Author: Matthew Groff

  • Personal Review: The Real World, Season 1, 1992

    The wife and I have been looking for a TV show to watch at night. Something to wash the pallet clean at the end of the day, but not too serious, but also not totally dumbed down. After searching around all the streaming services, we landed on The Real World from MTV on Paramount+.

    When we started season 1, which took place in 1992 New York City, it was a fun reminder of what early 90’s life was like, as we were in high school when the show premiered, and it was a neat snap shot of what pre-Giuliani New York was like. Also, this was the show that birthed the “reality” genre, so to go back to the source, so to speak, was enlightening; not only for the way things were, but how they are now.

    I was 15 when I watched the show originally, and my memory of the show had holes, but it was rather intact. Now, 44-year-old me watched it with a more cynical eye, and found the show slanted to a very specific perspective.

    Of the seven cast members, six of them were currently living in New York at the start of the show, while one member, Julie, was from out of town, Alabama, but she has aspirations to be in New York as a dancer. Thus, the fish out of water storyline that followed through the whole season. The other six members were all in the arts, at the start of their careers; one writer, three musicians, one painter, and one model. A very liberal arts group.

    15-year-old me remembered that this was my first experience with seeing people of my generation pursing the arts, and struggling. Before this show, if I wanted to see young people in the arts, it was either the Lost Generation of the 20’s, the Beats of the 50’s or the Hippies in the 60’s. What the 44-year-old me saw was that some of the people were working much harder than others. My memory of the show was that it had a very voyeuristic quality, but remained true to the proposition that it was showing people being “real.” Older me, having experienced other “reality” shows, could see the manipulation of the cast and certain situations.

    As I finished the first season, it was much tamer than I remembered. Knowing what is coming down the pipe with the reality television genre, you can see the start of how things will be edited and presented to have a desired effect. It was like a quarter of the way through the season, the producers realized that this wasn’t a documentary, but a story that needed to be compelling, so the audience would tune in next week.

  • Trouble Sleeping, Some Anxiety

    I have been having trouble sleeping of late. The other night was pretty bad. It took a while for me to get tired, and then when I did go to bed, I couldn’t stay asleep. It felt like I was waking up every thirty minutes or so. The thought that kept replaying in my head was that I wouldn’t be able to get a job when everything gets better, because I will need to get a job. We can get by on one income, but we can’t get ahead unless I bring in some money.

    I keep thinking that I am not going to get a job because I’m too old. And I kept thinking that I am not going to get a job, because I don’t have any useful skills. And I kept feeling worse and worse about myself. It created a downward spiral of negative thought, that I just couldn’t shake.

    And then I went to a very dark place. It wasn’t so much a specific memory, but more of recalling a deep emotional feeling. I started to relive the emotions of the time period when my mother was dying, and the complete lack of sympathy I received from my co-workers. (To make this quick, the place that I worked wanted me to quit to save money, so two co-workers took it upon themselves to bully and harass me so that I would leave. And yes, I did go to HR and they said there was nothing they could do.) It was difficult to deal with the emotions of losing my mother, while also having to survive eight hours of isolation and intimidation. It was a one-two punch that was miserable, and depressingly lonely. I am very fortunate that I have my wife, family, and friends, as without them, I don’t think I would have survived that period.

    I like to think of myself as a mentally well-adjusted and fit person. That was an awful period of time, but I did come out on the other side with a better relationship with my wife, and father, and family, and friends. And all of that was due to talking about it, and sharing, and making ourselves vulnerable which allowed healing. It’s still a work in progress, as there are bad days, like the other night. But… I know it will get better.

  • Ants

    It’s spring, and it seems like the world is slowly coming back to life. Flowers are blooming, trees are budding, and grass is greening. And bugs are back. In our tiny apartment, that means the ants are back.

    We get ants in the Spring. And I hate ants. These are stupid, little black ants, which are called Little Black Ant, annoy the shit out of me, especially their stupid, unoriginal name. They are easy to kill, and stop, but man, it’s like two weeks of those little bastards just showing up along the edge of the wall. The kid hates them, and also thinks the ants are out to get her. So, we have to have a calming down moment before she goes to bed to make sure she understands the ants aren’t after her.

    Stupid ants.

    Growing up in Texas, the fear was fire ants, as those assholes are awful. For every kid, there was always a moment when they accidently stood on, or fell on, or kicked a fire ant mound, and those evil guys swarmed, biting the hell out of you.

    I remember my dad buying fire ant killer at the local hardware store in the Spring to deal with them. The stuff he bought was a poison in the form of little yellow pellets that he would spread around the mound. The ants would think its food and bring it into the nest. Slowly, over the course of a week or two, the mound would die off, and a little pile dirt was left in the yard, like the ancient ruins of a civilization. I would dig up the dead mounds carefully, to see the tunnels that they had created. It was fascinating that little things could build such complexity.

  • This Morning with the Kid

    Some days are easier than others, you know. Today started off as a tough one for the kid. She was getting out of bed, when I went to take the dog for a walk. I could tell that she was still tired and a little grumpy. When I got back from the walk, there was a sulk on her. She was listening to her mother by getting dressed, and brushing her teeth, but the kid wasn’t into it. As my wife was putting the kid’s hair in a ponytail, the child was in a full frown. The kid went over to her desk, where her computer was to start her remote day in school, and just pout landed in her little chair.

    I went over to her, and picked her up, and just gave her a big hug. “Tough morning?” I asked.

    Her face was buried into my shoulder, but I could feel her head nodding a yes to my question.

    “Well,” I started, “today is going to get better.”

    She lifted her head to face me. “How do you know?” she asked.

    “I don’t. I just believe it will get better.”

    “Like a prediction?”

    “Sort of. But more like, I’m sure it’s going to happen.”

    “…okay.”

    I put her down, and she took her seat for the remote class. “Can we go to the park?” she asked.

    “Sure.” I confirmed.

    “Good,” the kid answered.

  • Sticking the Landing, And the Climax

    I have been kicking around this idea for novel for about two years in my head, but only in the last six months have I started to try to get some work on it done. Originally, I was not going to think too hard about the first draft, and just write the damn thing, and see what happens. (I had done this for the other two novels I have written, but let’s be honest here, that was 20 years ago, and they aren’t very good.) I got about three chapters into it, and then the thing petered out. I knew how I wanted it to start and the whole first act, and I knew what the second act would be, but the ending was still a little vague, and I wasn’t clear how I would connect the three acts. Then, I sucked it up, and did a rough outline of the book. It helped get the first and second act to work together, but the third is still unfocused, and all over the place.

    I found myself looking up at the ceiling last night, trying to get the thing to work in my mind. Maybe I should make it a bit of a literary parody of the type of protagonists that Roth, Ford, and Updike would have written? (You know, the overly sexual white guy who fails up.) It could be funny, but also a cheat to get an ending, as I would be, well, stealing one of theirs. Maybe I should stop working on it? Should I set it aside for a while, work on something else, and see if the absence will help me come up with an ending? Maybe doing this outlining work, thinking about the story is actually holding me back, as I am not actually writing it? Maybe I need to make the time and actually write it, and not this system of “pre-production” work of outlining… I don’t know.

    But getting it right, sticking the ending, when it comes to my writing, is not my strong suit. It seems like in all things, there should be some sort of exercise one could do, to work on this skill. I see lots of writing workshops on how to outline, or getting your idea out of your head on to paper, or how to stop talking and start writing. But I haven’t seen any type of workshop that’s “How to End Your Story Strong.”

    Just an idea.