Tag: Writing

  • At the Gym, Again, Sort’a

    If you don’t know; I don’t like going to the gym. I think I am on year four of trying to establish a regular habit of going to the gym. Past behavior predicts that I will stick to it for three months and then fall off the wagon.

    But I have noticed something different of late…

    No one is at the gym when I go. Not sure if this is due to me showing up way earlier than I normally would, or maybe the gym is about to go out of business. As of this moment, I can’t tell.

    What I do know is that there is no one around, and the gym is quiet, except for the music they pump in, but at that hour it’s rather low. There’s no one in the locker room, no one hanging around the water fountain, no one hanging around the front desk, and no one standing outside talking on their phone. What there is happens to be a handful of, dare I say it, normal looking people.

    So, the atmosphere has changed, but not so much my attitude. I still don’t want to be there. I would like to be healthier, and I would like to lose ten pounds, but, ahhh, still don’t want to be there.

     I am trying to find a way to enjoy being at the gym. I don’t think I will ever get that workout “high” where you feel better about yourself. What I am looking for is a good use of my time. I run for thirty minutes, at least to get in two miles, and sometimes my mind does wander. Today, I was thinking about some of the awful office jobs I have had. (That didn’t make me feel better.) I would try to read, but I’m running, so that doesn’t work. Truth of the matter, for me anyway, I can’t multitask when I’m running. I would like to be more efficient, but that doesn’t seem to be in the cards.

    Anyway, I think going to the gym early in the morning is going to work for me. Not that in want it to, but glad that it is.

  • Doomsday Dinner Preppers

    (This has nothing to do with Doomsday, or Doomsday Preppers… I just like the way the title sounded.)

    Not that anyone is keeping score, but I am a stay at home parent, and, by the way, I really do enjoy it. But that’s not what this is about.

    As the primary care giver to my daughter, that means I am the go-to guy when it comes to getting her to soccer practice after school three days a week. It’s not a huge burden, and though it can be dicey getting to practice on time, it’s a good way to spend some time with the kid. But as the primary care giver, that means when we get home, I also have to get dinner going.

    Which brings me to prepping diner for my family. I’m not talking about anything complicated here, just getting all the ingredients ready ahead of time, sometimes in small efficient containers, so when we walk in the door, I can start making it.

    I have been doing this for a couple of weeks now, and I have to say that I get such a feeling of satisfaction of sweeping into the apartment, seamlessly moving into the kitchen, beginning dinner, chatting with the wife when she’s off’a work, and having everything ready within thirty minutes, give or take. I’m like John “Hannibal” Smith – “I love it when a plan comes together!”

    (Sorry if you are looking for dinner prepping tips… I have none other than buy more small ramekins.)

    It’s having the ability to reliably and dependably provide food that my family wants, night after night. It’s about making people you care about happy. And we can sit around the table and talk and connect, and be together.

    I know that I am not breaking new ground here, but I am a little surprised at home much I have come to enjoy cutting vegetables and measuring out herbs several hours ahead of time.

    I didn’t know I had it in me.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Don’t Answer, Fandom, and City’s Full

    ODDS and ENDS: Don’t Answer, Fandom, and City’s Full

    (Throw out your frown…)

    So, I was sitting in my car this morning because I needed to move it for the street sweeper, and my phone rang with a number that I didn’t recognize. I think I’m like most people and I don’t answer calls to numbers I don’t know. If it’s important, they’ll leave a message and I’ll call them back. But this morning, the number kept calling me, and didn’t leave a message. I mean, I’m pretty sure it was a spam/bot call and no big deal, yet there is still part of me that gets a little rush of anxiety when a call keeps calling. Like, if they keep calling it must be important. It has to be important if they called three times. This must be the most important call, because they called three times from Miami! But didn’t leave a message. That’s why I don’t answer.

    I stayed up and watched the Cowboys play the Eagles. Actually, I watched until the weather delay, and at that point I called it. I was hoping that the Cowboys would win, but I wasn’t totally surprised that they lost. At the breakfast table this morning, the kid had questions about who won the game, which I found rather surprising. Normally, she doesn’t care about the Cowboys or football in general, but she was rather curious about the game, and if I watched it all. Then she wanted to know if I thought the Cowboys would win the Super Bowl, which I told her no, and that the team would be lucky to be above .500 this year. Then she wanted to know if I as going to watch all of their games, which I am. She was confused by this, and wanted to know why I was going to watch them if I thought they were going to lose. Because that’s want a fan of a team does; you suffer along with the team, and hope for next year. I really hoped that there was some important life lesson there that I was passing along, about loyalty, and commitment. But what I she made me feel was that I was about to waste a lot of time over the next couple of Sundays.

    Boy, it is not a joke. The day after Labor Day, New York City fills back up with people. Twenty years I have been here, and I keep thinking that this maxim isn’t true. And every year I am amazed how on Labor Day, no one is around, and then the next day, people are everywhere. I really should know better.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Sports Jerseys, Let Me Get to That, and Pre-Autumn

    ODDS and ENDS: Sports Jerseys, Let Me Get to That, and Pre-Autumn

    (Will our ball club win the pennant?)

    Today at school, the kid could wear a sports team jersey if she so desired. Being that she is in middle school, and the school has sports teams, sports are now a bigger part of her academic experience. Funny thing is that the kid doesn’t own any team jerseys. She asked me if I had a jersey that she could borrow for today, and sadly, I also don’t own any team jerseys. What I do own happens to be a Dallas Cowboys (Let me get to that in a bit), and a Tottenham Hotspur t-shirts. I was hesistant to give her the Cowboy shirt because clearly, the Cowboys aren’t a well respected team here in New York City. So that left the Tottenham shirt, which I offered to her. She declined the shirt, stating that the people who know who Tottenham is will only end up making fun of her, and it wasn’t worth it to her. I tried to explain that Frank is taking the team in a new direction, but the kid wouldn’t hear it.

    (Best if you read this part in a very thick Texas accent, which I have after drink several Shiner Bocks and getting all rilled up.) I jus’ wanna say this to Mr. Jerry Jones, which is that I think he is bein’ a damn fool when it comes to Micah Parsons. Now, Mr. Parsons is a franchise super star caliber player, a type of player who can change the momentum of a game, and if the Dallas Cowboys have any intention of reclaimin’ a Super Bow’ – they need Mr Parsons. To that end, Mr. Jones should’a paid Mr. Parsons what he wanted. Now, this whole idea that Mr. Jones is puttin’ out there that, this is all part of some “master plan to win a championship” is what is known in the civilized world as a damn lie! Y’ain’t foolin’ anyone Jerry! You gone and screwed up the team again! What is this, like our 30th rebuilding year?!?! Could you possibly get the cart outta the way of the horse for a change so we might have a chance of just winning the Division? Good lord man! You takin’ years off my life…

    I’m pulling out my sweaters and sweatshirts. Might have to wash my flannel shirts this week. I know it’s 78 degrees today, I don’t care. I want Autumn

  • Short Story Review: “Project” by Rachel Cusk

    (The short story “Project” by Rachel Cusk appeared in the September 1st & 8th, 2025 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Photo illustration by Stephen Doyle

    I am a big fan of Rachel Cusk; have been for some time now. There are a great number of reasons why I enjoy her work, and when I read anything by her, such as “Project” in this week’s New Yorker, my fandom evolves into admiration, and even a little jealously. I am not jealous of her talent as a writer, envious might be the better word for that, but when I read her work, I wish I was the type of writer that had time. Cusk’s fictional version of herself, though narrator might be a fairer description, possess the greatest gift of all; time. Time to observe and contemplate.

    In “Project,” the narrator contemplates how who we are gets created. This contemplation leads to a path that bends and turns and takes us to people in the narrator’s life. First we meet M, a movie star and model. The narrator is thinking of writing M’s autobiography, which M’s response is to “…just make it up.” In this first section of the story, the narrator intertwines her interactions with M, while also speaking of a book she is reading by a woman who details the horrid abuse she suffered at the hands of her stepfather. It is a strange comparison, if not a juxtaposition. In Cusk’s assured hands, we see how these woman took their situations, fought back and went forth to create better versions of themselves, yet both spoke of a moment where their childhoods were lost… But even as I try to describe this, I am not doing this story justice. The story moves on the narrator’s partner, and his bout with an aliment and the need to a brief stay in a hospital. Then there are questions of the time we have and how we share it. Why we live the way we live and where we live…. See, not doing this justice.

    This story falls into my favorite Cusk style of writing – It just flows. Maybe this type of writing is like stream-of-consciousness-lite. These thoughts and ideas have depth and weight to them, but they don’t get tangled up in minutia and tangents. All of these disparate ideas roll across the page, with observations of the life the narrator lives, but also how some of these truth and universal; Or at least there is a hope that they are. This is a story seems to be celebrating the existential gift of being able to create our self, and chose how to live out that creation. And to do all of this, to have a life that can be observed, we need time for reflection.

    And through all of it, the ins and outs of this story, Cusk has a wonderful melancholic final paragraph. Not so much an observation, or a contemplation, but a memory of raising her children; when trust was tangible and innocent. That taking the time, to remember and re-experience, is a continuous step in the project of self creation.