Pappy was beginning to get very tired of sitting in his backyard in Austin, while all the twenty-somethings partied their lives away down the block, and of having nothing to do: once or twice he visited the library stacks at the University, but the books had no pictures or conversations in it, "and what is the use of a book," thought Pappy, "without pictures or conversations."
So he was considering in his own mind (as well as he could for high carb meals made him sleepy and stupid), whether surfing the Internet would be worth the trouble of getting up and going to his office, when suddenly his White Rat Terrier ran close by him.
There was nothing so very remarkable in that Terrier dog nor did Pappy think it so much out of the way to hear the Terrier say to itself, "Oh dear, Oh dear! I shall be too late! (when I thought about this later it occurred to me odd that a Terrier should not be in hurry up, but hey, even puppies can suffer from driver behavior of the neurotic sort; but when the Terrier actually took a watch out of its waistcoat pocket, you had to wonder who carries watches anymore, not to mention pocket watches, but Pappy jumped up and burning with curiosity about a Terrier with a waistcoat-pocket and a watch to take out of it, saw it pop down a small rat-hole under the patio tiles in the backyard.
The Terrier went straight down the rat-hole and Pappy went after it, never considering how in the world he was to get out again.
The rat-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way in the direction of Arroyo Seco, a dry creek running through the neighborhood, and then dipped suddenly that Pappy had not a moment to think about stopping himself before he found himself falling down what seemed to be a very deep well.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Me and Margaret and Ian
Should Bristol Palin host a talk show? Should Danny DeVito play for the NY Knicks? Starting a blog with two questions indicates a certain lack of vitality. If one has things to say, why end with a question mark. And speaking of my writing temperature… I took my writing temp… or profile.. or analysis via a computer program called “I Write Like.” Try it for yourself! Here is the link (http://iwl.me/) The program asks you to paste in a few paragraphs of your writing and then tells you which famous writer you most resemble.
First time I showed up as Margaret Atwood, my prose correlated most closely to Ms. Atwood. Not a bad writer to be compared to and she’s very ecologically minded. Then I ran another writing sample of several paragraphs, through the computer and I correlated to Ian Fleming, of James Bond fame. That seemed a bit more masculine, you gotta love 007, at least I did back in the Sean Connery era. And I did read Fleming’s books in my teenage years and found Bond to be very compelling. Knew his guns, his liquor, his way around a woman. So that’s my starting point, Margaret Atwood and Ian Fleming.
First time I showed up as Margaret Atwood, my prose correlated most closely to Ms. Atwood. Not a bad writer to be compared to and she’s very ecologically minded. Then I ran another writing sample of several paragraphs, through the computer and I correlated to Ian Fleming, of James Bond fame. That seemed a bit more masculine, you gotta love 007, at least I did back in the Sean Connery era. And I did read Fleming’s books in my teenage years and found Bond to be very compelling. Knew his guns, his liquor, his way around a woman. So that’s my starting point, Margaret Atwood and Ian Fleming.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Five Seconds of Fame (Jumbotron)
JT Diary (Sunday, Sept 26, 2010)
Went to UT football game. Team (our team- Texas Longhorns) seemed unfocused, not able to see the end zone. We sat in the usual seats, on the alumni end of the stadium. We get shade starting at about 2:00 PM and that’s not an accident. Generous alumni must not be submitted to the torture of the Texas mid-day sun. The stands got restless, some profanity was hurled at the officials… who else?... as things went from bad to worse on the field.
I got my biggest thrill by engaging in some texting from my seat. An outrageous blonde with big boobs pushing forth from a plunging neckline sat directly behind us. When I say plunging I’m talking about the stock market following dot.com bust or maybe, even better, the flash crash of a few months back—we’re talking jaw-dropping plunge here. She was part of a foursome, including a slightly more modest but equally attractive brunette. So, wouldn’t you know it… the stadium camera crew found our little enclave of fans for the first time in the history of the Jumbotron, the huge screen at the south end of the stadium. The screen towers the size of a building emitting images and ads and game play and fan shots for the entire ballgame. We were never on there before but the two outrageous babes got us there this Saturday.
Happy, with my white hair shining like a beacon on the side of an electronic wall, I texted a few folks about my elation. Turns out I texted about ten people more than intended. It was fun to get the response of people around the nation, many knew nothing about my attending the game. The electronic world with its powerful embrace, and full of frivolous chatter, seemed different to me. I had the stage, a microphone of sorts, and my buoyancy carried me outward to my own little audience. They responded in various ways—my nephew the UCLA grad enjoyed what was happening on the field with the downfall of mighty Texas, my family in New York seemed bemused, my high school buddy, a sports guy, seemed curious about the setting. One friend put it best: “Ah, the sweet satisfaction of fame, at last!”
Went to UT football game. Team (our team- Texas Longhorns) seemed unfocused, not able to see the end zone. We sat in the usual seats, on the alumni end of the stadium. We get shade starting at about 2:00 PM and that’s not an accident. Generous alumni must not be submitted to the torture of the Texas mid-day sun. The stands got restless, some profanity was hurled at the officials… who else?... as things went from bad to worse on the field.
I got my biggest thrill by engaging in some texting from my seat. An outrageous blonde with big boobs pushing forth from a plunging neckline sat directly behind us. When I say plunging I’m talking about the stock market following dot.com bust or maybe, even better, the flash crash of a few months back—we’re talking jaw-dropping plunge here. She was part of a foursome, including a slightly more modest but equally attractive brunette. So, wouldn’t you know it… the stadium camera crew found our little enclave of fans for the first time in the history of the Jumbotron, the huge screen at the south end of the stadium. The screen towers the size of a building emitting images and ads and game play and fan shots for the entire ballgame. We were never on there before but the two outrageous babes got us there this Saturday.
Happy, with my white hair shining like a beacon on the side of an electronic wall, I texted a few folks about my elation. Turns out I texted about ten people more than intended. It was fun to get the response of people around the nation, many knew nothing about my attending the game. The electronic world with its powerful embrace, and full of frivolous chatter, seemed different to me. I had the stage, a microphone of sorts, and my buoyancy carried me outward to my own little audience. They responded in various ways—my nephew the UCLA grad enjoyed what was happening on the field with the downfall of mighty Texas, my family in New York seemed bemused, my high school buddy, a sports guy, seemed curious about the setting. One friend put it best: “Ah, the sweet satisfaction of fame, at last!”
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Reality Hunter
Reality Hunter
Reality Hunter is my name. Finding reality is my game. I find it, I hunt it, I dominate it, I eat it for lunch….
Allen Ginsberg was a distant relative of mine… but as my dad like to say… “not distant enough.” Hey that’s not fair. Ginsberg is as much a part of realityas the next guy…. Or at least the next bearded homosexual, poetry reciting guy. Skepticism…
Are you a skeptic… skeptikos from the Greek… I think.
Then there’s always “I think, therefore I am…” or is I think and I blog but nobody cares… if a tree falls in a Chevy dealership… does it still qualify for a bailout.
What is life beyond a photo caption?
Or maybe life is the photo and writing is the caption?
Life is an indulgent exercise more than a paradigm shift… and what’s a paridigm other than twenty cents?
He makes his readers do Sure shit happens and when the shit gets bad enough a gag reflex happens… but don’t limit youself to sentence… go for stanzas. And don’t worry about brevity. Sure it’s the soul of wit… but if you are too brief.. things get exciting and dangerous. But least of all things is…, plagiarism.
Like James Frey and his “Million Little Pieces”of bullshit. Now that’s art… a man for the Internet age.. a MySpace page ... But don’t worry about originality and the hell with authorship. What kind of author drives a ship anyway?
Reality Hunter is my name. Finding reality is my game. I find it, I hunt it, I dominate it, I eat it for lunch….
Allen Ginsberg was a distant relative of mine… but as my dad like to say… “not distant enough.” Hey that’s not fair. Ginsberg is as much a part of realityas the next guy…. Or at least the next bearded homosexual, poetry reciting guy. Skepticism…
Are you a skeptic… skeptikos from the Greek… I think.
Then there’s always “I think, therefore I am…” or is I think and I blog but nobody cares… if a tree falls in a Chevy dealership… does it still qualify for a bailout.
What is life beyond a photo caption?
Or maybe life is the photo and writing is the caption?
Life is an indulgent exercise more than a paradigm shift… and what’s a paridigm other than twenty cents?
He makes his readers do Sure shit happens and when the shit gets bad enough a gag reflex happens… but don’t limit youself to sentence… go for stanzas. And don’t worry about brevity. Sure it’s the soul of wit… but if you are too brief.. things get exciting and dangerous. But least of all things is…, plagiarism.
Like James Frey and his “Million Little Pieces”of bullshit. Now that’s art… a man for the Internet age.. a MySpace page ... But don’t worry about originality and the hell with authorship. What kind of author drives a ship anyway?
Friday, December 25, 2009
Doozie of a Christmas
Today is Christmas Day. A bit cooler than usual for Austin, Texas. We got surprisingly high tech gifts this year—including an iHome for the old iPod. Having the iPod attached to an external speaker has already made a big difference. I must not be of the headset or the ear bud generation and could never bring myself to use the iPod on my head. It’s fun to have it playing away through the speaker. I feel so iModern.
Don’t have a plan of Resolutions yet. I would like to keep writing on a frequent basis. I did two papers to wind up my semester as a graduate student—a paper on “Olympics as Television” and the other was on “Seinfeld: In the Sitcom Tradition.” I noticed the effort helped me with putting in concentrated effort. I learned some things with both papers—got some sense of how to write a Research Paper with the Olympics effort and learned much about American comedy with its roots in minstrel shows and the Borscht Belt and the evolution into television comedy. I did sweat getting the papers completed.
Learned the word “doozie,” meaning “something outstanding or unique of its kind" came from the Dusenberg automobile. Just checked that on the computer dictionary and they said doozie was of unknown 20th century origin. Does that mean I know something the dictionary does not know? Well, I’m calling it a victory. Merry Christmas!
Don’t have a plan of Resolutions yet. I would like to keep writing on a frequent basis. I did two papers to wind up my semester as a graduate student—a paper on “Olympics as Television” and the other was on “Seinfeld: In the Sitcom Tradition.” I noticed the effort helped me with putting in concentrated effort. I learned some things with both papers—got some sense of how to write a Research Paper with the Olympics effort and learned much about American comedy with its roots in minstrel shows and the Borscht Belt and the evolution into television comedy. I did sweat getting the papers completed.
Learned the word “doozie,” meaning “something outstanding or unique of its kind" came from the Dusenberg automobile. Just checked that on the computer dictionary and they said doozie was of unknown 20th century origin. Does that mean I know something the dictionary does not know? Well, I’m calling it a victory. Merry Christmas!
Monday, December 7, 2009
Time Running Out
My dream last night, of Providence, R.I. was inspired by conversation with Texas professor—about her grandfather’s grandfather, Truman Angell, architect of the Mormon’s Salt Lake Temple, who was from Angell family of Providence. Brigham Young sent him to Europe so he could learn how to design a building. The professor could tell I was interested to learn more about the man named Angell, with my memory of Angell Street adjacent to Brown University, my alma mater. She said the family had his personal diaries, and she read Angell’s records of his journey across the plains; he may have been a bit of a whiner, with “complaints” of various pains on his body. (He was architect of the Salt Lake Temple for thirty-five years until his death in 1887 and was said to know every stone in its walls. He is credited with perfecting the acoustics of the Salt Lake Tabernacle.)
Following this conversation at a faculty cover dish on the same night of the University of Texas near loss of a football game… I had a dream. In my dream I was feeling amazingly sentimental feelings, and I spoke to college buddy Jon, from Brown University days, and he wanted me to say hello to his mother who I supposedly met on the first day of classes, an event that never happened and was strictly a dream invention. Jon was a native of Providence. The dream shifted locales, and a recounting of a Long Island story where I had danced with a high school classmate’s mother at a 1970 wedding and she told her son how handsome I was and what a thrill it was for her, an older woman’s mythology of memories, but one that did occur. I worked this over in my dream.
These events and pseudo events mingled and created a dream ambience of longing for past events that could not be grasped and held but somehow seemed rich and elusive at the same time.
Back to reality…And this mood connected to the Texas versus Nebraska game for Big 12 Championship, from earlier that evening. Colt McCoy and Coach Mack Brown almost let the time slip away and seemed not to be playing by the of rules of football time management at the highest level of college football competition. The faux pas on the field, a near disaster, was righted by good fortune and Texas won the game with a field goal in the last second, a second that had to be put back on the game clock. The “deep play” of American culture turned this into an ESPN talking heads debate on wanton carelessness the announcers sternly rebuked and made me dream about the dangers of letting time run out.
They almost let the time run out!
My dream grasped on time running out—which, just like on the football field, eventually happens. Time does run out. Like the quarterback, and as quarterbacks of our own life we lull ourselves to distraction… don’t want to consider this too closely.
We are all crossing a prairie. The wide open plains of life beckon us and though we’d like to think we have a solid steel car and not a rickety Conestoga wagon that’s all a matter of degree. The sun bakes hot and plain rolls endlessly ahead. How to get to the other side… Will Indians charge out on steeds whooping and hollering for a scalp… or maybe we will reach the patch of green, an outpost in Utah. I was amused to find myself fascinated by a Mormon story, a group that also has seem strange and somewhat ominous. The professor had a very kindly demeanor, a bit of the prairie virtues in her bearing, and a nice modesty—part her heritage and part a function of being a truly educated person. Only someone like her could make Truman Angell come to life for me.
Following this conversation at a faculty cover dish on the same night of the University of Texas near loss of a football game… I had a dream. In my dream I was feeling amazingly sentimental feelings, and I spoke to college buddy Jon, from Brown University days, and he wanted me to say hello to his mother who I supposedly met on the first day of classes, an event that never happened and was strictly a dream invention. Jon was a native of Providence. The dream shifted locales, and a recounting of a Long Island story where I had danced with a high school classmate’s mother at a 1970 wedding and she told her son how handsome I was and what a thrill it was for her, an older woman’s mythology of memories, but one that did occur. I worked this over in my dream.
These events and pseudo events mingled and created a dream ambience of longing for past events that could not be grasped and held but somehow seemed rich and elusive at the same time.
Back to reality…And this mood connected to the Texas versus Nebraska game for Big 12 Championship, from earlier that evening. Colt McCoy and Coach Mack Brown almost let the time slip away and seemed not to be playing by the of rules of football time management at the highest level of college football competition. The faux pas on the field, a near disaster, was righted by good fortune and Texas won the game with a field goal in the last second, a second that had to be put back on the game clock. The “deep play” of American culture turned this into an ESPN talking heads debate on wanton carelessness the announcers sternly rebuked and made me dream about the dangers of letting time run out.
They almost let the time run out!
My dream grasped on time running out—which, just like on the football field, eventually happens. Time does run out. Like the quarterback, and as quarterbacks of our own life we lull ourselves to distraction… don’t want to consider this too closely.
We are all crossing a prairie. The wide open plains of life beckon us and though we’d like to think we have a solid steel car and not a rickety Conestoga wagon that’s all a matter of degree. The sun bakes hot and plain rolls endlessly ahead. How to get to the other side… Will Indians charge out on steeds whooping and hollering for a scalp… or maybe we will reach the patch of green, an outpost in Utah. I was amused to find myself fascinated by a Mormon story, a group that also has seem strange and somewhat ominous. The professor had a very kindly demeanor, a bit of the prairie virtues in her bearing, and a nice modesty—part her heritage and part a function of being a truly educated person. Only someone like her could make Truman Angell come to life for me.
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Bronax on Writing (Nov. 8)
Practice various types of writing, news reporting, essay,
poetry, prose, short story, novella, novel, etc. See what
one is easiest for you and which you do best at. Its like
picking up a sport. First you see what activity attracts or
draws you near, then you practice the basics so you can
learn the basic skills for the position. You are an older
guy, with life experience, so you can just begin as guru
guru, even though as new writer you qualify as a tyro.
Bronax
Hi Bronax,
Your suggestion to approach writing like learning a sport is nice analogy. I played sports and recall that some positions suited my personality-- guard in basketball... as I'm well-guarded personality... and good at protecting the basketball from the other team.
Been reading some talented writers for school. I can see how they are compulsively having fun with their subject (TV sitcoms) and have a nice flow. That goes along with "what is easiest for you and which you do best." Great advice Bronax!
I'm going to do some errands before the movie.
Great to hear from you!
John
poetry, prose, short story, novella, novel, etc. See what
one is easiest for you and which you do best at. Its like
picking up a sport. First you see what activity attracts or
draws you near, then you practice the basics so you can
learn the basic skills for the position. You are an older
guy, with life experience, so you can just begin as guru
guru, even though as new writer you qualify as a tyro.
Bronax
Hi Bronax,
Your suggestion to approach writing like learning a sport is nice analogy. I played sports and recall that some positions suited my personality-- guard in basketball... as I'm well-guarded personality... and good at protecting the basketball from the other team.
Been reading some talented writers for school. I can see how they are compulsively having fun with their subject (TV sitcoms) and have a nice flow. That goes along with "what is easiest for you and which you do best." Great advice Bronax!
I'm going to do some errands before the movie.
Great to hear from you!
John
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