Donuts Ahoy!

Incident at Madison Square Garden

2009-11-09T17:23:12Z

Tangerine NaNo: 10, 646
Tangerine Total: 60, 693
What I’m Reading Now: Last Night In Twisted River, by John Irving

It’s so hard to talk about rock and roll. It’s so much about how it makes you feel, how it fires what you already have inside you. The best rock – the best music – takes all your emotions and amplifies them, makes them more important, overlays a sense of urgency and intensity on top of your inner life. Happiness evolves into bliss; bliss becomes transcendence. Even in sad songs, if you recognize yourself inside them, it’s a comfort, even a joy to discover someone knows exactly how you’re feeling. When you’re at a concert, it’s like a compact with thousands of other people, folks eager for that sense of connection with the singer, with the band, with each other, with themselves. If you give yourself over, and I mean really give yourself, all of yourself, then everything quiet gets loud, everything muted gets acknowledged, and everything you need and want and desire is suddenly right there, out there, shouting out loud.

Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band have been closing up their 2+ years on the road by playing full albums in the middle of their three-hour sets. Mainly they’ve been sticking to the two biggest hits – Born in the USA and Born to Run – and the biggest fan favorite, Darkness on the Edge of Town. At Madison Square Garden, the band decided to switch it up and do The Wild, the Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle night one, and The River night two. This caused some consternation on the boards, as does pretty much any decision Springsteen makes. People were angry because the decision to play these albums was made at the last minute (“I woulda bought a ticket if I’da known that!”) or because they’d bought tickets to one show but not the other and the opposite album is their very favorite. Me? I bought my tickets like five months ago, going on faith, and my faith was rewarded. (This is a classy way to say “Suck it, bitches.”)

Now, without getting too technical or insidery about the whole Springsteen deal, there are three types of tickets at a Springsteen show: assigned seating, General Admission, and Pit. The Pit is right up against the stage, the closest to Springsteen that you can get without actually being on stage. The way you get Pit tickets is a system in which … you know what? It’s long and complicated and I didn’t get in, so let’s just ignore the Pit for now. I got General Admission closest to the Pit as possible, about twenty feet from the stage, so I wasn’t exactly crying in my Pepper.

The cool thing about going to concerts alone? You generally meet up with pretty cool people. Up against the barrier was a fun group of four people who were pleasantly tipsy (but not drunk; I want to stress this point right now because the difference becomes important tomorrow), a young family with two middle-school-age boys, a set of German tourists, and me. My excitement fed off of theirs and the feeling was mutual. We compared show notes and talked about our favorite songs and filled up the waiting time quite amiably. (Note: this type of thing is not sustainable; I tried to go to a fan thing once in a group called Boss-ton; it was miserable and awful.) By the time Bruce took the stage, we were properly jazzed and ready to rock out.

Now, full disclosure: I’m not the world’s biggest fan of The Wild, the Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle. I like it, and I love “The E Street Shuffle,” “Rosalita,” and especially “Incident on 57th Street.” But I always found Rolling Stone calling it Springsteen’s “first masterpiece” a bit overstating it.

But, man, that opinion didn’t last long when he started to play.

First off, he started with “Thundercrack,” an outtake I never thought I’d hear live. I screamed for it. The famous people in the pit – Artie Lange, Tom Collichio, and Robin Quivers among them – screamed for it. The people around me screamed for it. Oh boy, oh boy: from there I was lost. Bruce did the “Hungry Heart” sing-along, then came out to our area and danced on a platform before asking, “You got me?” and then crowd surfed back to the stage.

At some point during “Incident,” my eyes welled with tears. During “Rosalita,” I lost my voice. For the first time ever, I fell in love with “New York City Serenade,” and there it was, that crackling moment when something you’ve heard before suddenly exists in a new place for you, for me, that moment when the familiar becomes brand new, when like becomes love, and I fell in love over and over and over that night. Because The Wild is so romantic and epic and a little naïve, it’s easy to be swept along in its crashing tides, if you let it, if you let it, if only you let it.

It’s so hard to talk about rock and roll – you can write a thousand words about a single saxophone note and it will still be inadequate. Words can be reductive when trying to lock in pure experiences … but they can also serve as triggers. Years from now, I will look at this and remember Saturday night, and fall in love again. You can’t capture magic in a bottle, maybe, but magic is everywhere, if you know the right pathways to it. I found one Saturday night, and I still had a night to go.

Saints and Sinners

2009-11-08T16:17:48Z

A full, FULL post when I return. BUT! Last night at the Springsteen show, something truly amazing happened that kind of rocked me. I had a bunch of celebrity sightings - Robin Quivers, Mel Gibson, and some guy people were calling "Pat the Rat" were there - but nothing struck me as much as seeing celebrity chef Tom Collichio and celebrity dirtbag Artie Lange in the "pit" area of the stage. My dual initial assumptions - that Artie was going to be a drunk pig and that Tom would be far to classy to get in with the proles - were dead wrong. Never was this point more clear when Springsteen launched into "Rosalita" and both of them were absolutely into it, singing along with every word.

Bruce Springsteen crosses all boundaries, all class lines. These two people have nothing else in common*, but they got together for the love of The Boss. I had such an amazing time, garnered a new appreciation for "New York City Serenade," met some awesome people up at the barrier between us and the pit. But this right here was one of my favorite things to see.

*Except for that they're both incongruously Bear icons. YUM.

I'm on a BUS!

2009-11-07T19:40:16Z

Take a good long look at this motherfuckin BUS! (I've made this joke twice today, and I still think it's hilarious.)

You GUYS! I'm CURRENTLY on a Bolt Bus. WHAT? As advertised, the Bolt Bus has free Wi-Fi (unlike AirTran, which makes you THINK it does, and then says you have to pay.) Bolt Bus, however, is made of lies and deceit, as it does NOT feature a funny, naive anthropomorphic dog voiced by John Travolta. FAIL, Bolt Bus, FAIL.

However! In the interest in having friends wherever I go, I randomly ran into my buddy Evan on the train over here. This is how our conversation went as we ran into each other:

Evan: "Yeah, so I'm on the 12:30 bus and I'm visiting friends in New York, and..."

Kev: "Okay, but I have to WORK when I'm on the bus! Just so you know! I can't talk and just hang out the whole time. I have to WRITE!"

Evan: "Um."

Kev: "You're really nice, though! You want to help me support corporate coffee?"

I stayed up late last night and ran out of social skills.

But! In a few hours, I will be hanging with my friends Marty and Barry on a whirlwind tour of NYC, and then tonight: BROOOOOOOOOOOOCE. Life is zesty!

I only have hot friends.

The Road to Hell is Paved With Brigham’s Sundaes

2009-11-06T17:55:50Z

11-06-09
Tangerine NaNo: 10, 186 words
Tangerine Total: 60, 233 words
What I’m Reading Now: Last Night In Twisted River, by John Irving

Tracey and I don’t hang out as much as we used to, due mainly to the fact that both of us now have lives. Mine generally involves hanging out at Starbucks and supporting corporate coffee. Hers is all about the screamo band My Chemical Romance. It takes all kinds, kids.

Anyhow, when she asked me if I was interested in hanging out this week, I jumped at the chance, especially when she used the M-word. (The M-word here … is mall.)

“To the Cambridgeside?” I asked. Quick history: Tracey and I worked together at the B. Dalton at the Cambridgeside Galleria for three years. During this time, Tracey blew off a movie engagement to see The Full Monty with me to have sex with a boy. I want to point out that Tracey is a lesbian now, and Mark Addy is still hot.

“No!” she countered. “How about The South Shore Plaza?” Folks, the South Shore Plaza was, at one point, the Most Important Place in my and Tracey’s lives. Back in 1993 (seriously? Christ.), I joined the staff at the B. Dalton there, two months after graduating high school. I was also working at the Record Town at the other end of the mall, and the Magic Eye booth somewhere in the middle. Tracey told our manager she couldn’t work on Thursday nights because she had class, but in reality, that’s when Friends was on. Ah, youth.

We hadn’t been back to the Plaza for some time, and it’s a good thing. At some point, Tracey and I both moved out of Quincy and started living our largely bohemian lifestyles here in the Big City. We have long-term relationships with people of the same gender, and one of us writes hardcore dub-con gay porn involving singers who are mad at their dads. PS: it’s not me. PPS: “Dub-con” is nasty porn-speak for “dubious consent.” I struggle to understand, you guys, I really do.

Anyhow, we decided to traipse on down to our old stomping grounds because we are occasionally nostalgic and invariably insane. Also: there was the promise of Hot Topic and sundaes at Brigham’s. My first mistake was trusting Tracey’s sense of direction.

“I printed out the directions from Google Maps!”

“Don’t you have a GPS?” She does have a GPS. She calls it The Lady because it speaks in a stern British accent. Here’s a sentence that turns creepy if you read it out of context:

“Yes, but The Lady is in pieces in the glove compartment.” Ah.

We followed Tracey’s Google Maps printout for about an hour and a half, listening to Revolver (“Oh, is that by a new band?” Tracey asked. “I have never heard of them!” Tracey finds my recent obsession with The Beatles hilarious. I find her wearying.) and talking and allowing comfortable silences that happen when you’ve known someone nearly half your life. At some point, I began to worry that the highway … looked different. I turned to her. She looked at me. “I think we’re going the wrong way.”

Oh, indeed we were! We were going north, which is not the direction you want to go in if your destination is the South Shore Plaza. Randomly, Tracey veered west and prayed. We played Patton Oswalt and giggled, but not too hard because I had to go to the bathroom before we left the city and Tracey told me to stop whining a little bitch and hold it until we got there.

“My kidneys hurt,” I said.

“I have no idea if we’re going the right way.”

As it turned out, we were going the right way … we were just coming at it from a rip in a tesseract we had somehow shot through in the dark while we were supposed to be paying attention. “Did we … did we circle around the state?”

Eventually, though, we were parked and happy and heading into the Plaza, which has had two floors since the mid-nineties and is far more brightly lit. Still though: looking at it with current eyes overlays the old on top of it. The old B. Dalton on the first floor, with the staircase and the cramped back room. I met Dave there, Dave who got me into Springsteen and Daredevil. Sometimes the past has a way of fucking with you.

As does a suburban mall on Tuesday night.

“I have yet to see anyone whose eyes aren’t dead,” Tracey remarked, as we sat down to our healthy Quiznos meal of Chicken Carbonara subs.

“It’s everyone. Not just the staff, but the people, too. How can this many people be collectively unhappy?”

We headed into Hot Topic. I have a feeling Tracey was looking for “MyChem” merchandise. I roundly mocked her; people our age should have grown out of the whole screamo thing by now. Then I cried, because they didn’t have any Blue October shirts.

“I got striped socks!” she exclaimed as the V. V. Extreme Thrash-Metal played above.

“Hooray! Let’s go to the Disney Store!”

The Disney Store didn’t have pins, I’ll have you know. They also didn’t have any adult Epcot shirts. The CM at the counter assured me I could find these things on the website, but I didn’t quite believe her. I think another trip to Orlando is necessary for what I need.

I went to Apple while she went to Claire’s. We stopped at Dalton’s and talked to a friend we knew there. I had a kind of mini-gaysposion at Crate and Barrel, which has put out their holiday merchandise and maybe kind of forced me to by snowflake-pattern handtowels and an ornament in the shape of a trumpet. I didn’t want to. Crate & Barrel made me.

We trudged to Brigham’s, determined not to let the Plaza sap our souls any further. We had come here for ice cream and we were getting ice cream. We stepped up to the counter and the girl behind it with the wrist tattoo and the eyes so heavily mascara’d that they looked all corspey mumbled in our direction.

“Um, I’d like a cookie-dough sundae.”

“W’awta cookieduh.” Translation: “Sir, I apologize, we are out of cookie dough.”

“Oh. Okay, then a chocolate chip hot fudge sundae, thank you.”

“Y’wa ha fu an whipcree aw ih?” Translation: “Would you like hot fudge and whipped cream on it?” To which my first response was: “Oh a hot fudge sundae? Heavens, where would you get that idea?!”

“Yes, please.” Tracey, safely, ordered a small chocolate cone. To discover that they didn’t have small cones. Or any semblance of happiness. We escaped with our ice creams and headed toward the exit. “How much do you want to bet that that tattoo on her wrist is the name of the guy responsible for her first abortion?” I asked.

“Her and that dead-eyed girl from CVS are probably roommates, you know. They sit at home every night and watch Twilight over and over and record themselves watching it for YouTube.”

Because we’re horrible, horrible people.

We made it home without incident (and in under fifteen minutes), blasting the one “MyChem” song I had and surprising Tracey by knowing all the words. We pulled up to my house playing Flo Rida’s “Low,” because that is indeed how we roll. I stood on the sidewalk and waved goodbye as Tracey drove off, both of us unable to stop smiling.

Inside, I told Shawn about our trip. “You only got a couple things from Crate and Barrel and got lost and stuff? I’m sorry you had such an awful trip!”

My eyes widened and I grinned. Without the slightest irony, I exclaimed “No, dude! It was the best!”

Everybody's Got a Hungry WOW!

2009-11-05T14:53:06Z

For this final run of concerts in the Working on a Dream tour, Bruce Springsteen has been playing mini-sets of a full album inside his larger sets. He's been sticking with his three biggest ones - Born to Run, Born in the USA and Darkness on the Edge of Town.

But in Madison Square Garden. The nights I AM GOING TO SEE HIM. He is playing The Wild, the Innocent, and the E Street Shuffle on Night One ... and the entirety of The River on Night Two. THE WHOLE FUCKING THING.

I MAY DIE OF SQUEE! MARTY, YOU MIGHT SEE ME DIE OF SQUEEE! HOLY MOTHERFUCKING ROCKTASTICOGASM!!!!!

More later.

The New Coffee Intricacies, Explained

2009-11-03T21:06:21Z

11-03-09

Tangerine NaNo: 6, 202 words
Tangerine Full: 56, 249 words
What I’m Reading Now: Last Night In Twisted River, by John Irving

There is a contingent in the world convinced that I am utterly blind to corporate buggery and double-speak. To those, I relate this story: last night, when I opened up my email to find a Starbucks missive stating that my Gold Card Membership would soon have even more rewards, I got excited. Then I skimmed the body of the email until I came to a dead stop on this sentence fragment:

While it will not provide the 10% discount…

My eyes went wide. My anger roiled inside me. Oh, really, Starbucks, I thought (and would have said, had I not been in the break room at work). Well fuck you, and fuck your Mom, and fuck your whole reductive up-drive corporatespeak that says more while you deliver less. Eat a bag of dicks.

Eventually, I calmed down. There is a contingent in the world that would prefer that I had not. The whole why do you support corporate coffee, Kevin contingent, which features a lot of fricative alliteration and is answered pretty simply: (1) It’s delicious, (2) it’s convenient, and (3) I can hang out there for an entire afternoon for under four bucks. But to go further down that path would invite me to further defend my love of certain Big Companies, and that’s not where I am right now. Where I am right now is my Starbucks Gold Card.

When I put down the garroting wire and actually opened the link Starbucks had provided, I got a little more clarity. The new Starbucks Rewards Card replaces and merges the old Starbucks Card and Starbucks Gold Card programs, bringing in elements of both and shedding some things that, in their opinion, didn’t work. To review, let’s take a look at the existing programs:

Starbucks Card
• The card itself is free
• Free syrup options (like vanilla, pumpkin spice, or peppermint)
• Refillable online, in store, or via the Starbucks Card app on the iPhone

Starbucks Gold Card
• $25 annual fee
• Free drink on your birthday
• 10% off on every purchase
• Free Wi-Fi for two hours every day
• Same refill options as above

The first big plus is that the new Starbucks Rewards card is free – no more $25 annual fee. This is going to be a plus for casual visitors, but for me, the card began paying for itself in the second week.

Beyond that, the new Starbucks Rewards is a points program, which seems to be where a lot of corporate loyalty programs are heading. You collect points – or “stars” – every time you use your card, one star per use. The breakdown of benefits is as follows:

Card Registration (Welcome Level)
• Free drink on your birthday, no points needed

15 Stars (Green Level)
• Welcome Level stuff, plus
• Free Wi-Fi for two hours a day
• Free beverage customization, including syrups and milk (like soy)
• Free refills on hot or iced coffee
• Free beverage with whole bean purchase

30 Stars (Gold Level)
• Welcome and Green Level stuff, plus
• Free drink every 15 stars
• Personalized Gold Card
• Remain at Gold Level for a year
• Personalized coupons and offers

As an added benefit, anyone currently in possession of a Gold Card is automatically renewed at that level for free when his or her membership expires.

What All This Means

There’s no way around it: for those of us used to the 10% off on every purchase – and not just beverage purchases – that’s the change that’s going to sting. If you’re a casual to moderate Starbucks visitor, new perks aren’t going to really help a lot. Let’s say you’re in the program and you go once every weekday for your morning coffee. You have to go for three weeks before the rewards start, and you have to go another three weeks before your Big Reward – that free beverage – kicks in. That’s a month and a half of paying out before you get a payback.

Winnowing it down to simple arithmetic, there is simply no break-even point that gets you on a level with the old discount. If you spent $4 on every visit using the old discount, over the course of 30 visits, you saved $12. Not giant, but not paltry. On this new program, you save a third of that: $4. Using mathy projections I didn’t know I could parse until I did it, if you paid Starbucks 120 visits, on the old program, you would have saved $48. On the new: $28. That’s half.

We are, however, not taking into account the not-inconsiderable syrup element. If you want vanilla or pumpkin spice or gingerbread, that’s an extra 30 cents. With the card, it’s free. If you want soy, that’s generally $.40. That’s also free. After, of course, fifteen visits.

Without a fee, you can’t really say that the card doesn’t pay for itself. If you frequent Starbucks, it is absolutely more beneficial than not having the card. The best thing about the Gold Level is that, once you’re in it, you stay in it for a year – meaning that you don’t start back at 0. If you go another thirty times, you get a whole other year at the Gold Level – which means that sixty visits (+/- two months), gets you those premium benefits for two years. Which is pretty good, if not ideal.

Long story short: Starbucks took the best thing from their Gold Card program and replaced it with some other stuff that, while good, isn’t quite up to the same level. Whether or not you’re into the program is dependent wholly on how much you love the drinks at Starbucks, how often you go, and what intangible benefits (the luxury of hanging out for hours, comfy chairs, multiple locations, free Wi-Fi) you derive. I don’t love it – and I especially don’t love the way Starbucks attempted to couch its curtailing of my benefits in comforting words – but I like it enough.

And that’s a crash-course in Your First-World Problems.

Kev

And We’re Off!

2009-11-02T17:18:45Z

11-02-09

Kev’s Word Counts:
Tangerine NaNo: 4, 422 words
Tangerine total: 54, 469 words
What I’m Reading Now: Last Night In Twisted River, by John Irving

Is it really only the second?

To reiterate my whole plan for the month: I’ve given up on Tangerine, my good girl, too many times in the past. It’s an idea that’s haunted me for years and I have a terrible fear that if I let her go when I’m on this roll, I’m going to let her go forever. Therefore, last week, I stopped work on the novel when I was at 50, 047 words, with the intention of picking up where I left off when November rolled around. That is why you’re going to see two word counts above my entries all throughout November, like what Marvel Comics was doing when they decided to reboot numbering. I’ll have whatever I’ve done past that 50, 047 as my NaNo number, and I’ll have my actual total. Which I’m sure is fascinating to all of you. Writing about your own writing process is like writing about your workout: it’s fascinating to you, and pretty much no one else cares.

Still, a few more bits of the tid variety: yesterday, I was nearly paralyzed with the idea that I’d written only 600 words and I was going to flail there, never progressing. And last night, I realized that the 1,500 words I’d finally plowed through were all shit, complete shit, and I deleted them and rewrote better. I know rewriting and questioning your progress is anathema to the concept of NaNo, but so is continuing a pre-existing story. I’m breaking all the rules this year, and I’m okay with that.

Competing for my literary attention, however, is John Irving. I’m about a quarter of the way through Last Night In Twisted River and I’ve fallen in love again. Recently, I gave my friend Neil a copy of Until I Find You; upon leafing through it, he determined it “advanced Irving,” while The Cider House Rules, on his shelf, was more “beginner Irving.” I can’t really argue with that logic, as Cider House was my very first of his books. If we’re categorizing as such, though, I’d have to say that Last Night in Twisted River is very much “beginner Irving,” and I couldn’t be happier. Where I felt safely on solid Irving ground in Until I Find You once we got to Amsterdam, here the Irving tropes are closer to home. You want bears? We got bears. You want Exeter? We got Exeter. We also have Bob Dylan and a logging camp and a chef and a fascination with larger women – all of which are either new or very recent. I’m so happy to be reading this.

But I have to finish soon: Stephen King’s Under the Dome comes out in eight days, and regardless of whether I’ve finished with Irving by then, I’m jumping into the King. It’s a moral imperative. I’ve been waiting for this thing in some shape or form since the late 80s.

Oh, and speaking of waiting for things: gingerbread flavor returns to Starbucks tomorrow. To. Morrow. It’s been far, far too long since I indulged in a gingerbread chai, and I am ready. This, along with the college stuff and the job bites and Springsteen coming up next weekend – man, things are working out gangbusters right now.

All right, short break to read, and then back to the novel. Let’s go. Let’s really really go.

Kev

Tracey and Liz's Furry Halloween Party!

2009-11-01T05:25:16Z

Still a tiny bit tipsy. This isn't all the pictures of Tracey and Liz's party, in part because I don't know how many of the ladies there want me to post their pics. Until more pictures come, enjoy the furriest Halloween ever!

Andy's a bunny!

I'm a panda? But I kind of look like a dead panda?

Shawn has "claws." He was dressed as a "fanboy who loves Manos: Hands of Fate." The sad part is how everyone totally got it. He also has a cape!

Joe was a ... wait for it ... Siamese Cat. Yep.

Dave was The Punisher. He explained that he bought leather pants a few years ago, and because they were so expensive, he needs to justify that by using them for Halloween every year. So: Neo, Ash, The Punisher, and The Crow.

Shawn wore my panda ears. Um. Everyone wore my panda ears. They are dirty, dirty panda ears.

Halloween!

G-Way Larping Party and 4 Others

2009-10-29T16:02:59Z

1. Today I send my laptop in for repairs. The "apple" on the front detached. That's not supposed to happen! This means I'll be less-active on the onlines for the next few days. Brace yourself!

2. Interview in a couple of hours. I'm wearing a tie. What.

3. I really, by nature's law, should not be awake right now. I was out until 1:30 making wildly inappropriate jokes with Harrington, K-Dug, and Delfino. Then I went home and read comics until like 2:30 and then got up crazy early and I'm SO sleepy. Tonight: bed before midnight.

4. Tracey tried to judge me for wanting to be a panda at her Halloween party. I reminded her that her fiancee and two others are going to be going as members of My Chemical Romance. "You're actually having a G-Way LARPing party at your house" is how I put it. Tracey wisely realized she has no moral high ground anymore.

5. The Natalie Imbruglia "Torn" interpretation video remains one of the best things on the internet.

Getting to Work

2009-10-28T15:57:04Z

Current Word Count: Tangerine, 50, 047 words
What I’m Reading Now: Last Night In Twisted River, by John Irving

Despite the icon, this post isn’t entirely about NaNoWriMo. Hear me out.

This morning, in the shower, I realized I was going to towel off and go to my bedroom and pick out something nice to wear to work today. It’s the second training session at Borders, and today, we’re actually going to be out on the floor, interacting with people. I chose my black jeans – any color jeans but blue are AOK – and my retro red polo shirt and put them on and looked at myself in the mirror. I was going to work. I was going to a job.

At once, I went to the phone and dialed my old temp agency, and got in contact with my former agent, Beth. “Well, I’m sad that you’re out of a job, but I’m happy that you’re back with us!” she said, at which point I remembered how personable I can be, and how employable I am.

We worked things out: I couldn’t commit to a job until after I came back from New York. I was more interested in part-time right now, especially if I’m going to consider upping my hours at Borders and especially if I’m going to keep my commitment to the theater. Beth asked, “Well, what have you been doing in your downtime?”

“Writing,” I explained. “A couple of nonfiction books. Some columns. Mostly fiction.”

“Novels?”

“Eighteen of them.”

At which point, she rattled off a series of networking opportunities and low-impact office jobs that I’d be perfect for. My head swirling a bit, I agreed to meet with her for an interview tomorrow, to determine where I fit best. “And we can work with you so that you can concentrate on your writing and have a way to support yourself.”

“That is perfect.”

I hung up and looked at Shawn. “I’m apparently getting a job.”

He smiled. “I heard you on the phone. You’re … really good at that stuff.”

Which is awesome to hear, and even more boss to believe. This is coming back to me: I am good at this stuff. I can market myself in pretty much anything but fiction (oh, but that elusive frustration). I also like the idea of working several different part-time jobs as a way of keeping busy in different ways. Clerical work is not freelance writing is not box-office is not retail.

It’s just that it feels like all of this stuff is working together, all at once. Puzzle pieces, fitting in. I’ve had a good run being just a freelance writer, working for money that often stubbornly refuses to come. Now it’s time to be other stuff, too.

I want to clarify, though, what this does not mean. (1) and most importantly, this does not mean I’m abandoning my writing. In point of fact, I’m upping it. It’s almost November, after all, and November means NaNoWriMo. Now, I am doing it a little differently this year. Tangerine is currently hovering at 50, 047 words. It is my goal to effectively double – if not triple – my word count in November. It’s bending the rules a little bit (okay, it’s going directly counter to one of the major rules), but I abandoned Tangerine last year for Roller Disco Saturday Night, and it suffered. I don’t want it to suffer again.

I will be reporting two different numbering systems, like Marvel comics were doing for awhile: the actual count, and my NaNo count. Which reminds me, I should really sign up on the NaNo site.

The other thing (2) I don’t want to give up on is college. But that wouldn’t be happening until next fall, and I need to do something to keep me in funds until then. And I think I can actually do it all, if I’m careful. There are 168 hours in a week, and I only need to sleep 90 of those. Everything is happening for me right now. Things are going to change, I can feel it.

All right, I’ve written long enough. Time to go. To work.

Kev

Me and Steve

2009-10-27T17:25:54Z

Current Word Count: Tangerine, 49, 764 words
What I’m Reading Now: Last Night In Twisted River, by John Irving

I found myself wandering the city yesterday, a little bleary-eyed and out of sorts. I’d finished Her Fearful Symmetry early and hadn’t had the foresight to bring something short to read. Not wanting to start anything long – the new Irving was coming out the next day, and I wanted to devote myself fully to that – I just sort of listened to music and checked my Twitter and email obsessively on my phone. Eventually, even that gave out.

The moods, when they come, come in whispers. I felt one coming in for me. It’s an obvious and stupidly epic metaphor, but at once I felt like I was between everything. Between books, between jobs, between – I don’t know, cracks in my life. I spent the afternoon weird and vulnerable and alone. I decided to hide out in a bookstore for awhile and try to absorb some happiness there.

I poked through some of the new Vonnegut. Picked up and put down the Chick Klosterman; when I get it, I want to get it all the way, not as something half-read. Desultorily, I headed into the basement and gave a look at the new authorized Winnie-the-Pooh book, and dropped it in revulsion. It’s awful.

On defeated legs, I made my way into the bargain section … and there I saw it. For months, I’ve been talking about a new book about Stephen King called The Illustrated Stephen King Companion. I’d been promoting it, but I hadn’t actually seen it. Now, I snatched it up off the shelf and started to leaf through. And fell in.

Back when I first got into Stephen King, when I was 12, I was inundated with author photos of him. They became intrinsically woven in with the words in my mind. I’m not saying that my attraction to Stephen King was intrinsically physical – what I’m saying is that the physical commingled with the textual, the emotional. At some point, he became my primary father figure – my real father was close but never around; I suppose I preferred a father who was distant but ever-present. Mixed in with my discovery of King was the first inkling of my sexuality, so there were a lot of confusing years where the books I was reading seemed to chart my progress through puberty, through self-acceptance, through the final shaky years of my adolescence. There were full years in there where I read nothing but King. I did so because he made me safe, because he made me happy, because he was everything I wanted to be.

Yesterday, I sat down on the floor at Borders’ Best Neighbor and pored through this book which seemed to feature new photographs of King on every single page. In addition to reproductions of letters and manuscript pages (in pockets that you can open and remove and unfold), there are all these pictures of the man, from the 50s till now – the majority of them during the years I first became familiar with him. It –

Okay, look, I know this sounds silly and grandiose, but looking at these pictures of Stephen King was like looking in on my past. The man in those pictures was working on changing my life. God, he was so good-looking back then. I needed him so badly, and he just kept delivering.

Anyway, I don’t know. All of it made me shaky and happy and less vulnerable. At some point, I will actually buy the book, when I have a little more money and I can afford to buy things again. It’s funny that just as I get a part-time job at Borders, the book I need is only available at Barnes & Noble.

I don’t know what the point of this is. I’m just in a weird head-space now. I think it’s good. Maybe. Or maybe I should just dive into the new Irving (which I borrowed, didn’t buy) and have myself a time. Yeah. That sounds good.

Kev

Radio Silence

2009-10-26T12:45:46Z

Hey kids,

I'm off the grid today so I can concentrate on finishing Her Fearful Symmetry (last night I realized, because I'm slow, that "symmetry" is an almost-rhyme of "cemetery," especially when said with a British accent, and it's where a bunch of the book takes place), so tomorrow morning I can leap right into the new John Irving. Which means no novel work, no LJ, very little twittering, and a break only for the gym mid-day.

In lieu of a real entry, then, I alert you to the wide-awake nightmare that is my husband's latest obsession. Shawn's Five Days of Shakira's "She-Wolf" is as hilarious as it is terrifying, and I urge everyone to take a look-see, especially at the tags (in one, he tags a Shakira video with simply "hips". Because they don't lie?)

First watch the original, lunatic "She-Wolf" video, for reference. Then head on over to Shawn's journal for:

He-Wolf, a gay-ass parody video that's better than the original.

He-Wolves!, just way, way too many parody/interpretation videos. The first one, which is sped up, is the best, because it's a sister-super gay brother team up, like Zan and Jana.

Acoustic Loba, two acoustic covers by young people. If you watch the second video, I urge you to at least watch through the first chorus, so milk can come out of your nose like it did mine.

What Is a She-Wolf, in which a nerdy girl attempts to take Shakira to task for her grammar. Yes, there's a cage.

Drums only sound good if you play them while doing yoga! A link to Shakira's other new song on SNL a week or so ago. In this entry, Shawn calls "She-Wolf" a "laughable travesty," but I will point out that he BOUGHT IT and listens to it around the house. While we both do the dances.

Um. "Enjoy"? This has been Five Days of She-Wolf. You're welcome!

Kev

Love Me! Love My Music!

2009-10-25T01:14:29Z

Current Word Count: Tangerine, 47, 850 words
What I’m Reading Now: Her Fearful Symmetry, by Audrey Niffenegger

I’ve been a lazy, lazy Kev today. Despite a pretty thorough workout with Ian and a satisfying lunchy time with the sweetie, I have gotten little of consequence done today. I count this as all right, because I’m working at Borders tomorrow for the first time in two years and I call this Conserving My Energy. Plus, I plan on some yoga tonight, too. Namaste, bitches!

Okay, and not for nothing, I did write a couple paragraphs in Tangerine. My rule: I can’t write in LJ without at least writing something in the novel. Working on it every day, no matter how little, keeps the momentum going and keeping me tethered to the characters. Plus, it keeps me on par for the days when I need to jump headlong into a 3,000 word day. Oh, NaNo, how I have missed you.

But tonight, mostly what I did is make new LJ icons and go through my Top 50 Most Played Songs on iTunes. So that is what I will share with you! Hooray Saturday Night!

You'll notice, of course, a preponderance of Springsteen. I reset all my playlists around the time Working on a Dream came out, you'll see a lot of that. You'll also notice a really kind of psychotic devotion to Green Day's 21st Century Breakdown, as well as my "new" discovery of They Might Be Giants' Flood, bringing up the rear (thanks, joezer!)

More interesting, I think, are the one-offs that have made impressions on my life. "When I Paint My Masterpiece," by The Band, is in there because of its use in the movie Observe and Report, among my favorite movies of the year. "More Than A Feeling" by Boston is sort of the theme song of Roller Disco Saturday Night, and Tangerine is ... well, you know. I think it's kind of funny how often I listen to "Paper Planes" by M.I.A. I am no demographic!

I may have also mentioned updating/creating LJ icons? OMG RIGHT HERE!

My new main LJ icon. I thought it was time to put Dr Pepper front and center.

Writing. The old one showed me on the old laptop, and I thought this one - a closeup of me signing the pages for the chapbook - was both more classic and more representative of me as an author, rather than just a writer.

I thought Captain Baxter needed his own icon.

Grunt. I was never entirely comfortable with the very revealing icon I used to have for this, with me more than half-naked. This works better. I think.

Me and Shawn. This captures us better than the overly kissy one from last Christmas.

Because I totes needed something that said, "OMG YOU GUYS CHECK THIS OUT!!!"

I decided to update the steampunk icon when I realized the other one had Disney wallpaper in the background. Um.

I love my pink Chucks.

I don't have much in the way of WTF icons. Now I do!

WHEEEE!!!! A ride photo at Six Flags with Mark!

An update to my Starbucks icon. The old one was fuzzy and black and white and self-important. This describes my relationship with Starbucks better.

I've wanted a gym icon for awhile. Huzzah!

Because I need something to use for all of Tracey and Liz's bandom posts. I mean, seriously.

Hello and welcome to my Saturday night. My plans to go visit Hottie McHottie Brian Smith on his birthday got all thwarted, so now I'm at Starbucks at 9:15, waiting to head home and watch Mary Poppins on the couch with my nice blanket. Hooray blanket!

Kev

There’s a Boy in the Girls’ Locker Room!

2009-10-23T18:37:20Z

Current Word Count: Tangerine, 47, 678 words
What I’m Reading Now: Her Fearful Symmetry, by Audrey Niffenegger

Okay, first things first. These were the awful new Kurt Vonnegut covers I ran across at the bookstore today:

They’re trying hard to be minimalist, and instead come across looking like something a fourth-grader made in art class. Based on my friend John Perich’s suggestion that, “The minimal isn't even minimal enough. Author last name, Title, two colors, block letters. That'd be minimalist.”

So I decided to give myself a tiny little Photoshop lesson, and came up with these, my two favorite Vonnegut books:

Thoughts?

* * *

The reason I was at the bookstore this morning was because I had this whole grand idea for the morning. It’s my turn to do laundry, and I’ve been building up a whole heap of grungy workout clothes in my locker at the gym. My plan was to dash downtown, grab my gross clothes, come back, do laundry, read awhile, and kick this day April Fresh.

I was thwarted by a jaundice-yellow sign on the front door stating in no uncertain terms that the locker rooms were switching today, because the girls’ locker room was being retiled. So, not only could I not grab my gym clothes, but I also could not work out, because my shorts were in my locker, currently being pawed at by ladies who probably have vaginas and designs on my workout gear. Ladies. Disconsolately, I traveled into the women’s locker room to at least take a shower and discover whether or not the men putting in the new tile floor were at least hot enough to justify disrupting my morning (answer: no. Sigh.)

But! Did you know that the girls’ locker room is like twice as large as the boys’? What’s up with that? Also, they have these special showers that go back an extra five feet, so if you want to, you can step out of the shower but still be behind the curtain and towel off there. What? I think I saw an actual steam room in there, too. Maybe also a fondue bar and a pedicure station. What I’m saying is equal rights now, ladies. I did yoga last night! Namaste, bitches!

* * *
So now I’m off to do unfun laundry that does not involve my gym clothes but may include a trip to the greasy sub shop next door. I am trying my best to finish Her Fearful Symmetry before Tuesday, because that is when John Irving’s book comes out and I want to jump right into that and splash about. I need a running start with Irving if I’m ever to finish it, especially with the King novel coming out on the tenth. I’m also going to be doing a version of NaNo this November, in which I try to finish Tangerine during that month instead of putting it aside once again for a brand-new novel that will take me eight months to finish. I did have an idea for a novella I could write in a month and make 50,000 words … but I’ve got a momentum going and I don’t want to lose it. Plus, I start work at Borders on Sunday! That’s right! You heard me! Discounts, advance copies, Christmas money, sunshine, Barfie Burgers, girls! Life tastes like a Whatchamacallit and I’m taking a bite!

Kev

Why Does Disney World Mock Me?!

2009-10-20T23:40:45Z

Wow. Disney World in 1971 really hates you. I mean REALLY hates you.

The Doki Doki Paradigm and How It Applies To Schools

2009-10-20T17:28:19Z

Current Word Count: Tangerine, 46, 027 words
What I’m Reading Now: Her Fearful Symmetry, by Audrey Niffenegger

Over the past two weeks, I have visited three college campuses. There is within me a great desire to visit one more, but not for any concrete reason beyond the Super Mario Brothers II symmetry. You know my whole theory on the Super Mario Brothers II Construct, right? Otherwise known as the Doki Doki Paradigm, the Construct looks at the pros and cons of four competitors all working toward the same basic goal. In Super Mario Brothers II, at the beginning of each level, you could choose to play as Mario, Luigi, Toad, or Princess Peach. Luigi could jump really high, but was slower than average at pulling up vegetables and picking up enemies. Toad had a stunted midget jump, but he pulled and picked with lightning speed. The Princess picked stuff up crazy slowly … but she could fly for short distances. Mario was pretty much average all around. Your goal was to figure out which one was going to help you get to the end of each level best, weighing the drawbacks against the special talents, and living with your decision no matter how many times you lost a guy.

So now comes this choice, maybe the most important of my adult life. So let’s apply video game logic to it!

Boston University

Pros
• Has a creative writing building
• Is hugely respected; having BU on my resume would be a boon
• Encourages and funds studying abroad
• Is challenging academically
• Many food and study areas.
• Has at least three Starbucks inside the campus
• Is immense, and the students and faculty have an intimate and borderline reverent relationship with the library.
• Humungous gym building; I could give up my gym membership and go there for four years.
• Right on the Green Line

Cons
• Might be too challenging academically; while in Honors English, I was in remedial math, and I also didn’t take well to science courses.
• Is expensive. It costs more to go there per year than I made annually at my old job.
• Unsure policy on adult learners. No one seemed to have an answer for me on that.
• Requires two SATs, or one ACT With Writing, which would mean I’d have to take them over.
• Is a very sports-oriented school. I hate sports.
• It’s on the Green Line.

Quick judgment: Luigi. It’s a school that will require me to jump very high, but my focus does not necessarily require that.

Umass

Pros
• Inexpensive.
• Academically moderate; I would have no trouble with classes there.
• Specific interest classes, like a course on horror fiction
• Good SAT scores not required.

Cons
• Good SAT scores not required. I’m not sure I want to go to a school that will, and I quote, “toss them out if I bomb.”
• Few food areas.
• Commute. I’d have to take three forms of public transport to get there and back, about an hour each way.
• A run-down, depressed feel. It’s a college that feels like a high school.
• My tour guide gave a cursory nod to the library; it doesn’t seem to be all that important in the grand scheme of UMass.

Quick judgment: Toad. I won’t have any trouble picking up what they’re putting down, but I likely won’t be asked to reach beyond my minimum requirements.

Emerson

Pros
• They have very specific majors in Writing, Literature, and Journalism, including a multitude of courses on creative writing.
• They tailor your other humanities – like science and math – to your focus. If you’re a film major, for instance, they have a “Physics of Movie Making” course.
• Huge support for creative thinking.
• Very excited about adult students, especially those with life experience that includes having chapbooks published.
• Diverse class base; even if my focus is on creative writing, I can take classes on stand-up comedy, advertising, and television.
• The library is one of the school’s biggest focuses, and it’s a “food-friendly” library, so you can eat while you study.
• Located in Downtown Boston.

Cons
• Expensive to the degree that all college is expensive; cheaper than BU but over twice as much as UMass.
• Incoming students are required to live on campus; extenuating circumstances are taken into account, but I’m not sure how extensive a process it is to get out of that.

Quick judgment: Mario. Emerson seems tailor-made for me, offering all the classes I want to take and providing a challenge without expecting miracles. Their focus on creative learning and teaching thrills me. Where creative writing is a part of the larger curriculum for both UMass and BU, it seems to be a major interest for Emerson.

Right now, I think I’m really set on Emerson as my school. My experience there was a far-heightened version of what happened at BU, and was exactly the opposite of my depressing slog through UMass. I texted Shawn during a quiet moment to say, “I LOVE THIS SCHOOL!!!” I’m applying to both Emerson and BU and seeing where it leads me.

Now comes the tough part. Getting in touch with my old teachers and bosses and getting recommendations. Getting my transcripts. Seeing if I need to retake my SATs. Applying. Writing essays. It’s daunting, but a little exciting. Maybe I should have done this when I was 18 … but you know, I’m not sure I was ready for this at 18. I’m ready now.

Kev

Charnel House!

2009-10-19T04:02:25Z

I spent much of today reimagining Charnel House, my Stephen King website I've now been keeping for 13 years. It's a radical departure for the look of the site, as I try to bring it, screaming, out of the 1990s.

Let me know what you think. I'm kind of beyond self-analysis at this point, so any thoughts would be helpful!

Charnel House: News and Reviews Since 1996!

College Thoughts and Others

2009-10-17T22:13:33Z

10-17-09

Current Word Count: Tangerine, 45, 063 words
What I’m Reading Now: Her Fearful Symmetry, by Audrey Niffenegger

I’m at a point in my novel where I have to sort of sum up all my complex themes in the book without projecting that that’s what I’m doing. There’s also a fair amount of foreshadowing going on here, and I need to tread lightly with it. We’ll see how it shakes out. I just fixed yesterday’s clunky dialogue and slammed through another thousand-plus words and I feel pretty good about it all.

The other day, I toured the UMass campus while on my whirlwind tour of Boston-area colleges. On paper, UMass looks like the perfect school for me. Pretty inexpensive, interesting courses, a diverse student base. But the tour depressed me in ways I didn’t foresee. Walking through UMass was like visiting a crumbly, 70s-modern older brother of my high school, without the charm. In our orientation meeting, I asked the coordinator if it would behoove me to retake my SATs.

“I mean, you can if you want?” she responded. “But if you bomb, we’ll just throw those out.”

On the B.U. tour, our guide led us into the student library and waxed rhapsodic about the whole thing, discussing its hours, and how many books it had, and what was in the special collections. It was a highlight of the whole tour. At UMass, when we wandered near the library, the tour guide asked, “Okay, does anyone want to go in, or should we skip it?” I was the only one who raised my hand for Yey. The guy led us in and pointed at the coffee shop on the ground floor. “We have a café, and seven floors of books,” he said. “Anyone have questions?” And then we followed him out.

It’s not that the orientation lady or the tour guide guy were bad, they just didn’t seem at all enthusiastic about the school. And, to be fair to them, there didn’t seem much to be enthusiastic about. The classrooms were small and tucked away to the side, industrial and anonymous and sad. I know it’s a public school, but the reason I want to go back to college is to have a challenge, to have a college experience. I went to high school. I don’t need that again.
Monday, I’m going to visit Emerson. Wednesday: Suffolk U. We’ll see. Right now, though, I’m leaning heavily on B.U., even though I might technically not be smart enough or qualified enough to get in. But they have a creative writing building. You guys.

Right now, it’s all about being at Starbucks, before then heading to the gym to muscle and pretty myself up for Rachel’s party. I may shut the laptop and revel in the new Inventory book by the Onion’s A.V. Club, which traipses that weird Right Now line between snark and sincerity about Our Communal Popular Culture. Or I may just listen to music and be happy, because my husband doesn’t have heart disease and I got paid for writing and it’s been a great Saturday.

Kev

Whatchamacallit!

2009-10-16T22:29:05Z

Current Word Count: Tangerine, 43, 964 words
What I’m Reading Now: Her Fearful Symmetry, by Audrey Niffenegger

In 1978, the Hershey’s company released the Whatchamacallit candy bar to the masses. The Whatchamacallit bar was made of peanut butter flavored “crispies” and featured a coating of rich milk chocolate. Eager to play on its silly, memorable name, Hershey’s produced this early commercial, a Little League take on the classic Abbot & Costello bit, “Who’s On First.”

In 1987, nine years after its inception, Hershey’s made the controversial decision to add a layer of caramel to the candy bar. Debates still rage to this day whether the decision was a good one. In an effort to take on problems that are truly important, several online petitions have sprung up to get Hershey’s to remove the caramel layer. None of these efforts have been successful.

While the Whatchamacallit bar never had an amazing movie tie-in opportunity like Reese’s Pieces did with E.T. – or, to a lesser extent, Baby Ruth in The Goonies or Zagnut in Beetlejuice – Whatchamacallit did have an amazing mind-bender of a commercial in 1989. Again, though it’s not as revered as, say, that one for the Tootsie Pop (probably the best candy commercial of all time), it’s weird and merges retro and future-retro styles to create something truly memorable.

Whatchamacallit’s brand graphics changed in 2002, with more dynamic package imagery (the name of the bar jumps out against a chocolate “splash” field). In 2006, the Whatchamacallit – along with several other candy bars, including the inconceivably popular Take 5 – underwent a far more radical change than the addition of caramel. Due to the rising cost of cocoa, Hershey’s began replacing the cocoa butter coating with a new coating consisting mainly of vegetable oils. While it still contains some chocolate, Hershey’s is no longer allowed to legally state that the Whatchamacallit contains milk chocolate. As a result, the packaging of the Whatchamacallit changed once again, and advertising that it is “Made with chocolate, peanut flavored crisps, and caramel.”

In 2009, following the trend of candy bars receiving spinoff treatment, the Whatchamacallit introduced a limited edition candy bar called the Thingamajig. The Thingamajig is slightly smaller than the Whatchamacallit, featuring cocoa crisps with a layer of peanut butter substituted for caramel. Like the Whatchamacallit, it is enrobed in a coating of Hershey’s imitation milk chocolate, but because the whole bar is suffused with chocolate essence, one can detect the lack of cocoa butter less.

The Whatchamacallit has never gotten the recognition or praise it deserves (which makes the existence of the Thingamajig it a little puzzling … if delicious), but even with the caramel layer and the change to mocklate, I think the Whatchamacallit is one of the best candy bars out there. Crisp, wide, and a surprising chocolate/peanut butter combination flavor that is at once unusual and inviting, the Whatchamacallit deserves its due.

Kev

Weird-Day Sigh.

2009-10-15T23:46:36Z

Hey all.

Weird day today, including:

-> waking up early to finish signing the 1,200 pages I promised I would send out today.
-> touring UMass and leaving a little troubled.
-> doing a nearly-complete workout at the gym (arm day).
-> coping with Shawn's medical dilemma (which, as it turns out, is okay. *breathe out*)
-> doing emergency edits on my website to include recently published books on King.
-> sending last-minute edits (and bio) to my publisher for the chapbook.

And because I didn't work on the novel, I feel like I didn't quite live up to my potential. I think this means I am totally the college type.

Also, I think I may work on the novel tonight.

Right now, I'm heading to see the Bastards show with my friend Neil and anyone else I can drum up. After that, a dash home to catch the season premiere of 30 Rock, plus CSI. Oh, God, why does just watching TV sound so heavenly right now?

Then I'll work on the novel and wake up reasonably late tomorrow. And do Friday things, including a pocket history of a consumer product on LJ. And be happy.

Kev

Colophons and Colleges

2009-10-14T17:01:59Z

10-14-09

Current Word Count: Tangerine, 42, 448 words
What I’m Reading Now: Her Fearful Symmetry, by Audrey Niffenegger

I have before me a stack of pages four hundred deep. The pages are of fine stock: Eaton Blue Granite, and the box assures me that they are made of 25% cotton. Cotton. On one side of each sheet is a colophon, basically an introductory note to the text that will follow when this sheet is tipped into the book it belongs to. There’s a note on the type – Arial and Times New Roman – and a sentence stating that this page will be part of a limited edition chapbook numbering 796 copies.

On the other side is the book’s title – Chart of Darkness – and then a line with my name printed under it. My duty is to sign each of those 796 sheets and return them back to the publisher, who will then bind them with the rest of Chart of Darkness, and send them out as a bonus gift with their limited edition of Stephen King’s new novel, Under the Dome.

Beside me is the phone, with which I just scheduled an appointment with the UMASS Undergraduate Admissions Office to take a tour of their campus tomorrow. The tour includes an introductory information session, and at some point I’m going to have to take someone aside and ask what their policy is on taking adult undergrads who want to go there full-time.

It’s a busy time right now.

I had a brief pause yesterday when I opened the box from my publisher and I saw the pages. This, beyond anything else, is the first piece of concrete legitimacy I’ve had with my writing. I wrote a small book that is now going to be published by a small press. Not a vanity press. Not self-publishing. A real publisher, one which has put out books by giants in the horror and speculative fiction field: Stephen King, Richard Matheson, Jack Ketchum, Ray Bradbury. They’re huge in this genre, and they are publishing me. And this is just the beginning of it, too: soon, the movie trivia guide I co-authored will be out and in stores. Following that, sometime down the line: the intermediate guide, which is going to include reviews of all the books and all the movies, feature guest essays by Stephen King experts, have a guide to books about Stephen King, and include the entire text of Chart of Darkness. (The limited edition won’t be available to the masses, yet, although plans are in the works to publish it on the Kindle/iPhone and have it ready by Christmas. I’ll let you know.)

Like I said, it’s a busy time.

Okay, now college: I guess the most basic question is why I want to go. A good follow-up question is why now. I’ll answer in reverse. Why now is because I don’t have a path right now. Writing is terrific. I’m getting paid for it for the first time, and I couldn’t be happier about that. But while writing for a living no longer seems the pipe dream it was even a year ago, it’s not enough. Not yet. I have bills to pay and food to eat and trips to take. And I’ve decided that I don’t necessarily want to take another office job that keeps me busy but doesn’t fulfill me, or a retail job that I like but that kills me physically for minimum wage (hyaaah! WHIP!) Beyond that, I’m thirty-four. I’m technically old enough to have a college-age child, and I can feel a part of me slipping away. I have a feeling that if I don’t jump at this now, I won’t jump at it ever. Not going to college is one of the few real regrets I have in my life, and I don’t want that to be a regret that lies unfulfilled.

So why in the first place? Why do I want to go to college?

A big reason is simply drive. I have massive amounts of drive to do better, to be better, maybe to be the best … and I have nothing to drive with. I can write long, narrative, fun LiveJournal entries and people can read them or not and that’s my little gratification. I can write novels that three people read. I can make sumptuous dinners for two or for five. And that’s good. Don’t get me wrong. That’s great.

But I don’t want just. I want it all.

I want to prove to someone smarter than me that I can write brilliantly. I want to learn how to write better, and how to turn some of the thoughts in my head into saleable ideas. I want to network. I want to learn how to get published by a big press. I want to be in a room of my peers, soaking in knowledge, discussing books I love and books I will love and delving into why I like them.

More: I had to not work the bar at ImprovBoston because I can’t do multiples of twelve in my head. That’s absurd. I want to know more about The New Deal than just what I read about in The Grapes of Wrath. I want to learn brilliant new words – not so I can impress my friends, but so I can think better. I want to think better.

And goddammit, I want to be in a classroom again. I want to be in a place that rewards thinking, that recognizes doing. I want to be smarter than I am now.

My plan after high school was to skip a year and then go back when I was nineteen. In that year, I got kicked out of my apartment, moved into a rooming house, and had to work retail to support myself. All those old crazy dreams just kind of came and went. Skipping that year was a bad decision, and by the time I woke up to what a wreck I’d made of my life, it was really too late. Feeling that you missed the boat at twenty-two is a harsh reality.

But I don’t think I have to have missed it. Not anymore. I’m still young enough to do this. I’m still driven enough to do this. Yesterday I ran myself ragged – fiction and journal-writing in the morning, early. College tour at Boston University in the afternoon. Nonfiction at dusk. Gym in the evening. Mushroom bisque from scratch and a moment to eat it with Shawn. Then, close to midnight, I sat down and started signing that line under my name.

I’m on my way. I don’t know where that way is yet, but I know it’s coming. I also know it will be tough. I may have to take my SATs again, and I have to go back and get transcripts and get recommendations from teachers. But it will happen. It will be worth it, I think. I think I’m finding the path.

Kev

Disney Trip Report Hub [September 2009]

2009-10-13T16:14:18Z

Kev's Disney Trip Report Hub

Welcome to my round-up of my Disney Trip Reports. In this hub, travel through my many adventures at Walt Disney World: every experience new, every trip report different. Packed with narratives and punctuated by pictures, these trip reports are some of my best writing (if I do say so myself). Read, enjoy, and dream along with Kevbot.

A Series of Moments [September 2009]

Part One: New Horizons

Part Two: An Adventurer's Life Is Best

Part Three: Waltzing With Bears

Part Four: The Deluge

Part Five: Group Snacks

Part Six: Castling

Happy Disneyversary! [May 2009]

Part One: In Which Shawn and Kev Are Entirely Surrounded By the Old South

Part Two: In Which Shawn and Kev Are Entirely Surrounded By Hollywood

Part Three: In Which Shawn and Kev Are Entirely Surrounded By Magic

Part Four: In Which Shawn and Kev Are Entirely Surrounded By Change

Part Five: In Which Shawn and Kev Are Entirely Surrounded By Epcot

Part Six: In Which Shawn and Kev Are Entirely Surrounded By Water

Part Seven: In Which Shawn and Kev Are Entirely Surrounded By Animals

Alone Around the World [February 2009]

Part One: The Magic Begins

Part Two: Touring and Soaring

Part Three: Kev Possible

Part Four: Mom and Me

Part Five: Kingdom Hearts

My First MouseFest [December 2008]

Part One: Lou Mongello Saw Me In My Socks

Part Two: How I Lost My Ambivalence

Part Three: From Mountain to Mountain

Part Four: Let That Which Illuminated Him, Illuminate Me

Rising To the Challenge [September 2008]

Part One: Preamble

Part Two: Four Parks, One Day

Part Three: A Man, A Plan, Some Hoisin

Part Four: Does This Trip Report Make Me Look Bat?

Part Five: Everybody's Got a Laughing Place

Clandestiny! [May 2008]

Part One: Clarity

Part Two: Plussing

Part Three: Blitz

Part Four: Roar!

Manley, Myth, and Magic [October 2007]

Part One: Flantastic!

Part Two: Boys In Their Summer Clothes

Part Three: Bound Away

My Big Disney Adventure [May 2007]

Part One: Georgia Satellite

Part Two: Hope and Glory

Part Three: After the Night, There's a Brand New Day

Part Four: Not In Nottingham

Part Five: Are We There Yeti?

Part Six: Move Along Home

A Series of Moments: Castling

2009-10-13T15:59:53Z

10-13-09

Current Word Count: Tangerine, 42, 418 words
What I’m Reading Now: Her Fearful Symmetry, by Audrey Niffenegger

There’s a trend in my Disney entries to end on a sighing note. Almost always, coming home means leaving some friends behind. Brad and Kay. Joe. Randy. I’m back to Boston and they’re back to their lives in their worlds and while I always try to leave it as “see ya real soon,” there’s always a slightly gloomy feeling of good-bye.

Which is why I’m doing all that here, first, at the start of the finish. I don’t want to end there this time.

Joe and I drove out of Walt Disney World a little after noon on Monday. Just past the airport was a Chili’s restaurant, a joy for me because all the Chili’s in Boston have disappeared save one, and they stopped making their Chicken Crispers the right way so I’m boycotting them. I know how to pick my battles.

Brad and Kay, my Florida buddies, were waiting for us there, along with a foxy waiter Joe and I and Kay couldn’t stop glancing at. Brad was unimpressed, but what do you expect from straight guys?

We wolfed down our dinner and caught ourselves up and it was a damn good buffer between constant magic and the mundane melancholy of my flight home. Enough company to keep me warm, maybe. A reiteration of friendships made and kept.

At the airport, Joe and I got one last picture together at the Disney Store, and then hugged epically before I headed into the security gate, shoes off and hat in hand. I turned around to wave so long, but Joe had already turned back. The missing starts at once, doesn’t it? And it never really ends until you’re back together again; good friends who will always find a place for one another – a happy place where, like in Disney World, dreams come true and magic exists.

* * *

Before:

We woke up early and had the car packed quicker than I thought we would. It was our last day at Walt Disney World, and because I didn’t fly out until almost eight, we’d have time to run about the Magic Kingdom for a little while – the only really neglected park of our trip so far. My whole big idea was to get myself on Dumbo. It’s a rite of passage thing I never got to experience – or, if I did when I was five, I don’t remember it and there aren’t any surviving pictures.

However, Dumbo being Dumbo, by the time we got there (literally minutes after park opening), the wait had already stretched to forty minutes. It being my last day with a bit of a time crunch to contend with, I reluctantly passed up Dumbo … making it the de facto New Thing I Do next time I’m there.

We had brunch reservations at 11:30, with Michael, Andrew, and Linda coming to join us at the Crystal Palace. (The night before, we’d tried to talk Jason and Tara into taking the morning off and coming along, but they reluctantly declined, to the sadness of all. But especially Tara.) Though I refused to wait for Dumbo, there was no way I was saying no to Big Thunder Mountain. Twenty minutes into our wait, I turned to Joe.

“Wow, I didn’t know this was going to take this long.”

“Mmm.”

“Look, a goat!”

“Mmm.”

“You are so good-looking.”

“We’re finding air conditioning after this.”

Which we did, in the form of the Country Bear Jamboree. Is it absurd that I can sing along to all the songs now? Is it more absurd that I do? Loudly? Without taking off my Mickey Ears?

After some timing snafus, we met up with our new gang in front of the Crystal Palace, and settled in for a leisurely brunch. Soon, I spotted a bear of little brain coming around.

“I don’t really like characters,” Andrew said.

“Agreed,” Michael informed us. “I don’t have anything against them, it’s just not my thing.” Linda regaled us with a horrifying story about an encounter with Chuck E. Cheese and what can only be described as an aggravated fursuit assault.

But things got awfully smiley when Pooh and Tigger showed up. And judge for yourselves, but these smiles sure don’t seem facetious:

Brunch conquered, we meandered over to Tomorrowland, where the five of us crammed into one TTA car, a fun experiment from which my hips and ribs have just begun to recover. We took in the Carousel of Progress (which I’d found boring the first time I went, but that’s because I was with a companion I wasn’t having fun with. It was awesome this time, except for that fact that the “turn of the century” part mentions a “teenage daughter,” when the term “teenage” didn’t exist until 1921 and didn’t come into the common parlance until the 1950s. Yes: nerd.)

My favorite thing, oddly enough, was the Hall of Presidents. Not only is Obama in there, making a speech, not only does George Washington get a solo speaking part, but there’s also a brand new digital film that isn’t scratchy and outdated, and it’s narrated by Morgan Freeman, the man I hear in my head when I narrate the events of my day. (“Kevin ordered his vanilla chai at the counter. He didn’t think much about it at the time, but that tip he gave the barista helped her chip away at her college tuition. Later, that woman went on to become the President of the United States of America.” My actions take on grandeur when Morgan Freeman narrates.)

After a final spin through the Haunted Mansion, the time came for the five of us to part ways. We gathered in front of the castle and got one last picture before trading hugs all around. And it’s that I’m going to remember the most when I think back on this trip to Walt Disney World: not the rides, not the shows, not even the food.

When I look back at my trip to Walt Disney World in September, 2009, I’m going to remember how happy I was every second of every day. I’m going to remember what it was like to be in my thirties and still be able to tap into that primal power of being young. And I’m going to remember the simple and powerful joy of companionship, and the friends I made when I was there.

Kev

A Series of Moments: Group Snacks

2009-10-12T17:38:35Z

Current Word Count: Tangerine, 41, 613 words
What I’m Reading Now: Stiff, by Mary Roach

I poked a finger into my sneakers, which Joe had tumble-dried the night before and then left under the air conditioner all night. Still soggy. Dammit.

“I’m going to call down to the lobby gift shops and see if they sell Crocs,” I said to Joe with a sigh.

He said, “Your sigh isn’t fooling anybody.”

Moments later, I was striding barefoot into the All Star Sports lobby, averting my eyes from the sign that says, “All guests must wear shoes and shirts.” If I didn’t see it, it doesn’t exist!

I returned to the room and Joe glanced down. “Red and black, eh?”

“They’re Daredevil colors!”

“I see.”

“I’m going to take a picture and send it to Shawn once we get to Hollywood Studios. It’ll be good to be prepared if he decides he doesn’t need me in his life any longer.”

In under an hour, Joe and I were on the tram into Hollywood Studios, and after both of us pretending to fall bodily from the seats, I snapped this picture and sent it to my sweetie.

Five minutes later, I got this message:

Sweetie, they are adorable, like you!

FOR. THE. WIN!

* * *

I’m going to state right now that I was not stalking Andrew. (I want this caveat to apply to the entire rest of the entry, by the by, because later I will further claim not to be stalking Jason, and I trust you’ll all believe me then, too.) Joe and I got in line at the Tower of Terror, and unlike usual, there actually was a line. I was in my new Beatles shirt I’d picked up at Epcot the day before and already sweating through it. The last time we were here, the wait had mostly been inside and in air conditioning. And considerably less muggy.

To amuse myself, I took Joe’s camera and started taking pictures of the structure. Of the grounds. Of the crowd. Of the…

“Oh hey,” I said, glancing away from the viewscreen. “Who is that?”

Joe turned and about fifty people back stood a foxy bearded fellow wearing glasses and a yellow shirt. He appeared to be with another gentleman and a woman, and he, too, was snapping photos.

“He’s hot,” Joe agreed, and then I somehow caught the fellow in yellow’s eye. I waved. He waved back. Then I looked away, slightly embarrassed. Had he caught me checking him out?

Right before we got into the Tower lobby proper, Joe tapped me and mimed a “turn around” gesture. I spun and there was the super hottie, his camera poised. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Andrew. Can I take a picture of your leg?”

I almost laughed. When I was at the Blue October concert with Marty, a lady asked if she could take a picture of my neck. On the train a few months ago, some tourists asked if they could get a picture of my Super Mario. This actually wasn’t the first time at Disney World that someone wanted a photo of my Spaceship Earth, but it was the first time outside Epcot.

“Sure you can.” And he snapped away. I waved back to him and the people he was with, and then headed inside. Later, as Joe and I perused the gift shop, Andrew and his people disembarked and met up with us. Andrew was joined by his partner Michael and their friend Linda … all of whom were from Massachusetts. And knew people I knew. And had likely been to some of the same parties I’d attended. What?

As with our easy friendship with Chip and Terry, we just sort of absorbed Andrew, Michael, and Linda into our group. Or they absorbed us. We journeyed over to the Rock N Rollercoaster, and when the cast member asked Michael how many were in our party, he didn’t hesitate to say, “Five.” Why does that fill me with so much glee?

This awesome shot of Stop, Drop, & Roll comes from Joezer. Perfect.

After Muppets, we exchanged information and went our separate ways, planning to meet up later at Epcot and spend the evening at the Food and Wine Festival together. As we headed out for our midday swim & nap, I asked Joe, “Did we just make three new friends randomly?”

“That makes five so far this trip,” Joe said, grinning. Five so far; they wouldn’t be the last.

* * *

And for those wondering: no, the Mickey-shaped holes in my Crocs did not lead to Mickey-shaped suntans on my feet. Trust me, I was not happy about that.

* * *

My first order of business upon entering Epcot was, of course, Spaceship Earth. Because seriously.

Joe's Retro Epcot shirt on Joe.

We easily found Andrew, Michael, and Linda outside The Land, where I attempted in vain to procure late-day Soarin’ FastPasses. And me finally on a day where it would be easy to take off my footwear as the ride took off. Another spin on Journey Into Imagination (Michael, Joe, and Andrew rhapsodizing about how awesome the ride had been in the 80s and making me seethe with jealousy) and we headed into World Showcase.

As the feasting portion of the evening commences, I want to invite my good buddy Joe in for some color commentary. Because this is how we roll. Joe, where did we start?

Joezer: The second time, some of us started in New Zealand as some of us (ME) wanted to try the grilled scallops.

Joezer: It was over just past Canada.
KevBot: Right.
KevBot: And you liked them?
Joezer: That I did. Muchly
KevBot: I had considered the lamb sliders, but skipped them.
KevBot: Did we get the sausage again in Canada?
Joezer: Andrew, Linda and Michael did those I think

At the New Zealand kiosk, I also spotted a dashing young man wearing the same retro Epcot T-shirt Joezer was in. I snapped a picture, thinking my usual: That is SO WEIRD that someone would be wearing the EXACT SAME SHIRT as Joe right here in … in Epcot. Um.

Joe's Epcot shirt not on Joe.

We passed by Cork, Ireland with an option to return. The warm chocolate lava cake sounded delightful, but I wasn’t ready for dessert yet. (Yeah, I know, right?) Sadness: we never returned to Cork, which retroactively sucks, based on all the reports I’ve heard since returning stating that the lava cake was the best thing at the Festival. Dang me!

Joezer: We did Paris again so we could have our own individual cremes
KevBot: Oh man, that milk chocolate creme brulee was way too good
Joezer: :)
KevBot: It ALMOST makes me not miss the orange crème brulee I didn't get in Sunshine Seasons
Joezer: I was talking about it the other day to a pal and saw him visually melt at the thought of tasting it.
KevBot: It was divine. I wonder if it's a thing people can just buy anywhere?
Joezer: Possibly...or make it at home if you're able to do the brulee.
KevBot: We have the blowtorch, but we need propane.

It was at this point that the fetching young man in Joe’s retro Epcot T-shirt made another appearance, this time with a lovely young woman by his side. It became pretty obvious that they were doing the same kiosks as we were.

Andrew said, “Why don’t you folks come along with us? We’re all going the same way.”

“Sure,” the young lady said, “that sounds fun!”

"Oh my God!" the young man said, gaping at Joe's arm. "Is that a Horizons tatoo?!"

And that is how we met Jason and Tara, and brought them into our expanding group. For the rest of the night, the seven of us roamed Epcot as one, laughing and eating and being silly. You know, when I first started this trip, my whole M.O. was to do things I’d never done at Disney before. I was thinking in terms of rides and events, but this one was so much better. I’ve never been to Disney World as part of a group before, and when Jason and Tara joined us, I think I was the happiest I’ve ever been here. (Well, second happiest. Getting Shawn on Everest really will never be topped.)

Joezer: You stopped in Tokyo.
KevBot: I stopped in Tokyo.
Joezer: To get BEEF.
KevBot: The sukyaki beef roll. Not the best. This was one of the things I was trying as an experiment.
KevBot: It was GOOD, not GREAT
KevBot: I have a feeling I won't enjoy cold beef tartare any time soon.
Joezer: The bread pudding didn't stand out for me either.
KevBot: Yeah, I tried your praline bread pudding and liked it, didn't love it.

Vienna had been calling to Joe since we began. I hadn’t had much interest – beef stew on a hot day – but the more I thought about it, the more delicious it sounded.

Joezer: I went with the tasty beef stew.
KevBot: A bit of a surprise for me.
Joezer: You had the mushroom, right?
KevBot: No, we both got the beef stew - one of the few times we duplicated.
Joezer: That's right...Jason and Tara got mushroom.
KevBot: I thought the bacon dumplings would be like potstickers.
Joezer: At the very least, they would have been either bread or potato dumplings with bacon chopped in to the "batter".
KevBot: They surprised me, but I ended up loving them. And the beef stew was delicious
Joezer: Very much so.
KevBot: You wouldn't think we'd like it on such a hot day.
Joezer: The sample sizes were just right.

Oh look. Italy.

KevBot: Let's take a quick look at Italy, where we didn't stop.
KevBot: Pizza. Cannelloni. Veal meatballs in tomato sauce.
Joezer: Hmmm...pizza, pasta...
KevBot: THANKS FOR BORING THE SHIT OUT OF US AGAIN ITALY.
Joezer: LOL
KevBot: Italy doesn't even try.

Andrew and I forage for snacks.

We skipped Germany – I’d had my fill of German food at the Biergarten the night before, and I’m sorry, nothing was going to top that Bavarian cheesecake – but mostly it was because we all had lamb on the brain. The night before, after leaving dinner, Joe and I had wandered by the Melbourne, Australia kiosk and the smell of lamb wafted past us, enticing us, living in our carnivorous fever-dreams of eating. We’d simply been too full of German food the night before to even consider enjoying the savory wonderment from whence this yumgasmic aroma had come. We weren’t full of German food now.

KevBot: OMG LAMB
KevBot: We could SMELL it from the Germany kiosk
KevBot: I think EVERYONE got lamb
KevBot: Us, Andrew and Michael and Linda, and Jason and Tara.
Joezer: I do believe you are right. Can't resist the smell of grilling flesh.
Joezer: YEY carnivores!
KevBot: And it was delicious.

For a full minute, the seven of us stood in a rough circle, silent. Epcot melted around us while, for the first and only time, all of us tucked into the same food. Then Tara, who had been the quietest among us all night, cleared her throat and said the immortal words: “Don’t probe the lamb with your tongue.”

All of us looked at her, looked at each other, then immediately and as one cracked the fuck up. Jason grabbed his stomach and was bent over, howling. Joe was grinning ear to ear, chuckling. Andrew and Michael were attempting to look aghast while pealing out laughter. Linda was giggling behind her hand. My gregarious (read: loud and intense) laughter shook the very ground we stood on.

Meanwhile Tara, with a small grin, continued: “What? I hit a pocket of salt.” Which sent us all off again. Oh man, we just couldn’t stop laughing.

Joezer: Thank you, Tara.
KevBot: For clarity and specificity:
KevBot: It was Grilled Lamb Chop with Red Wine Sauce and Murray River Sea Salt.
Joezer: Hence, the salt her tongue probed.
KevBot: She hit a pocket of salt.
KevBot: Tee hee!
Joezer: Yep.

Andrew says hello!

In rapid succession, we spun from Bankok to Barcelona, gearing up to watch IllumiNations.

Joezer: Did you stop again to get chicken soup in Bangkok?
KevBot: I again had the chicken and coconut soup with mushrooms, lemongrass, and ginger.
Joezer: Zesty.
KevBot: So zesty.
KevBot: I was getting pretty full by then so we skipped Cape Town. Although now I wish we hadn't, because the seared beef tenderloin looks YUM.
Joezer: Next stop for you was New Dehli. Mango lassi again.
KevBot: Mmm, mango lassi. I needed some refreshment
Joezer: I popped in to Poland.
KevBot: Ahh, Krakow.
Joezer: Had the kielbasa and pierogies.. While nice and drizzled in sour cream, not really anything to write home about
KevBot: Then Jason, Andrew and I dashed to the Desserts & Champagne booth.

We were mainly on a beverage run – Michael wanted tequila, I believe, and Joe was itching for a Coke – but Jason and I had a more chilling challenge: to find a way out! No, wait. Actually: strawberry shortcake at the dessert kiosk near Mexico.

“This isn’t weird for you?” I asked Jason as we got in line?

“What? All the rampant gayness? Hell, no. I was raised by a gay man.”

“You were?”

“Oh yeah. It’s all good.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re super awesome.”

“You too!”

We ordered our strawberry shortcakes and went to the preparation booth to pick them up. The cast member behind the counter handed Jason his: “One strawberry shortcake!” She handed me mine: “Two strawberry shortcakes!” And Jason and I, in unison and without planning, said, “Ah ah ahhh!” They call us The Count because we love to count! The cast member cracked up. We cracked up. Man, what a perfect night.

Rejoining our group back in Norway, we settled in and watched IllumiNations together, a whole group of seven friends who had never met before that day. Not that I want to get too sappy, but the whole thrust of IllumiNations – and Epcot as a whole – is about communication, bringing the world closer through both personal contact and technology. Following the IllumiNations finale, the bunch of us were on our phones and mobile devices, adding each other to our Facebooks and Twitters, exchanging emails and phone numbers with one another. I think more than anything, that’s the dream of Epcot coming true. I will remember this night for the rest of my life, and when I want something more concrete than memory, I will visit my friends’ websites and look at the pictures of all of us having a blast together.

Kev

Proof

2009-10-10T17:01:12Z

I don't think we need more proof than this that Brian Dennehy and Gene Hackman used to date, or at least make out a lot:

I mean, it's clearly written all over their faces that they just did it.

Just for funsies, let's see them both in sexy HATS:

Dennehy in First Blood.

Hackman in The French Connection.

And now without hats:

Hoosiers. Hackman's got enormous balls.

Foul Play, I think. Dennehy is stacked like fucking pancakes.

All right. Back to your normal lives. So long as your normal lives include thinking about Dennehy and Hackman in the late 70s at the peak of their supreme f'ing hotness.

DENNEHY + HACKMAN 4-EVA!!!

Kev out.