one of my all-time favorite teachers (and probably the one who is most responsible for helping me pull my sad ass together to whatever extent i’ve blocked een able to) said something really great to me this one time. well, she said lots of great things lots of times, but here goes a specific time. when i’m in an instructor’s office, i always look carefully at the books on the shelves. this specific one time, i happened to be in her office, and she was reading over a draft of some nonsense i had written, which gave me plenty of time to gawk at her books. eventually, i realized that she had finished reading, and now she was looking at me looking at her books. somewhat embarrassed, i explained that i’m always interested in seeing what professors have on their bookshelves. she smiled, responding, “it’s much more interesting to think about how many of those books on their shelves they’ve actually read.” i thought this was one of the greatest things i’d ever heard that wasn’t spoken, you know, in a book or movie. i repeat it sometimes, and i always give her credit.

the contents of a single shelf of my books:

1. Making Sense of The Troubles (anthology)—mostly read it, as it was assigned for a class (taught by the cool teacher described above)
2. The Water Cure (Percival Everett)—haven’t read it
3. Wounded (Everett)—haven’t read it
4. Erasure (Everett)—read it (recommended by a creative writing teacher i took a graduate creative nonfiction class with. totally amazing book, so good that i bought the other two Everett books that i then didn’t bother to read. i actually just ordered another one by Everett because it was really cheap. i’ll definitely read it.)
5. The Talented Mr. Ripley, Ripley Under Ground, Ripley’s Game (Patricia Highsmith) —read the first one, but not the others (not sure when i got this, but it seems likely that it was soon after seeing the 1999 film adaptation of the first novel)
6. The Talented Mr. Ripley (Highsmith) —read it (got this extra copy from the university bookstore when i taught it in a class on film adaptations, focused on novels (we watched the 1999 adaptation and Purple Noon). i didn’t technically need it, but it was better to have the edition i’d assigned them, because it made class discussion easier for us all to be referring to the same pages. of course, it didn’t matter, because half of them got a different edition than the one i assigned.
7. ***: Stories (***) —read it (written by the instructor of the graduate creative nonfiction class who recommended Percival Everett to me. everyone else in the class bought her book at the beginning of the semester, which was weird to me. after having her as an instructor for most of the semester, i actually decided that she most likely was a good writer (really observant and insightful), so i bought her book. i thought that buying it from her directly might be better, like she would keep all the money instead of just getting a piece of it (which is how i assumed it works, i guess like how record companies take all the money when you buy a record). she was like, “no, i don’t think it makes a difference,” so i was kind of embarrassed. she asked me if i wanted her to sign it, which i had an answer for (i didn’t want her to sign it, because it would feel uncomfortable, though i had a better reason than that to tell her), but i was so flustered by her response to my idea about buying the book directly from her that i just weakly said “you don’t have to,” which probably seemed ambiguous and noncommittal enough to suggest to her that i did want her to sign it and i was just too embarrassed to ask, so that she felt obligated, and she wrote something in there about how i’m a good writer and i should ‘keep it up!’ anyway, the book is good. there’s some good flash pieces, and this story about air quality, that i believe opens the collection, is really good. she’s got a great wit. i L’d out loud, probably.)
8. Cold Mountain (Charles Frazier) —haven’t read it (assigned in a class on civil war literature along with a bunch of other books i didn’t read. if i ever actually read any of them, it will probably be Gore Vidal’s Lincoln. but i probably won’t ever read any of them.)
9. Underworld (Don DeLillo) —read it (out of the DeLillo books i own and have read (as opposed to the DeLillo books i own and haven’t read—they’re about even, i think), this is the best one. sometimes i recommend to people just reading the opening section at the Polo Grounds)
10. Falling Man (DeLillo) —read it (out of the DeLillo books i own and have read (as opposed to the DeLillo books i own and haven’t read), this is the least of them, in my opinion. also assigned for the terrorism class.)
11. White Noise (DeLillo) —haven’t read it (first book by DeLillo i ever read. assigned by the cool teacher, but not for the terrorism class)
12. Mao II (DeLillo) —haven’t read it
13. Libra (DeLillo) —might have read it (i honestly don’t remember. i remember clearly taking it on a plane ride with me once, probably to a conference, but i definitely didn’t read it on that occasion. there’s at least one more DeLillo book on another shelf, separate from the main DeLillo collection)
14. By the Lake (John McGahern) —read it (i know i read it, because it was for the terrorism class, which was a graduate class, and i never skipped something I was supposed to read for a graduate class, but i could not tell you a single thing about this book beyond the fact that the guy who write it is Irish, and i can only tell you that because most of the authors we read in that class were Irish)
15. Resurrection Man (Eoin McNamee) —read it (see above, except i’m pretty sure this one was much darker than the McGahern book)
16. A Belfast Woman (Mary Beckett) —read it (again, see above. Definitely Irish, and i know i liked it)
17. Give Them Stones (Mary Beckett) —haven’t read it (i know I liked the previous Mary Beckett book because i bought this one on my own, and then didn’t read it. i remember thinking the title was really dope.)
18. Waiting For Godot (Samuel Beckett) —read it (i heard of this in high school, bought it from Barnes & Noble and loved it. read it like a dozen times, ripped it off like mad in plays that i wrote in high school)
19. More Pricks Than Kicks (Samuel Beckett) —haven’t read it (tried, but it was way harder than Waiting for Godot. i ran out and bought this after losing my shit over Godot)
20. Three Novels: Molloy, Malone Dies, The Unnameable (Samuel Beckett) —haven’t read it (see previous entry)
21. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man (James Joyce) —read it (took multiple tries. love it a good bit)
22. Dubliners (Joyce) —read it (only took one try, like it a good bit.)
23. Quicksand and Passing (Nella Larsen) —read half of it (just Passing, because it’s the one that was assigned. liked it, but obviously not enough to read a whole other half of a book)
24. East of Eden (John Steinbeck) —haven’t read it (my first real girlfriend swore up and down that this book is vastly superior to The Grapes of Wrath (read it). i’m still just taking her word for it)
25. Proxopera (Benedict Kiely) —read it (another one from the terrorism class. i remember liking it a lot. i think there was a bomb in a car, or a bomb and a car. whatever it was, it was good)
26. The Assignment (Friedrich Durrenmatt) —read it (last terrorism one, and my absolute favorite from that class. kind of experimental, i think(?). really fun to read i remember, but, honestly, this might be the book with the bomb/car.)
27. The Maytrees (Annie Dillard) —read it (it’s pretty fine. i wonder if i would have finished it if it hadn’t been written by Annie Dillard)
28. The Living (Dillard) —read it (see previous book. maybe a little more taxing)
29. Teaching a Stone to Talk (Dillard) —read it multiple times (i love Annie Dillard so much)
30. Three by Annie Dillard (Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, An American Childhood, The Writing Life) —read em all multiple times (this is the literal book that changed my life, like the actual physical copy. we were assigned to read An American Childhood in this twentieth century American literature class, and i was the only one in the class who liked it, but i loved it enough for a thousand classes of grumbling, dead-eyed chuds. it blew my mind, and i decided that i wanted nothing more than to be as sincere and open to the world as Ms. Dillard (still working on that one), and also that i needed to really think hard on a plan to trick her into marrying me, just in case the opportunity ever presented itself. i read it like three times in the month after it was assigned, but i actually haven’t read it since, because i’m afraid to. the actual specific  contents of the book, for the most part, has faded from my memory, and what remains is its vastly more meaningful emotional significance. this book was (and remains) so important to me, and reading it was such a monumental moment in my life that i want to preserve that. i’m afraid of reading it again and seeing that it’s just another good book, or even (gasp) that it’s not that great to me now. it can’t possibly be to me now what it was to me then. i’m not the same person i was when i read An American Childhood for the first time, so i can’t possibly have the same experience, but the experience of reading this book for the first time is so important to me that i want to protect it. this is dumb, of course, and i will read An American Childhood again, but i’m not ready yet. i put a sticker of Lisa Simpson holding her saxophone on the cover of this book.)
31. An American Childhood (Dillard) —read it multiple times (i’ve got multiple copies of this special book. this one is not great looking. it’s got this ugly block letter font, and an illustration of something related to Pittsburgh on the cover)
32. An American Childhood (Dillard) —read it multiple times (same cover illustration, but way nicer font. just overall more aesthetically pleasing. Milhouse sticker on the cover)
33. An American Childhood (Dillard) —read it multiple times (ugly block letter version, but hardcover)
34. An American Childhood (Dillard) —read it multiple times (special copy: manuscript copy with handwritten corrections by Ms. Dillard. my partner got it for me for my birthday a few years ago)
35. Pilgrim at Tinker Creek (Dillard) —read it multiple times (1^st edition, hardcover. i like this book quite a bit, but it’s no An American Childhood)
36. Pilgrim at Tinker Creek (Dillard) —read it multiple times (ugly block letters edition, paperback)
37. For the Time Being (Dillard) —read it twice (i ran to Barnes & Noble to get this the day it came out, which, who rushes to the bookstore for the week’s new books? i was worried they wouldn’t get it (Annie Dillard isn’t J.K. Rowling, after all), so i asked my girlfriend to call and special order it to make sure i would be able to have it the minute it came out. she made me actually go pick it up myself, which was rough)
38. Under Western Eyes (Joseph Conrad) —read it multiple times (read it twice for the cool teacher in the opening anecdote (realized it’s one of the best books i’ve ever read the second time through) and once for another teacher. i take very good care of my books, but this one does look a bit the worse for wear. i’m gentle, but it’s been well-loved. actually, the second time i read it might have been in the terrorism class.)
39. Under Western Eyes (Joseph Conrad) —read it multiple times (this particular copy is unread. i just wanted to have a nice copy of a book i love so much)
40. Lord Jim (Joseph Conrad) —haven’t read it (a Norton Critical Edition that i got when the Norton rep came to OU with tons of free books. i grabbed it because i love Conrad, but didn’t read it because i don’t love reading that much. like DeLillo, there are other Conrad books on a different shelf, but this and Under Western Eyes don’t constitute the ‘main’ collection.)

for me, this is a pretty good batting average, as far as the ratio of books of mine that i’ve read to ones that i haven’t. i keep messing up the math in my head, but it seems like it’s around 70-75% (less if i don’t give myself credit for the ones where i only read part of the book). though i enjoy reading, i’m not a great reader. fortunately, i rarely talk about books.

i swapped out one book that’s normally on the shelf, in-between Erasure and the Ripley collection:

41. Girlvert (Ashley Blue) —read it (it’s a book about the porn business, and i took it out to avoid saying i had a book about hardcore porn)

i’m social, sometimes, with varying degrees of success. when we lived in Norman, OK, i had plenty of opportunities to be social with varying degrees of people. which wasn’t new, but the fact that i made myself take advantage of these opportunities was new. i was able to frame these events as opportunities to support my partner, which helped a lot. she needed assistance connecting with her fellow graduate students, so i needed to help with that. it’s always much easier to help someone else than it is to help yourself.

additionally, as far as social situations go, this was probably a good training wheels situation for me. these were all academics, but they were also students, so they were, for the most part, shambling bunches of bruised nerve-endings (even moreso than regular academics). this makes sense to me. and someone always brought their significant other, so i could feel reasonably confident that i wasn’t the only one who felt like an outsider.

we went to this one person’s apartment this one time. it was alright. i didn’t get drunk enough to ever really relax, but i did really piss off this one phd candidate (not the person whose apartment it was) because i disagreed with her about the movie Roadhouse.

another time, we went to the house of an MA student who was almost finished, ready to take her exams. we didn’t really know her, but we felt obligated to come, because she made a point to invite us specifically, because she got the idea to have a game night from us. during my partner’s first year, we hosted a game night at our house (like board games, not video games), and, to my surprise, it went really well. i was sure that no one was going to show up to play Settlers of Catan and the Barbie Game, but they did, and everyone had a great time. people talked about it. the third year (i think third) we were there, there was a new adjunct, and one day in the graduate computer lab she told me that she had heard that my partner and i were into board games (which wasn’t entirely true, because i don’t really care about them), and she wanted to know if we wanted to get together with her and her wife, because they were really into games, as well. adjunct instructors were pretty separated from the full time faculty, graduate students, and even each other, so i was pretty happy to have the chance to hang out with another adjunct. however, this MA student also happened to be in the lab with us, and she got super excited about the idea of a game night. she had apparently heard about our previous game night and was always disappointed that she missed it, so i guess she saw this as an opportunity to have her own game night. i’m pretty sure this other adjunct had intended to invite only myself and my partner to hang out with her and her wife, but this MA student just commandeered the whole thing, deciding that she would have an everyone game night at her house. we sat there silently as she gamed the whole thing out in front of us. we answered weakly in the affirmative when she asked us if it was okay if she hosted. she just wanted it more than we did.

a few weeks later, she had her party. my partner and i felt obligated to attend, even when we realized that, mostly likely, there weren’t going to be many people there, because snow and/or an ice storm had been forecast as possible for that evening, which was something that sent Norman residents rushing to the store to stock up on water and bread and had them locking themselves in the house until the whole thing blew over. we could have used it as an excuse, but coming from us it would have been a weak one, as everyone knew that we’re from northern Indiana and Norman’s version of winter weather didn’t faze us in the slightest. plus, we didn’t really know this MA student that well, but she was nice enough (if a bit obnoxious), and she made a point to tell us that she really really wanted us to attend, since she considered our party the, like, inspiration for hers (and she seemed somewhat aware that she had kind of taken the event from myself and the adjunct). so we went. the new adjunct and her wife didn’t make an appearance.

it was sparsely attended, due to weather and (i kind of thought) this MA student’s overwhelming enthusiasm (though that might be just my own anxieties coloring my impression). it was just the MA student and her boyfriend, myself and my partner, another MA student and her recently finished MA student boyfriend, and an ABD phd student whose ABD boyfriend decided not to come because he was only a week away from his defense. apart from my partner and myself, it was basically only the people who attended everything. it was weak, and i felt pretty bad for the MA student. she had really gone big in preparing, even buying a bunch of 2x4s and creating a big homemade jenga tower.

those of us in attendance did our best to eat and drink as much as possible and play as many different games as we could fit in. we played The Game of Life, we played Careers for Girls (which my partner and i brought), we played Cards Against Humanity. i was pretty well drunk, but my partner was not. (frustratingly, for her, she usually can’t drink when we go out, because i have to. if i don’t drink, i’m simply not able to do these things, so if she wants to go out she has to be the sober one, because obviously someone’s got to drive home.) alas, there was no giant jenga.

after Cards Against Humanity, my drunk ass suggested (insisted?) that we play Apples to Apples, because i enjoy it more than Cards Against Humanity. (it’s the same game, obviously, but i feel like Cards Against Humanity is trying too hard, while Apples to Apples allows you to make your own fun, rather than beating you over the head with how crazy~, so totally random~, and omg just wrong~ it is.) so we played Apples to Apples. the recently finished MA student got mad at me. or, probably more accurately, this is when the recently completed MA student expressed his irritation with me.

the thing is, i have a philosophy about playing Cards Against Humanity/Apples to Apples: the rules mention that it’s acceptable to lobby for your own card when the person whose turn it is is making her decision, and i take this to heart. it’s not a strategy for winning, because that’s not something i’m concerned with, so i don’t lobby for my own card unless i believe it’s the best one. i argue, somewhat forcefully, for the card i believe is the best, most fun answer to/completion of the set-up. for the most part, no one else really does this to the degree i wish they would. i feel like this is what’s fun about the game (differing sensibilities offering their outcome to the offered set-up), so i want to, like, pump up that element of the proceedings. it never really occurred to me that this might be a problem. during this game, however, i learned that this recently completed MA student was decidedly not into it.

it’s likely i missed some cues to his frustration that he was throwing out there before this moment, but there was no mistaking his feelings when he blurted out “dude, shut up!” someone else was evaluating the offered cards and making a decision about which one was the best match for the card she had chosen to start the round. i was doing my thing, making my case for the card i felt was the best choice. (i don’t know if it was my card or someone else’s, but it doesn’t matter. it probably wasn’t the recently completed MA student’s card, though.) after however many rounds (of Cards Against Humanity and this game) and however much he’d had to drink, he had heard enough of my mess. i was stunned as he continued:

“you have an opinion about everything!”

what an absolutely bizarre thing to say, i immediately thought.

“yeah, of course i do. don’t you?”

being really honest, i can’t imagine having not an opinion on everything. i think it should be a thoughtful opinion, you should try to carefully consider why you think what you think (and your general philosophy/habits of thought) and be able to explain your perspective in a coherent, consistent way, and we should try our best to be open to new perspectives and willing to use those to revise our own, but who doesn’t have an opinion about everything that wanders its way into their ken? it’s true to varying degrees, of course, and there are elements that demand more consideration (how to raise a child, for example) than others (which card to choose during a round of Apples to Apples), but these are questions of degree. both will, naturally, instinctively inspire an opinion, no?

while i was bothered by his criticism and did dwell on it, i sort of blew this exchange off (to the extent it was possible), partly because of the rationale i just offered, but also because, tbh, this recently completed MA student was kind of a tool. he didn’t, to me, seem to be a very thoughtful person (i had shared an office with him my first year at OU), and i didn’t really think much of him. he wasn’t dumb, but he seemed (again, to me) very uninterested in anything that wasn’t perfectly aligned with his own personal interests. i felt like he just really lacked imagination and curiosity, you know?

however, there was another experience (and i can’t remember for sure if it happened before or after this failed game night) that gave me pause and made me rethink my interpretation of this exchange (i want to say it must have happened after, because it feels like i should have connected the two immediately if it happened before, but that’s not necessarily true):

we were at a (well-attended) birthday party for yet another MA student, and it was a good time. it wasn’t a game-themed party, but everyone eventually ended up in the host’s living room playing Cards Against Humanity. i was extremely drunk, and had been for most of the party, both because of how many people were there and because a good number of them were people i didn’t know (from a group of students that was years after my partner’s cohort). i was employing my regular strategy, making my endless string of arguments about which card presented the ideal mate for the setup in play.

at one point, this guy, the husband of a student who i didn’t really know, told me i needed to “settle down.” while i would, normally, be alarmed by such a clear expression of disapproval from another person, i was so drunk that i just took it as gentle ribbing and kept doing me.

later, however, i was talking to my partner on the host’s front porch, and he joined us. we were all talking about something in a really good-natured, friendly way. i can’t remember what exactly we were talking about, but at one point he digressed and looked directly at me, speaking seriously:

“hey man, i think you should relax a little. you’re getting pretty loud.”

this was not a joke, i could tell. he was seriously trying to tell me something, trying to help me out. i was stunned, only able to respond-

“is it bad?”

his answer was generous:

“not terrible, just chill out a bit.”

my partner, fully aware of how i was understanding this, assured me that i wasn’t behaving too objectionably.

i tried to not betray how devastated i was in that moment, and i thanked him profusely. he reiterated that it wasn’t that bad and that he thought i was a cool guy, he’s just offering a suggestion. we continued talking, and i was determined to keep participating, so as not to show too clearly how shook i was. eventually, we re-engaged with everyone else, and my partner and i stayed for as long as i could. i continued to try to balance not showing how upset (by staying as outgoing as possible) with also working to not be so overbearing. and also not to just fall on my ass, because i was still really drunk. eventually, we left, and my partner had another opportunity to attempt, in vain, to reassure me and prop up my sad, bruised ego.

what made this episode so particularly upsetting was that i’m constantly concerned about being obnoxious and alienating to others in this exact way. not the regular, ‘oh i’m afraid don’t no one like me’ way, but rather the ‘this fucking jerkoff won’t give anyone else an opening to say anything, god i wish he would just shut his mouth.’ it feels like i only have two speeds in interaction with others: Shut Fully the Fuck Down or Manic, Overbearing Jabbermouth. there’s no in-between. if i can drag myself out of the former then i have no concept of modulating the latter. i’m constantly terrified, when i can make myself speak, that i’m talking too much, talking too loud, just overwhelming everyone with all the bullshit i’m usually holding onto tightly inside. i constantly am asking people (mostly my partner, but also classmates or anyone i’m around in a situation where i participate in whatever’s going on) if i am, indeed, talking too loud or too much (or too much and too loudly). it feels kind of pathetic, but i’m intensely concerned about it to the point where i feel compelled to ask. and now here’s this dude basically telling me that i’m exactly the supremely objectionable person i’m afraid i am.

part of what my partner had to deal with, as a result of this episode, is recriminations, accusations that she had failed to tell me how irritating and unlikeable i really am. she responded that she constantly tried to tell me when i was becoming obnoxious, but that i consistently disregarded her. my immediate reaction to that was to scold her and tell her that she needs to be more forceful, but after having time to think about it i realized that this probably wouldn’t work. (indeed, she had insisted that she did try to be forceful.) she reassured me that it doesn’t happen often, just occasionally if i drink and i happen to be in situations where i’m especially anxious.

this is a complicated problem, and i’m still not sure what to do about it. connecting these two episodes, it seems clear that my dismissal of the recently completed MA student’s frustration at the failed game night is something that i should have taken more seriously. he’s still a tool, but it’s also likely that he was offering a useful opinion. i think about it a lot, but i’m not sure what i think about it.

we ended up never actually hanging out with that adjunct and her wife, which was disappointing, because i was part of a panel with her and she was really cool. we both applied for a lecturer position that she got, which is another thing that was brutal for me and my little brain, but that’s a whole other story that she’s only tangentially part of, like she wasn’t much part of this one.

got dark roast coffee, instead of the usual medium. wasn’t satisfied. Einstein’s coffee isn’t great to begin with, but the dark roast (still some kind of xmas-themed name) was really not great to me. reminded why i usually stay in my (well-established, well-worn) lane(s).

it’s not necessarily true, though. usually stick to established habits in some really key areas (places i go, daily routines at home and work), but regularly try new stuff in other, less high-stakes (for me) areas, like food, movies/music/books/etc. and clothes. though adventurousness related to clothes can backfire, which causes severe regret and wishing that i’d stayed low-key and nondescript. the kind of catastrophic consequences imagined when making the decision to not take risks in social/interpersonal areas.

suppose it’s worth considering that, when taking these risks in low-impact areas, it’s not uncommon (might even say it’s common) to be pleasantly surprised by the results. suppose that should communicate something about the risk/reward ratio in high-impact spheres, maybe encouragement to take the risks because there’s at least a fair chance for success/happiness/fulfillment.

but it’s not. apart from the drastic difference in stakes (having a bad cup of coffee vs. complete annihilation), also the matter of what’s being tested. personal worth vs., say, a cup of coffee or a beet salad. coffee can be good. beet salad, while it doesn’t sound appetizing, might be wonderful. thing being evaluated has the potential to be worthless or worthwhile. might be great, might not. two directions to go.

i don’t know. i have no idea what a ‘man’ is (though let’s say ‘person,’ because it’s more accurate, if superficially less precise.) beyond a collection of experiences, feelings and ideas- a perspective. which, as far as i’m concerned, is fine, as i’m only interested in perspectives, anyway. (it makes sense, since my definition necessarily reflects my own values and sense of what’s important.)

this makes it really easy to see that everyone has value, but of course, not everyone is going to be equally valuable, you know, to me. my degree of interest/investment in each person is determined by the degree to which they are showing me something i haven’t seen before or, at least, showing me something i have seen before but presenting in a way that’s new to me (which is essentially the same thing).

it also provides a nice heuristic for myself, to consider what i share and how i share it: am i offering a new perspective? am i offering my perspective in a compelling fashion? obviously, we are rarely, if ever, truly original, but it feels like a worthy goal to work towards.

sports talk radio goon Jim Rome (no clue if he still has a show, but probably) employed the glib, confrontational slogan “Have a take. Don’t suck.” as advice to listeners who called in to his show. i like to think i’m less demanding than Mr. Rome, though; just have a take. go ahead and suck, if you suck, just suck in a way that i haven’t seen/heard someone suck before. i hope you all are being similarly generous to me, because i’m doing my best. maybe. i’m actually not sure about that.

have i been comfortable in my own skin, at any point? i remember times where i have forgotten how uncomfortable i am. i remember times when i imagined that it might be possible to feel better. i remember moments when i have pretended to consider that i feel/will feel more comfortable, because another person is right there in front of me, insisting that i should. (these are the worst moments, when you have to hear someone else tell you that you’re better than you think you are, like, you know, they would know. for the ones that really mean it, their sincerity is devastating.) have i ever wanted to actually be in my own skin? i have done things that i am proud of, to be sure. but is that the same as wanting to be the person i am? is this even important? if i know what i think is good, and i try to do it, does it matter if i don’t want to be myself? very few (if any) people are affected by me being unhappy with me. this is what matters. this is what’s comfortable.

in no particular order:

• cold, sunny days
• relaxed, contented animals
• people who make me laugh (it’s harder than it should be)
• hand claps in songs
• finding out about something i never knew existed before
• material things
• fashion as art
• hot fucking soup
• when things are brand new and untouched
• slang and new ways to use language
• the anticipation of waiting for something i’ve ordered to arrive
• subtle absurdity
• Like you don’t know the kid stay hittin’ benches
  With K’s of the cane
  Leave strays sittin’ inches away from your brain
  In them grey kitten benzes, I sway through the lanes
  Now the knaves just sit and flinches, when they see the chain
• AMBIGUITY.
• floral patterns
• gummy _______
• the outro to “Karma Police”
• to be updated when i remember (or discover(!)) other things…

“The notebooks of a writer have a very special function: in them he builds up, piece by piece, the identity of a writer [for] himself”

“The journal is where a writer is heroic to himself”

my prose forms class is focusing on writer’s journals. we’re reading the journals of O’Connor, Kafka, Plath, some other people who i never heard of before. the instructor, in introducing the class to us, shared these passages from Susan Sontag.

oddly, while i beat my students over the head with the importance of revision in writing (“revision is writing,” duh), i don’t feel like i practice what i preach in this respect. not that i don’t believe it wholeheartedly, but i rarely find myself going back to something i’ve written and questioning it in the way encourage my students to do. i make adjustments, and i certainly add things (my most common ‘revision’ practice is to just write a whole bunch more shit), but i rarely tear down and rebuild in the way i recommend they do. what i tell myself is that my ‘revision’ happens in my head, and it’s not untrue. my mind is always turning things around, thinking them through repeatedly, endlessly. however, keeping in mind the idea (that i’m also a fan of) that “you never know what you really think until you write it down,” i’m not sure if this is revision or just me trying to convince myself that it is.

during our first class, in the course of discussing the purpose of a writer’s journals, we discussed the role that writing plays in a writer’s life. another student gave what, i think, is a common response: “i write because i have to.” he expressed the sentiment that he couldn’t imagine not writing, every single day. as he said this, i thought about how standard this kind of response seems to be for writers, and i thought about how i’ve never had this feeling.

i mean, i like to write. i feel good when i write, because it feels like i can say things, which is a very different feeling from, you know, life. i can take time, really think about what i want to say and, more crucially, exactly how i want to say it to express it perfectly. i can make my best attempt to represent exactly what i’m thinking. however, in spite of this, i don’t feel like writing is something i have to do. i can exist without it.

i don’t feel like i’m creating myself, either. i exist already, in my head, so i don’t see my writing as ‘building myself up.’ if anything, i guess i would consider it more like hitting the brakes on my thoughts, trying to pin them down and say ‘this, right here; this is what it is’ before it becomes something else. like i’m trying to stop my mind’s constant, never-ending revision. this might help explain why i’m reluctant (?) to engage in the kind of revision i think is most necessary/useful and that i recommend to my students: if i start to go down that road, i probably won’t ever stop, because whatever it is that i wrote down, whatever it is that i was thinking at that moment, i don’t think that way no more. not like i’m the exact opposite or anything, but if i’m obsessed with communicating myself perfectly (and i am), then any little nuance matters. and we’re always creating new nuances, revising ourselves/our thoughts in our minds. (i mean, right?) if writing provides a kind of portrait of the person at that moment, then my portraits are never any less than blurry as fuck, because i’m on to the next thing so quickly and relentlessly. at least, that’s the way it feels. you know, in my mind. like i’ll never be able to make it clear, communicate perfectly, because anything i communicate won’t be accurate by the very next moment, the next slightly different me comes along. anything i’m ‘building up’ is simultaneously being knocked down. which is cool, to me, tbh. ngl.

but this idea that the writer is ‘heroic,’ even to him or herself, is some straight nonsense. heroes are dumb.

i have lots of ideas for a blog post, but none of them are anything i’m really super excited about:

• i have a very coarse, thick beard, but super sensitive skin.  many misadventures trying to figure out how to manage it, including discussion of shaving products produced for African-Americans and shaving against the grain (possibly as a metaphor for, something)
• people not using quotation marks correctly.  specifically, using them to emphasize a word or phrase (e.g., “Authentic” Southern Cooking).  am i right, folks?
• people who post on pet forums on the internet.  snarky commentary, but also empathy.
• a contemplative, self-searching piece about how and why i am so careless with my personal information online.  asking lots of questions i’m not sure i’m ready to try to answer.
• teaching composition to college freshman.  valuable work that isn’t valued, etc. (i mean, am i right?)
• Georgia College and State University, where i am a graduate teaching assistant, is so white.  comparison to previous schools i’ve been at that makes some point.  needs to be clear that i’m not trying to show off how woke i am, but it also needs to be more clear that i am super, incredibly, just uncomfortably fucking woke.
• philosophical(ish) rambling about the way that blogs or other kinds of social media create (consciously or unconsciously) a persona for the curator.  uses sources.  meta-analysis of this blog.  addresses reader directly.
• there was a dead insect on the table today during my graduate pedagogy class. just laying there on its back, dead. pretty much writes itself.

whatever it is, there are qualities that the post will need:

• something that takes advantage of the format.  probably definitely links embedded in specific words, phrases or sentences that direct readers outside the blog itself.  like related things, but also possibly a non-sequitur or even two.  not, like, something clearly ridiculous, though; something that almost seems relevant, so that the reader can’t be entirely sure if it’s a joke or if they are somehow not getting it.  possibly embed video(s) in the piece itself.
• specifics.  really striking, specific details that will stick in the reader’s mind, even if/when the rest of the essay doesn’t.  maybe something really personal, to create a feeling of intimacy.
• non-confrontational, but also strongly suggestive that i am some variety of maverick or outlaw.  indefinable/intriguing.
• possibly related to previous point: profanity, but not a lot.  used to create immediacy, and even intimacy, but unless it’s doing something specific it is used judiciously.
• credibility and/or authority (or a conspicuous lack of these things).
• distinctive personality and voice.  whoever i’m copying, it needs to not be completely transparent.  try to steal from a variety of people and combine their influences in a way that “feels“ original.  at worst, you can’t put your finger on what it is that feels familiar.  direct references to those who are most obviously being aped.

*fart noise*

in an mfa program (in my mfa program, at least, but i imagine it’s true of any of them), they’ll tell you, repeatedly, that there’s no writer that’s not also a reader. ‘tell’ isn’t quite accurate, though– it’s probably more accurately categorized as a reminder, really, as this is not some top secret piece of insider information. regardless, they say it a lot. writers are readers.

it makes sense, and there aren’t any good arguments to be made against it. if you read, you get ideas, inspiration, motivation, etc. if you don’t, then you don’t. the more you read, the more you will have to say, and the more sophisticated ideas you’ll be able to try out in order to communicate those ideas.

i don’t read much.

my students (mostly first-year composition students) love it when i say that. and it’s not even that i don’t enjoy reading, because i do. i just don’t do it very often. i used to think that this was a relatively recent development, like i used to read voraciously when i was young, but if i really think about it i’ve never been any kind of stereotypical ‘reader.’ i did read a lot when i was little, but it wasn’t great literature, even by the standards of being a little kid or a teenager. when i was little, i read MAD Magazine like crazy, i read plenty of Hardy Boys books, some scattered other stuff and, like, lots of TV Guide. i never even read the Lord of the Rings books, i never read the Chronicles of Narnia books, none of that stuff. the closest i came was reading parodies of them in MAD.

i was pretty obsessed with MAD, though. my grandma would take me grocery shopping with her, and i would get every new issue, every new useless special issue, just anything they had. i don’t even remember where they came from, but there also were all these shitty MAD paperbacks at my grandparents’ house that i also devoured. due to these old paperbacks and the special issues (which just reprinted material from old issues). because of MAD‘s habit of reprinting all their old shit and selling it again, i had a pretty good working knowledge of culture and politics from the 1960s and 70s, and i was always the first person in my group of friends to recognize a joke about Ralph Nader or Henry Kissinger. i hated ‘The Lighter Side of…,’ and i loved anything by Don Martin. my favorite things were the advertising parodies, but there was nothing, in any issue, i didn’t read over and over (including ‘The Lighter Side of…’). actually, the first things i ever wrote were attempts to create my own MAD-style articles, featuring my own scathing cultural critiques and artless homophobia, such as a feature depicting celebrity license plates that included one aimed at Arsenio Hall which read “IMGAY4EDDIE” (in reference to his close friendship with Eddie Murphy). we really do gain inspiration from what we read.

if i keep this in mind, maybe i’m as much of a ‘reader’ now as i ever was. i spend tons of time on the internet, reading blogs, message boards, social media, etc., which technically is reading. i’m not sure that this is much better or worse than MAD Magazine. except that now i’m sophisticated enough to make my own jokes about Henry Kissinger (Dick Cheney? John Bolton? Brett Kavanaugh?) and, hopefully, any lingering homophobia is much more thoughtful and inclusive.

at this point in my life- at least halfway through, probably more -i flatter myself that, many days, you might not be able to tell the difference between me and a human being. i am no less lost than i have ever been, no more confident or sure of what’s expected of me (indeed, sometimes i think i’m less capable than ever in this way, because the older i get the more self-conscious i become about not being able to feel like i know what to do/be), but i do believe (hope?) that, at a glance, which is of course all i’ll get from the majority of people, that i appear to be a normal, nondescript person. i am a white male, which helps.

it’s possible that my job creates an illusion for me in this respect. as an instructor, i spend the key portion of my job around a group of people who i have power over, and who, therefore, are motivated to tell me what i want to hear. for the most part, they treat me like i’m a regular person, but it’s possible that this is self-interested patronizing. by the time they reach college, they have, depressingly, internalized an impulse to flatter and mimic their instructors, so it’s impossible to know what they really think. (ironically, as a writing instructor, all i’m interested in is what they think, but they’ve had the impulse to trust their own ideas beaten out of them so thoroughly that it will take years to be cultivated again, if it ever returns at all.)

last semester, i wore a new hat i bought, a sashiko weave tulip style hat. i was apprehensive about it, as even though its color is a washed black, the style is uncommon, and i worry a lot about my clothes attracting attention. but i was really excited about it and wanted to wear it, so i did. it went okay. no one said anything, so i wore it again the next day. another student in my workshop class commented on it, but in a friendly way, so i was feeling very good about the whole thing.

a couple weeks later, i wore it again, still a bit nervous but not as much as before. as i was walking to campus from the commuter lot i parked in, i passed a few of my students. it was the usual uncomfortable encounter, as i noticed them when they were far away and fretted over what to do (cross the street and pretend i was going somewhere else, keep my eyes down and pretend i didn’t see them, acknowledge them, etc.). i was even more anxious than i might usually be in this situation, because i was wearing my tulip hat. when we came closer to each other, one of them decided for me and said good morning. another did the same, and i replied. my reply caused the third one to look up from her phone and notice me, and she exploded with laugh that she instantly stifled, saying only “i like your hat.” i had been recognized as strange and different, and it was my fault. the hat was screaming it out to people.

but i wonder, how clear is it at other times? when i wear less ostentatious outfits, can people tell? if i’m walking across campus in a simple trousers and button-up outfit, do they know that i am terrified of every single one of them? when i’m talking to another adult male (or even an adolescent male), can they tell that i’m confused to the point of panic, trying to understand what they mean when they speak? just when i’m driving to school, can other drivers recognize, just from my head and my upper torso, that i don’t know where i’m going, even though i’ve driven this same route dozens of times?

this is all very melodramatic. if i can resist the urge to wear weird clothes (which, unfortunately, is strong), i think (hope) i can pass, as long as they don’t look closely.