went into the bathroom and closed the door, presumably to bathe.

Next, I was making my passage along busy city streets in the lowlands, trying to get by insane traffic so I could enter the Strand Bookstore. I was carrying a considerable packed lunch, and there I would be able to eat it. When I finally made my way inside the store, however, there was chaos and disarray. The store didn't seem to be open at all but merely full of employees, flitting around like busy bees, completely dismantling the place. I seemed to be invisible... or at least ignored and thought to be an employee, and it occurred to me that I might be able to eat my lunch and simultaneously apply for a job... but would the store still be open tomorrow? Not finding a calm place to sit down and eat, I kept unpacking and repacking a kitchen's worth of silverware I had brought along for some reason, until I finally ran into Elysia Borowy-Reeder who asked me if I wanted a ride up to Chicago where she was giving a talk. Then Andy Noble appeared and said he was driving her there. They were both wearing smart business suits and looked very professional. They encouraged me to go but I said that I wanted to stay there try, try to eat my lunch, and then apply for a job, plus I had a terrible headache (which immediately manifested itself once I lied about it). I thanked them, hugged Elysia, and they left.

Then I walked around the bookstore some more, seeing if maybe I could help with the packing. I came to the children's section (though it didn't look at all like the Strand Bookstore I know) and a live band was warming up, which included several drummers. They started playing, and I walked into another part of the store and actually spoke to a couple of the extremely young employees who continued to pack stuff up. It turned out they weren't going out of business after all but relocating the entire store's stock to Bryant Park for an enormous outdoor festival, celebrating post-hurricane, the apocalypse, defeat of the terrorists, and perhaps The Moon leaving the Earth's orbit. I never did get to eat my lunch.

Tilapia Were Falling From The Sky

I guess hurricane season has become like baseball season—pretty much all but one month a year. But anyway, last Friday I was thinking about anything but hurricanes. The first I heard of Hurricane Sandy was from a guy on the subway who was selling candy and generally raving about a wide variety of subject matter. As much as I tried to ignore him, and read, when he mentioned "Miss Sandy" and how we should stay home next Monday, when I got back to the office I looked at the crystal ball and sure enough, there She was, coming our way. It's not like I never check the weather, but the weather websites usually have so many ads on them it's worse than watching college football on TV. The ads usually jump off the screen and try to disembowel you with dripping fangs, or even worse, you get the spinning rainbow ball and have to force quit. I just can't tolerate that much pain.

There have been long stretches in my life when I had no TV at all, and only recently have I had the internet at home. My phone already wakes me up in the morning and goes with me everywhere but the bathroom, so I don't want to ask it to give me weather updates. So... I very easily could have gotten up this morning and headed off too work, thinking, wow, a lot of wind, I wonder if a snowstorm is coming like last Halloween? I went out for a walk a few hours ago and it was no worse than that, at this point. One of the subway entrances had the measly orange tape (that indicates it's closed) removed, so I could have easily bustled down the steps with my lunch pail and my work attitude, resigned to spend the next nine hours in someone else's garden. At which time I would have been devoured by rats, since, as everyone knows, the only thing that keeps the underground rodent population at bay are the rats of the human variety. As they sucked out my eyeballs and gnawed on my liver, the last thing running through my mind would have been that guy selling candy, "Watch out for Miss. Sandy!"—and me thinking: I thought Sandy was a man.

October 2012 Newsletter

October 2012

New Blog!

STATE THEATER

State Theater will be writing about movies.

Old, new, popular, experimental.

This is also where I'll be posting, one by one, my

100 Favorite Movies of All Time list.

Not necessarily the greatest movies of all time…

except to me.

My website is here:

RANDY RUSSELL

…until next time

Randy Russell

randysrussell@gmail.com

Why Not Ten

It's hard to concentrate on anything else when you're trying to make a big change in your life. And I'm trying to make many big changes. One is trying to make my job better. I raised the issue at my job that I need help. I'm not imagining that I need help. I've been working crap jobs for nearly 40 years, and in that time I've had some difficult jobs, some cushy jobs, some pretty pleasant work situations, and some impossible ones. I've got a pretty good idea of my strengths and my limitations, and what I'm good at and what I'm not good at, and about how much can and should be done in a day. When I say that I am now doing the job of two people, that isn't merely a boast or an exaggeration. That is what I'm doing, and it's wearing on me.

I've also been trying to start my new novel for a year and four months now. Some would call that "writer's block" but I find that term not useful at this point. The happy thing is that I have finally got started on my new novel (though it wouldn't be the first time to get started and then throw it all away and have to start over). My new novel is called... well, it's a secret, and it's about 10 authors who are writing novels. If that sounds similar to The Doughnuts (then you read The Doughnuts, and I'm taking you out to dinner!) that's because it's based on the structure of The Doughnuts. And each of these authors has previously written a novel that hasn't been published yet, and in each case, every person they have given that novel to, to read, has vanished mysteriously.

That means I have to come up with ten names for the ten novels each of these characters has written. Sometimes I think I come up with these crazy ideas just to keep myself going.

September 2012 Newsletter

September 2012



This one is short and sweet.


New website:

randyrussell.org


All corners of the known universe can be reached from there.

Randy (no middle initial) Russell (two S's and two L's)

dot ORG,

as in organic, orgasmic, orgastic, orgiastic, and organized (as in, "One of these days I'm gonna get organizized!")

Happy Tuesday,

Randy Russell

Someone Else Wrote This

I wonder what's behind all those stories about parallel universes, and people having doubles—since there are a lot of those stories—but those things don't really exist, right? At least not in recorded history, or according to science. But there are times when you just get that feeling, I guess.

I've had a lot on my mind lately, a lot of things upsetting me, things I can't write about (for various reasons). I think that writing about the stuff that upsets you is one of the best ways to be less upset about whatever it is, but if you can't write about it, what do you do? I guess I could write in a private notebook rather than in a public journal like this... but I just can't see that. I mean, imagine me with a notebook and a pen! Ha!

Of course. the person I used to be would have written in a notebook with a pen, and that person still exists somewhere. Maybe there are infinite versions of ourselves... a new one for each new moment. A moment being each instance in which something changes. Change being the only constant. Constance being a girl's name. Which reminds me of that poem, "The Main Fact About A Hill." I think that was the name of it. I can't find it anywhere. 

Make It Better

After a week that can only be described as "the week from hell... made in hell, for the dwellers of hell, about hell and only hell, hell all the time," I was on my way home on the Hell Line when it pulled into haunted station. They're all haunted, and this one is no exception. Every single day at this station the haunting clang of a steel drum marks time and geography. I've never seen the steel drummer, or drummers, afraid that they might be skeletons, or guys wearing cargo shorts. I'm not generally a connoisseur of the street musician, which in most cases are heavily sanctioned and inoffensive (to everyone but me)—indeed, I've been heard to threaten, at least under my breath, to shove a pan pipe up a pan piper's ass.

On this day, however, I suddenly took notice, and I really have no reason why—it was the usual steel drum cacophony, in fact, it sounded more disjointed and out of control than usual. Maybe that's why I listened. Somewhere out of the chaos a tune formed, and I soon recognized it as the end of Hey Jude. Not generally a song I've paid much attention to the last ten thousand or so times I've heard it, I almost dismissed it right there, but something made me listen. It was the part of the song, just before the final chorus, where it goes higher, higher higher... indeed a lot higher than a steel drum is capable of. But somehow the notes kept rising... I have no idea how, like they were banging on things, ultimately, other than the drum—maybe a Zippo lighter and a gold tooth.

Now suddenly spellbound, I was listening, and the faintest bit of that final chorus could be heard, that "Naaa, na, na, na na na, naa," part, you know, but so quiet I thought I was imagining it. But then just slightly louder, but not confident, kind of incidental, or maybe even a collective thought-chorus of all of us listening. Definitely not official, like the best music is—existing in spite of itself, rising from the ashes, or the dead, or the unmusical and spontaneous. And also the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.

A Big Day

FIRST of September, a date that makes me happy (My Favorite Seasons rank, in order: Fall, Winter, Spring, Summer).

Number of radio stations I had on at one time earlier, listening to college football: TWO.

Number of avocado tacos I had for breakfast: THREE.

Number of phone messages today: FOUR (all from the same person... if you happen to read this, which I guess is unlikely, I'll call you later this evening).

Number of dire things to do immediately (if not sooner) on yesterday's—which then turned into today's—"To Do" list: TWENTY-TWO.

1. Find that scene from Down By Law and put on facebook for the the BLUE MOON.
2. New photograph on The Talbe.
3. New entry for Henry Reed's Journal.
4. Update TOP FORTY.
5. Call OLM.
6. Write new yelp review.
7. Put that Jeff Dowd video on facebook, under my Big Lebowski movie post.
8. Type new entry for Notebook Journals.
9. Put next "100 Favorite Movies Countdown" movie on facebook.
10. Work on website text, description of movies.
11. New photo on Zigzag facebook book page.
12. New entry Restaurant Time Tunnel.
13. Read that email I got from Diaspora.
14. Vacuum.
15. Reread N_______'s story and send comments.
16. Clean up and file all the piles of paper around my desk!
17. Work on screenplay (finish my Tuesday AM).
18. Call J_______.
19. Call J_________.
20. Call J_______.
21. YMCA.
22. Buy a coconut.

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.