My Whole Expanse I Cannot See…

So, I met with the Vice President yesterday. He was in town doing a fundraiser for Senator Bill Nelson, who I also met, along with his lovely wife, Grace. After Vice President Biden gave his talk on how backward the Republicans are, the Secret Service led us to a private room, skipping the always tedious receiving-line. The room didn’t have a table, so this fellow from the Secret Service had to hold my MacBook Pro so I could see it, which he did, minus the part about me being able to see the computer. He stands what seems like sixty feet away, at an angle to where I’m looking at my screen from under my glasses. My screen is a big, glowing blur. My mom’s talking about the importance of technology, whilst I can’t see said technology. Fortunately, I’m a spectacular blind typer. I have my keyboard memorized, I have a sense of how to time the locations of my letters and what-not. I made NeuroSwitch look as stylish as it should, while not demonstrating that I’m blind as a ninety year-old man.

I wrote this note to the Vice President…

I have used assistive technology for communication most of my life. After losing my ability to speak four years ago, assistive technology became especially vital. If I can’t type, I can’t talk. If I can’t talk, I may as well not exist. If I can’t talk, I’m furniture, I’m nothing.

For over fifteen years, I tapped a little switch with my thumb to access my computer. This was fine until a routine blood-draw injured my hand, and my thumb. Communication became harder and harder as my muscles got weaker and weaker. I felt trapped, terrified. Then I found NeuroSwitch, the best computer access solution I’ve ever used. NeuroSwitch allows me to access my computer with any muscle in my body via completely portable wireless hardware. With NeuroSwitch, I can communicate any time, any place.

Technology is everything to me, it’s how I live as a productive American citizen, it grants me what our founding fathers promised anyone who makes a home on U.S. Soil, the right to Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. It’s that promise that makes America beautiful, access to assistive technology, like my NeuroSwitch,  is the best way for our government to keep that promise to its disabled citizens.

Also, and I’d kick myself if I don’t say this… I have this unusual collection, a collection of odd and unique neckties.  I have quite a few, but I don’t have a Vice Presidential Necktie…

I’ve been reading lots of Sarah Vowell lately, The Wordy Shipmates, Unfamiliar Fishes. Her love of history, the way she talks about America at its best (and worst) is contagious, I think I channeled her in writing my note to our Vice President.

Anyways, Vice President Biden was very generous with his time, and very receptive to the need for providing technology to the disabled.

So, I listen to the New Yorker: Fiction Podcast. Every month, a writer from today chooses a story to read that was previously published in the New Yorker, then there’s a discussion about the story. I’ve been listening for awhile, but the one story that really sticks out for me is Day-Old Baby Rats by Julie Hayden, published in 1972. It’s a short-story about a day in the life of a young woman in New York City. She’s an alcoholic, we’re there for her first drink in the morning, we see the city through her eyes, we hear her thoughts on everything she sees, and doesn’t see. It’s a gripping story of a woman, stricken by loneliness and anxiety, surrounded be millions of people.

Julie Hayden created a beautiful story in Day-Old Baby Rats, but Julie Hayden’s personal story is also sadly moving. She lived in New York City, had a story collection published, did regular writing for the New Yorker, she was doing things just about every writer aspires toward, definitely what I aspire toward. Still, today you can barely find a trace of her on google, by the time of her far too early death in 1981 her work was largely out of print, largely forgotten. Anxiety and phobia fueled her own alcoholism, she’d carry a flask, taking nips to numb her worries. Cancer ended her writing and her life. forever. She did these great things, but she still slipped and fell and ended badly. Her sad writing mirrored the sadness in her head, people found it beautiful, compelling, and yet for some reason, she died pretty much unremembered. It scares me how that can, and does happen. We all want our stories to end well, but sometimes, no matter what, they don’t. They just don’t.

I worry about my story.

Well, now that I know of her, I’ll remember Julie Hayden, and maybe this post might put her work in some new minds. It’s not much, but it’s something. She, and her work, are definitely worth remembering.

So, I’m not entirely not writing. Us Mac people recently got the Mac App Store, it’s built into OS X and it’s a one stop shop for buying Mac software. It’s basically just like the iPhone App Store, click, buy, run.  Anyway, the day the store opened I HAD to try it, I get ridiculously excited about these things. The first app that caught my eye was Evernote, it’s this cloud-based notebook app. You can create different notebooks for different subjects, like, I have “Thoughts,” ” Writing fragments,” “Dreams…” All your notebooks are stored online, so you have access to them on practically any computer, or smartphone, anywhere. It’s a really stylish, easy way to turn thoughts into words that you can always keep with you. You can also create shared notebooks that people can read and even write collaboratively. I totally hadn’t planned on writing this little review, I just think Evernote is so fucking cool.

I love the idea of writing in notebooks, pouring thoughts onto paper, it’s very romantic. It’s also something I’ve never been able to do. Aside from blogging, I’ve never kept any sort of notebook or journal. I mean, if I have a little one paragraph thought that only means something to me, I’m not going to blog it, and I’m not going to save it as a single text file. Before Evernote, that thought would simply fade until it disappeared. There are also thoughts, no matter how invested I am in transparency, that I just can’t share right now. Evernote lets me keep all my thoughts in a nice safe place, to be shared, or not. That’s where I’ve been of late.

The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart by Jesse Bullington is hard to classify, but I’ll call it dark historical fantasy. The story takes place in medieval Europe and follows the ignominious lives of Hegal and Manfried Grossbart, twin brothers, grave robbers, murderous bastards. Hagel and Manfried begin the novel with one goal, journeying from their European homeland to “Gyptland.” Being grave robbers, they see Egypt as their very own promised land, an entire country of graves and tombs loaded with riches almost too numerous to even imagine. Their journey will have them cross paths with witches, monsters, demons, mad clergy, royalty, and they’ll murder lots, and lots of innocent people before they reach their end.

I’ll be honest, I didn’t like this book until I actually finished it. The Grossbarts are simply not likable characters, at all. They’re evil, they murder women, children, anyone who gets in their way, and they’re really successful at their evil. It’s not the evil that bothers me, it’s that the Grossbarts are not smart men, they’re lucky. It’s not that the Grossbarts are brilliant, it’s that everyone trying to thwart them just isn’t that bright. The Grossbarts aren’t Richard  III, or Iago, they’re just really paranoid with a kill first, ask questions never sort of attitude. When everyone else is screwing up, it’s hard to feel anything but angry at the evil being perpetrated. I so wanted one person to smarten up and take the Grossbarts’ heads. Intelligent evil is, at least for me, fun to read, and it’s completely satisfying when that evil is at long last destroyed. When Hegal and Manfried finally bit it (their demise is revealed early in the novel), I was all, “Finally! Thank you!” I was relieved more than satisfied. Still, as negative as that sounds, I really enjoyed this book when all was said and done. The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart is epic in scope, by the end I definitely felt like I’d been on a journey. I’m not at all sorry I read it, it just wasn’t at all what expected.

Tattoo by Fish, Las Vegas Tattoo, Ybor City

So, my 600th post is about my 45th, and most recent, tattoo.

These lyrics are from what’s quite possibly my favorite Elliott Smith song, the not-so-known, Some Song. It’s part of a little three track collection, the Needle in the Hay – EP. The first thing that draws me to the song is that it’s written almost entirely in the second-person. If done right, second-person writing is so powerful, it pulls people into the narrative with such intensity. اسرار ماكينة القمار To me, it’s so underrated and under-used, in music and literature. لعبت روليت It’s really difficult to pull off, but I think the pay-off is worth trying. The song itself sounds like it’s straight autobiography, Elliott laying out how he saw himself. It’s a very odd mix, he knew he had talent, that he could be who he wanted to be, yet he hated the songs he wrote, hated himself, and he knew he was broken and couldn’t get it together. I understand that odd juxtaposition of feelings toward oneself.

I know I write well, I have skill and my stuff resonates with some people. I know I have a lot of potential to write and do great things, the potential to be the fellow I see in my head. I also hate almost everything I create. I feel like a fuck up, piece of shit failure. I’m just about thirty and I haven’t really accomplished anything important, I’ve screwed stuff up. I’ve wasted chances, ruined things. I’ve made so many bad choices lately. I can’t seem to hold it together enough to be who I want to be. موقع 365 سبورت Maybe I’m stuck the way Elliott was stuck. I don’t know.

Tattoo by Colt, Las Vegas Tattoo, Ybor City

So, this tattoo is from one of my favorite Nirvana songs, Blew, which is on their first record, Bleach. Nirvana songs don’t necessarily tell a story that goes, and then, and then, and then. روليت مباشر Nirvana songs are often a mix of lines that mean something and lines that mean absolutely nothing, so it’s a matter of picking out the important lines and figuring out what they mean as a whole. That’s one reason I love Nirvana so much, every song is sort of a puzzle to solve. اسرار لعبة البوكر

To me, Blew is about being stuck, feeling intensely frustrated, and wanting it to stop. I’ve felt that way for so long… المراهنات على المباريات One night a few months ago, I felt like making those feelings something external, marking them as part of the story of me.

Tattoo by Colt, Las Vegas Tattoo, Ybor City

So, this tattoo… The lyrics are from an Aimee Mann song, King of the Jailhouse, which is off her record, my second favorite, The Forgotten Arm. If you listen to the record in order, the songs tell a story about this alcoholic, washed up former boxer, and his girlfriend, and the arc of their relationship from beginning to end. Few albums are perfect, there are always a few songs that are just “meh,” but I think The Forgotten Arm is as close to perfect as an album gets.

As for the tattoo, well, I’ll just say that if I’m stressed enough, and lonely enough, I’m guaranteed to do something stupid. I’ll do the worst, dumbest thing possible, and I don’t know how to fix that about myself.

The Habitation of the Blessed: A Dirge for Prester John, Volume One by Catherynne M. Valente is her latest work and her addition to the legend of Prester John. Tales of Prester John aren’t new, they began in 12th century Europe, but Valente’s take on him is definitely unique. The basic story, told for centuries, is that John was a Christian fellow who went East to convert millions and become ruler over vast and beautiful, and even magical lands. Within his kingdom one could find the Fountain of Youth, and countless wonders. Valente takes the basic framework of the Prester John legend and makes it her own.

When I picked up Habitation, I really had no idea what I was getting into. I just saw that Catherynne M. Valente published something new and I slammed my money down. Her books have never left me disappointed, and her latest is really no exception. I don’t want to give too much about the story, I don’t want to rob anyone of that sense of discovery that I experienced. The book is really home to four stories told by four characters, these stories brilliantly intersect and ultimately tie together to create a lush and fully-realized world. As always, Valente’s use of language is gorgeous, she arranges words into sentences, into paragraphs that create life. Early on, the reader knows that the world they’re immersed in is tumbling toward something bad, the “what” isn’t clear, but it’s clearly coming. This sets a sense of foreboding, it causes one to want to turn the page, and turn the page, and turn the page until the last page, the last revelation. There’s this shadow over everything, beautiful scenes take on an ominous feeling, because that fall is coming, it’s so right there. This book is haunting, I still think about the end, it tells a story that stays. Let it visit and stay with you.

I’ve been reading this book by Catherynne M. Valente, The Habitation of the Blessed: A Dirge for Prester John, Volume One. It’s good, and I’ll write a review after I finish, but one quote caught my attention…

“Distraction is the enemy of perfection.”

I will never be remotely close to perfection, it seems. I’m drowning in distraction, and melancholy, and…

This is Tea Party darling, Congress-woman, Michelle Bachmann, and a classic example of Tea Party interview strategy. If you get cornered by a real journalist, someone outside FOX News, stick to one across the board answer to every single question. Give absolutely no real answers.