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  • ODDS and ENDS: Gym, Tottenham, and Naps

    (Yup…)

    I’m not a fan of working out, but I went this morning, thus completing the goal that I had set out for myself; Just Show Up. I showed up, and did thirty minutes on the treadmill. I mean, I’m not stupid – I haven’t worked out in five months, so there is no point in me killing myself on the first day. I will say, there were a crap ton of people at the gym. Yes! All of us lazy ass people are trying to start the year off on the right foot. (Let’s see how many of you are still around in February.) Anyway, it wasn’t that bad, and I know that I am starting our slow. Trying to work my way back to four days a week. Just need to keep showing up.

    With the World Cup over, I am back to following Tottenham Hotspur. The last three matches have been a bit of a letdown with a win, loss and a draw. Sure, the last outing was a win, but they are playing like they did before the Cup break – they go down in the first half, and then have to dig out in the second. It’s like I’m better off if I start watching them after half time, as that’s when the team shows up. Frustrating is putting it mildly. But, on Saturday, they have the FA Cup match against Portsmouth, and then the big one on the 15th – The North London Derby. A big test against a rather unstoppable Arsenal. It’s about to be a very tough month for Tottenham, so I hope they can figure out their first half issue.

    And… I might take a nap today.

  • Trouble Getting in Gear

    The third of January was the day I was going to get my life started on the right foot. Also, I thought God needed more laughter in his day. Either way, I had spent part of my Christmas vacation thinking about my daily schedule, what I wanted to get accomplished, and being healthy and shit. You know, like most people do at the end of the year. I talked to the wife about it, as some of this would affect her as well, and I have come up with a system that will work.

    First of all, I needed to set out my goals, again, no real surprise there. I want to write more, eat better, sleep better, more active role in the kid’s education, and… yeah, I think that’s it. Really, it’s like rolling goals.

    Anyway, I set out a schedule, and if you know me, again, no surprises here. I made time for chores, and the gym, and writing. Working with the kid, making dinner, and you get the point. I over scheduled myself, and I’m okay with that. As of this moment, I haven’t worked on any fiction though that will be remedied today, and I haven’t been to the gym, but that’s a Friday thing. So, all is going to plan.

    With the exception of this blog. Other than the little New Year’s post, I haven’t created anything for this platform. I have some stories I could review, and God knows I have enough silly opinions I can’t wait to share, but I found myself lacking the motivation to post. I am posting today, so it’s not like I am in a debilitating situation. Just… not feeling it.

    I might be maligned due to the ending of a vacation, or could ramming your head into a wall constantly for two years have an adverse effect on determination? Maybe more changes are needed?

    Maybe I just need to get to work.

  • Happy New Year!

    It’s the second day of the New Year, but I really couldn’t muster the energy to write anything yesterday.

    Not that I have a bunch of energy or motivation right now.

    Yet, I’m trying.

    And that will be my theme of 2023; I’m trying.

    I’m trying to get back in shape and eat better. I’m trying to read and write more. I’m trying to get better at going out and meeting new people, staying open minded, and going to keep trying to learn. I’m also going to try and say yes more to my daughter. Yes to trying new things.

    These aren’t resolutions, as those always fail. This is what it is; an attempt at something that I will often stumble at, but also I know I can succeed, or at least, follow through with.

    Anyway, Happy New Year!

  • Best of 2022 – Short Story Review: “Wood Sorrel House” by Zach Williams

    (The short story “Wood Sorrel House,” by Zach Williams, Appeared in the March 21st, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (I see spoilers!)

    I do not know what to make of this story. I haven’t stopped thinking about the thing since I finished reading it, but I still can’t come up with what it’s all about. And this is meant as a compliment. If a story lives on in the reader’s mind, and doesn’t dissolve into forgotten nothingness as soon as they are finished with it, then that author has achieved something. I tip my hat to you Zach Williams; your story is taking up space in my brain.

    “Wood Sorrel House” is about a couple and a toddler seemingly trapped in a cottage in the woods. Days pass, they age, but the toddler does not. Each morning food and supplies are replenished in the house, thus allowing them to live in the cottage. The couple tries to figure out where they are and why they are there, and soon they discover the toddler is never able to get hurt.

    I have an ego, and some days I think I am smart, and when I started reading this story, I was like, “Oh, this is an absurdist styled story, and it’s a metaphor for death.” Because, if my college education taught me anything, it’s that absurdist/surrealist/modernist stories are all really about death. But as I kept reading, I began to doubt my ego-driven conclusion. Why was the snapping turtle killed? What happed when the male in the couple disappeared? What happened to the toddler when the woman went down to the lake for days at a time? Why did the couple age, and get injured, but the toddler was immune and also ageless?

    I found that this story was taping into emotional territories that made me react. Perhaps it’s because I’m a parent, but I kept feeling this sense of dread for the toddler, that something awful was going to happen. There was a sense of disgust in how the man went out and destroyed nature. And a sense of sorrow as the woman tried to make sense of all of it. I was reacting to this story, I was compelled by it, but I couldn’t make sense of it. If it wasn’t about death, what was it about? Was it the lack of logic? Things stayed the same at the cottage, but the outside world seemed to keep moving; not changing into something different, but just moving along. Was this a metaphor for dealing with Covid? Maybe it had no meaning, but that would make it about death, right? What was it? Like I said, I don’t know what to think about the story, but the story is making me think about what it could be about. That’s a pretty successful story.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)

  • Best of 2022 – Short Story Review: “The Face in the Mirror” by Mohsin Hamid

    (The short story “The Face in the Mirror” by Mohsin Hamid appeared in the May 16th, 2022 issue of The New Yorker.)

    (This story will be Spoiled!)

    I didn’t know I had been waiting for a story, but “The Face in the Mirror” by Mohsin Hamid was the story I had been waiting for. I thought I knew what I was getting, then I was surprised, then I felt ashamed that I had judged it, only to again think I knew where this story was going, only to arrive at an ending that was conclusive, but also left me pleasantly wondering what all of this meant. I love that feeling. It reminds me of being in a college English class, and we have just finished reading a story that we are all jazzed up about, and we can’t wait to discuss it, to see if someone else saw it the same way that I did.

    The story is about a white man, Anders, who wakes up one day to find that his skin color has changed to brown. Right off the bat, I thought I was about to get a modern retelling of Kafka’s “Metamorphosis.” Anders soon learns that this change is affecting other people in his city. Slowly, tensions start growing in this city. Anders goes to see his father, who has not changed and is still white. We learn that the father and Anders have a strained relationship, neither really coming to understand the other. Where the father was a construction foreman, a physically tough man, Anders never lived up to that standard. Though the father doesn’t understand or recognize his son, the father still loves and attempts to protect his child, by giving Anders a rifle to protect himself. Soon, society begins to break apart; militias form, people who have changed are now evicted, violence is everywhere. Anders has a confrontation at his apartment, an attempt to evict him, and though he stands his ground, he knows he has to leave. The only safe place is his father’s home, where he goes, and the two of them hole up together. Soon, it is clear that the father is dying, and Anders sees to it that he takes care of his father to the end. And at the funeral, the father is the only white person left, as all of the people attending are now brown skinned.

    First of all, much respect to Hamid for writing a story that was not easy to predict where it was going. Always a good sign. Second, there is so much to unpack. Was this a story about race? Clearly it was. Was this a story about how the paternal generation comes to not recognize and understand their children’s generation? Yes, that is also true. I think it was also about loving unconditionally. It was all of that, and it was great. I also like that after Anders goes through this change, society comes out on the other side, and everything starts to return back to normal. There was a menace in this story, a tension that I felt was going to explode, but the fact that it didn’t played well into the theme of the story. There were all of these things happening, which was bringing up questions in my mind, asking if this is how society would react to a change like that, or is our current society reacting this way because a great change is under way?

    I don’t know, but it is fun and challenging to ask and ponder these questions.

    But all of it was pulled together and held tightly by Hamid’s writing. His word choice, the flow of the sentences, and the use of repetition of a phrase in a sentence; it was enjoyable just to read this prose. I am now a fan of Mohsin Hamid. I feel like he was a friend, gently nudging me to ask questions, and look a little closer at the world around me.

    (Say, don’t forget to like this post, or share it, or leave a comment. I got bills to pay, you know.)