I suppose this time of year one should be most charitable in both heart and wallet. I have the latter out of the way, and while filled with love for those I cherish and good will for the merest acquaintance, after purchasing and reading my step-cousin's tell-all book, I am afraid I can muster a mere modicum of the former for her.
I initially thought to compare my duty to some degree of compassion for her, albeit highly contrived, to the contract one might make with oneself regarding porn sites on the Sabbath, for the analogy would fit a construct that disregards the pangs of guilt of an unrealized resolve the other six days of the week. The subject matter of this small tome suggests the parallels as well: a salaciousness that is for the most part empty of merit. Yet there is no release to be found in these pages except as a relief that it is brief.
Thirty-one chapters and an epilogue (preparing us for the sequel) in the span of 109 pages of 12-point type might begin to give a clue as to the skill of the author, yet there are books of poetry that maintain a similar word count to achieve the sublime. One might even overlook the oversight of a comment about a character before said person was properly introduced as some kind of experimental foreshadowing of the plot. Yet, I cannot understand a description of an event interrupted with an editorial "blah, blah blah" as anything more than laziness or a recognition of the blandness of the book itself.
Far be it from me to suggest that my command of the language or genre is without similar fault. My inadequacies would fill a bottomless pit if those shortcomings were not responsible for the excavation itself. Yet, even such humility does not prevent an assessment that is less than kind.
Not that there is not some compassion to be found for a young girl who was raped at thirteen years old. However, although there is a brief outline of the event and its bloody aftermath, the word "rape" is not used in that chapter. The story line that immediately preceded and followed tells of a very young girl given the body of someone more physically mature, and of these attributes she was fully aware, using them to garner attention at the swimming hole, along the streets of her small town and in her trips to the bathroom as she passed the bedroom of her step-brother twelve years her senior. This book is about her relationship with this man, the love of her life and the recipient of her pre and extramarital, and eventual nuptial affections until his death a few years ago.
The tragedy is compounded by a partial awareness of a longing for a replacement for her deceased, alcoholic father, something the author acknowledges as the reason behind much of her behavior, yet the more subtle manifestations that led to a life of additional poor choices appear to have eluded her some forty-plus years later. One might even suggest that the need to expose her history to a larger audience is to the same effect: attention at any cost.
As I have mentioned in an earlier post, I was present for a brief period of time in the earlier years of this story and know certain details of her life since. I can confirm that her portrayal of her promiscuous childhood is accurate. However, key elements of that time, plus the damage to others because of her dysfunctional life have been left out. This is, no doubt, for the sake of the tale's arc and it allows for a fictional element that may be the saving grace of an otherwise hackneyed, trite and pathetic first endeavor.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Good for the soul
The gut thing has found me in a foul mood the last several days, yet I shall not bother you with the details except to say that it is a good thing the sun attempted to show itself today.
The wife had told me about pumpkins still laying in a field south of us a good twenty miles. She mentioned it because she knew that a few weeks ago I came home disappointed after planning to take photographs in a ten-acre field of pie pumpkins alongside the interstate. I saw them one day, another, and then thought that my flags would look nice amongst all of that orange and dirt (the leafy matter and vines long rotted away). In that I had to take that road the following day, I did not stop, or rather, turn around at the next exit (for the flags and camera are always in the rig). The next day... they had been plowed under.
And, in that the sun had teased today, I thought to make the trip to the remaining patch.
As you can see, the sun was not as accommodating as I would have liked. It was there, behind me, but its glow softened by clouds.
I have gotten ahead of myself.
As readers know, these trips out into the country revitalize me. Although I have been on these same roads many, many times, I never tire of them: The hills, the trees, the river and creeks, the fauna... I was singing along with lined-out hymnodies by Old Regular Baptists. I could feel myself purging the bile and was glad to see the diner, Shirley May's, I thought had closed for good had a lunchtime crowd. I counted two raptors devouring their prey roadside and at least five nutria as road kill. And I am sorry to say there is likely a Western Jay in my grill. (I forgot to check but felt the thunk.) I thought to write a poem about all of this.
Then a toilet break.
More clouds seemed to be rolling in, but I wasn't ready to call it a day. I called the wife to say I'd be taking the long way home, for I had another location in mind for a flag photo.
The wife had told me about pumpkins still laying in a field south of us a good twenty miles. She mentioned it because she knew that a few weeks ago I came home disappointed after planning to take photographs in a ten-acre field of pie pumpkins alongside the interstate. I saw them one day, another, and then thought that my flags would look nice amongst all of that orange and dirt (the leafy matter and vines long rotted away). In that I had to take that road the following day, I did not stop, or rather, turn around at the next exit (for the flags and camera are always in the rig). The next day... they had been plowed under.
And, in that the sun had teased today, I thought to make the trip to the remaining patch.
Test #13
As you can see, the sun was not as accommodating as I would have liked. It was there, behind me, but its glow softened by clouds.
I have gotten ahead of myself.
As readers know, these trips out into the country revitalize me. Although I have been on these same roads many, many times, I never tire of them: The hills, the trees, the river and creeks, the fauna... I was singing along with lined-out hymnodies by Old Regular Baptists. I could feel myself purging the bile and was glad to see the diner, Shirley May's, I thought had closed for good had a lunchtime crowd. I counted two raptors devouring their prey roadside and at least five nutria as road kill. And I am sorry to say there is likely a Western Jay in my grill. (I forgot to check but felt the thunk.) I thought to write a poem about all of this.
Then a toilet break.
More clouds seemed to be rolling in, but I wasn't ready to call it a day. I called the wife to say I'd be taking the long way home, for I had another location in mind for a flag photo.
Thomas Creek
Test #14
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Served with a smile
We've had an appointment for a couple weeks for the local phone co-op to install our fiber optic line from the road into the house. I was just about to make a call to find out if they were running late or we had been forgotten when I saw them pull in the drive. I opened the door while the technician was still about twenty feet from the back door.
"Saw ya comin'."
"Well, sir, I am about to provide you with a state-of-the-art service that will make this cloudy, rainy day seem like one on which the sun is brightly shining on you and yours!"
Finding it a little strange that there should be a sales pitch forthcoming for a product and service we have already purchased, I replied, "You sound like a Jehovah's Witness."
In this neck of the woods, one should know better than to make such a statement. Yet, after some embarrassment and a couple apologies, we had a lovely conversation based on mutual, certainly more general ethics, beliefs and opinions. We even discussed whether the internet in its pervasiveness was inhumane and to what extent it effected familial relationships. He related how his house rules conflict with his children's friend's visits to his home. I could feel a mini-sermon coming on and interrupted.
"Again, I am sorry for any offense."
"Don't worry, I get it all the time."
I am not unfamiliar with their doctrine: "I have a couple friends who were raised as Jehovah's Witnesses, but in that they are both gay, they have been shunned."
Oddly likening their predisposition to drunk driving, he asserted, "Well, there's always free will." And knowing that I would not be able to dissuade him from such a perspective, chose to end our chat with a story.
"I'm an artist, so I see things a bit off kilter sometimes. When we started farming, one of the things that bothered me was the perniciousness of some of the weeds, and when you farm organically, it's tough to get rid of them on a wholesale basis. I asked myself what I could use to kill weeds besides a hoe.
"Now, I know from large-scale farming that a type of ammonia is used on crops as a fertilizer, but use too much, and you'll kill the plant. Urine has ammonia in it, and I had a ready supply of piss, so I decided to see if I could kill a weed just by peeing on it on a daily basis. And, because I'm an artist, I thought to videotape the process.
"I chose a thistle just starting to come up by the barn door there. Every day I'd pee on it, camera in one hand and up to my eye while I aimed with the other hand. Well, sir, one day while I had my eye stuck to the viewfinder, a van full of female JWs pulled up in the drive, but I didn't see them until I was done with my business and they were backing up."
We had a good chuckle but we did get down to business immediately thereafter. And it is only now, several hours later, I wonder if his "wife of eighteen years" had been in the van.
"Saw ya comin'."
"Well, sir, I am about to provide you with a state-of-the-art service that will make this cloudy, rainy day seem like one on which the sun is brightly shining on you and yours!"
Finding it a little strange that there should be a sales pitch forthcoming for a product and service we have already purchased, I replied, "You sound like a Jehovah's Witness."
In this neck of the woods, one should know better than to make such a statement. Yet, after some embarrassment and a couple apologies, we had a lovely conversation based on mutual, certainly more general ethics, beliefs and opinions. We even discussed whether the internet in its pervasiveness was inhumane and to what extent it effected familial relationships. He related how his house rules conflict with his children's friend's visits to his home. I could feel a mini-sermon coming on and interrupted.
"Again, I am sorry for any offense."
"Don't worry, I get it all the time."
I am not unfamiliar with their doctrine: "I have a couple friends who were raised as Jehovah's Witnesses, but in that they are both gay, they have been shunned."
Oddly likening their predisposition to drunk driving, he asserted, "Well, there's always free will." And knowing that I would not be able to dissuade him from such a perspective, chose to end our chat with a story.
"I'm an artist, so I see things a bit off kilter sometimes. When we started farming, one of the things that bothered me was the perniciousness of some of the weeds, and when you farm organically, it's tough to get rid of them on a wholesale basis. I asked myself what I could use to kill weeds besides a hoe.
"Now, I know from large-scale farming that a type of ammonia is used on crops as a fertilizer, but use too much, and you'll kill the plant. Urine has ammonia in it, and I had a ready supply of piss, so I decided to see if I could kill a weed just by peeing on it on a daily basis. And, because I'm an artist, I thought to videotape the process.
"I chose a thistle just starting to come up by the barn door there. Every day I'd pee on it, camera in one hand and up to my eye while I aimed with the other hand. Well, sir, one day while I had my eye stuck to the viewfinder, a van full of female JWs pulled up in the drive, but I didn't see them until I was done with my business and they were backing up."
We had a good chuckle but we did get down to business immediately thereafter. And it is only now, several hours later, I wonder if his "wife of eighteen years" had been in the van.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Book preview
I've gone ahead and done it, ordered the tell-all book by my step cousin. Half price, mind you, online. Read the reviews, all five stars. Salacious stars, no doubt, for this tale of love between step children, she of early blossom and the male drinking age.
And her mother still with us...
And the reviews speak of a sequel.
"She writes lovely letters," so says another relative.
"I've been meaning to tell you for several weeks that the book has been published," says my mother. "She's having a signing this week at the deli," and another one is in the works at the hotel over in the county seat.
"And why would you want to buy the book, Mom?"
"To help her out."
"To encourage her."
I was there for some of it and I can tell you she wasn't picky... at least regarding which step-brother. It was just a matter of which one was the wiser of the two.
Not that I am completely innocent. Well, in fact, I was innocent, as in thirteen years old, but also with those surges. Well, not exactly surges, for it seemed constant, or at least embarrassingly inconvenient in that tight pants were all the rage. No telling what had I copped the feel I bargained for but failed to acquire as that other brother would not kiss her first.
I suppose I should be grateful. For my mother's sake.
And her mother still with us...
And the reviews speak of a sequel.
"She writes lovely letters," so says another relative.
"I've been meaning to tell you for several weeks that the book has been published," says my mother. "She's having a signing this week at the deli," and another one is in the works at the hotel over in the county seat.
"And why would you want to buy the book, Mom?"
"To help her out."
"To encourage her."
I was there for some of it and I can tell you she wasn't picky... at least regarding which step-brother. It was just a matter of which one was the wiser of the two.
Not that I am completely innocent. Well, in fact, I was innocent, as in thirteen years old, but also with those surges. Well, not exactly surges, for it seemed constant, or at least embarrassingly inconvenient in that tight pants were all the rage. No telling what had I copped the feel I bargained for but failed to acquire as that other brother would not kiss her first.
I suppose I should be grateful. For my mother's sake.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
Proportion
Poker, I've played my share, including a home game last night and a trip to the casino today. I had thought, albeit last minute and very briefly, to hop on a flight to Vegas for the WBPT, but realistically knew that four or five days away might be too much of a drain on my constitution, not to mention an expense I didn't know I could justify despite the support of the wife.
So, in short, last night's game was a card-dead wash and today saw a double-up in a few short hours. "In short" because although I wanted to tell you about the set of Kings and the Aces against Queens, something far more interesting happened elsewhere in the building.
Yet, before I go on, I have a little set-up:
A few days ago, an old PAO friend, John (AKA Mad Mosby) wrote to say he would be making the drive to our local rez casino and asked if I wanted to go. We met in the poker room where I found him at a 2/5 table. Just watching the huge pots made Thumper flutter despite the beta blocker, and I thought that even were I able to afford that game, I would not be able to justify putting that much money on the line just for entertainment. I was happy when John later informed me that he had done quite well.
Then we went to dinner.
The plan was that John would head home and I wold hit the 1/3 tables again after eating. We said our goodbyes, and I headed back to the poker room. Then I remembered I should call the wife and headed outdoors. John was coming back inside. He changed his mind and decided to play roulette for a little while. Having never played roulette, nor wanting to, I was nevertheless curious and decided to watch.
We both watched for a while, and then we again said farewell.
But I couldn't bring myself to go back into the poker room. Dinner set too heavy, which meant my head would not be in the game, so I played a slot, broke even and decided to call it a night.
John was playing roulette.
Now, as I said, we had watched this game for a while. The table was full at one point and the chips were flying. I guess 37 to 1 odds will do that, but it was the Asian couple on the far corner that caught my attention, for while she was putting a hundred or so in play each roll, her husband was placing out anywhere from 900 to 1,000 dollars all over the board.
Both were well dressed. He had some card in front of him on which he wrote after each roll. While we watched, he managed to stay about even. When I found John the second time, no more than a half hour later, he informed me that the guy had already gone through $7,000 in that time, and I watched him go through another 2K in ten minutes.
My lord.
But it wasn't just him. And the house was killing. Granted, others had less but everyone except John seemed intent on getting all or most of their chips on as many numbers as they thought "prudent." All bent forward over the board placing chips like charms, it was more like ritualized hysteria than a game. And perhaps knowing that success was surely fleeting, no one smiled when they won.
And while I could pat myself on the back for sticking with a game I knew I could beat, I also knew that nothing could beat the warm fire and bright smile waiting an hour away, so we said our final goodnight.
So, in short, last night's game was a card-dead wash and today saw a double-up in a few short hours. "In short" because although I wanted to tell you about the set of Kings and the Aces against Queens, something far more interesting happened elsewhere in the building.
Yet, before I go on, I have a little set-up:
A few days ago, an old PAO friend, John (AKA Mad Mosby) wrote to say he would be making the drive to our local rez casino and asked if I wanted to go. We met in the poker room where I found him at a 2/5 table. Just watching the huge pots made Thumper flutter despite the beta blocker, and I thought that even were I able to afford that game, I would not be able to justify putting that much money on the line just for entertainment. I was happy when John later informed me that he had done quite well.
Then we went to dinner.
The plan was that John would head home and I wold hit the 1/3 tables again after eating. We said our goodbyes, and I headed back to the poker room. Then I remembered I should call the wife and headed outdoors. John was coming back inside. He changed his mind and decided to play roulette for a little while. Having never played roulette, nor wanting to, I was nevertheless curious and decided to watch.
We both watched for a while, and then we again said farewell.
But I couldn't bring myself to go back into the poker room. Dinner set too heavy, which meant my head would not be in the game, so I played a slot, broke even and decided to call it a night.
John was playing roulette.
Now, as I said, we had watched this game for a while. The table was full at one point and the chips were flying. I guess 37 to 1 odds will do that, but it was the Asian couple on the far corner that caught my attention, for while she was putting a hundred or so in play each roll, her husband was placing out anywhere from 900 to 1,000 dollars all over the board.
Both were well dressed. He had some card in front of him on which he wrote after each roll. While we watched, he managed to stay about even. When I found John the second time, no more than a half hour later, he informed me that the guy had already gone through $7,000 in that time, and I watched him go through another 2K in ten minutes.
My lord.
But it wasn't just him. And the house was killing. Granted, others had less but everyone except John seemed intent on getting all or most of their chips on as many numbers as they thought "prudent." All bent forward over the board placing chips like charms, it was more like ritualized hysteria than a game. And perhaps knowing that success was surely fleeting, no one smiled when they won.
And while I could pat myself on the back for sticking with a game I knew I could beat, I also knew that nothing could beat the warm fire and bright smile waiting an hour away, so we said our final goodnight.
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