Portrait Of The Author As A Young Thug
I was scanning some old photos for a friend and came across this one, c. 1979. I have no idea.
There’s probably a New Year’s resolution lurking here, too.
The World According to Chuck
You probably got here by mistake
Resolved
I’ve spent the better part of three weeks in a deep freeze, in more ways than one. An unhealthy mix of weather, holidays, work opportunities and projects that require my butt in a chair blew my routine up real good.
From a family perspective, it’s been nice. We’ve had plenty of casual time together. Meals have not been solo, late nights have been shared, Julie and I have left the house together on more than one occasion.
But it looks like I’ve gained somewhere in the neighborhood of 12 pounds since the middle of December, which doesn’t seem possible but then again. I tend to walk between 25-30 miles a week on average, when I’m just keeping up, and that went down to zero.
Not important in the long run, other than a warning shot across the bow, but a great example of the creeping nature of sloth. Sloth is Satan’s Christmas present. Sloth is the root of all arteriosclerosis. Sloth is Santa heavily invested with Bernie Madoff. Nothing good comes from sloth.
On the other hand, there’s a separate peace that comes from frozen sidewalks. Options get limited and the authorities tell me to stay off the streets, so I do. It’s warm inside, and I have Mr. Internet, and where did all those cookies come from? Hmm.
A dozen pounds of more mass does nothing to my soul but nudge me in the direction I was heading anyway. There’s a continuum, we like to say in the recovery biz, and we’re leaning in one direction or the other. It’s a nice model for practically everything in life, actually. Tomorrow will be Jan. 3, 2009 whether I want it to be or not; I get some serenity from that, and courage from the knowledge that I can change pretty much everything else, and strength from the notion that I don’t have to wait for tomorrow, either.
Here’s to the war on sloth, no more cookies, and a happy new year to you, too. Posting will be light for a few days until I get my bearings.
Goodbye To All Those
This has been an odd last week of the year, marked particularly by the passing of my friend and former teacher. He was 83, I say, and still I’m shocked, sad and not without regrets. Always a phone call put off.
And that might be a good wish for the next year; make the calls.
I’m struck, as always, by the arbitrary nature of the calendar and the way I can get all goofy about it at the same time. My practical part will always wrestle with the romantic. Or maybe I should just hope that will be the case. At any rate, I wish you all good things, only good things. And me too. This should be an eventful one, and I can wish only for less loss, I guess, or no more than usual.
I have no lists; I’m not really disciplined enough at the moment, or particularly interested. But I love those Academy Award “In Memoriam” montages every year, and over the past few weeks I’ve socked away some names and images with the following in mind. My memories, then, of the people who entertained me and moved me and kept me occupied on otherwise dull days.
It’ll feel shorter than it is. As will 2009, I suspect.
See you next year.
And if you want to give me grief for putting “memorium” as the title instead of “memoriam,” well, then, good for you, I deserve it, and it’s important to remember that I can always get better.
Call It A Gift, From Me To You
There are no words — I will find some, but you know — for the following act of selflessness, heroism, and pure public good that you’re about to hear. Anyone — ANYONE — who has a phone and has ever answered it, particularly around 6pm or so, needs to watch (really, listen) to the following.
I am super cereal here. It’s not long. You will thank me so much.
The Greatest Prank Call Made Ever
(From the great folks at Metacafe — give them a look)
Elmo Say “Cheers”
From across the pond in the UK, The Independent provides tips for toddlers:
Parents are to be given guidance in the new year for the first time as to how much alcohol their children can drink safely from the ages of five to 18.
But wait. There’s more:
The Government is also reviewing whether the current age at which it is legal to drink should remain at five.
I say raise the legal age to 10, but then you know me. Overly cautious.
Moving Day
I have no idea why this sped-up video of a church being moved fascinates me, but I’ve watched it several times. Easily entertained, I guess.
Junkies Only
Vanity Fair has published a looong article on the Bush Administration, sort of an oral history from the folks involved. If you’ve got nothing better to do. Or if you’ve got nothing.
Cat Haiku
What can I say? They amused me. Like this one:
You never feed me.
Perhaps I’ll sleep on your face.
That will sure show you.
Dunno. Cats.
Dallas
I think I’ve been remiss
In not talking about Dallas Clayton
Although I have my reasons.
Most of them revolve around envy.
Because he has a small child at home
And also because he makes me smile
More than pretty much anyone
Including me myself and I.
This is unfair.
Also?
I thought you might confuse him
With “Michael Clayton.”
Which is a pretty good movie though.
THIS IS MY FAVORITE OF ALL TIME
NOTES
The next time someone
parks their car
in a way
that annoys you so much
that you feel the need to leave them a note
telling them about it,
you should instead
just write them a note that says-
“Dear Jeff, now I know where to find you.
Don’t think I forgot about what you did to my little girl.
I’ll be watching you…”
Then draw a picture of a knife at the bottom.
This way, if they are not named Jeff
they will certainly reconsider parking
in or around this area so as not to be mistaken for Jeff
and if they are named Jeff… well,
victory is yours.
And The Winner Is
Speaking of year-end lists — and I believe we were, at some point — Forbes has an interesting article on the hardest-working actors in Hollywood.
Using some sort of algorithm that calculates size of the roles, success of the films and financial stuff (it’s Forbes), the award goes to Morgan Freeman, which is not hard to believe, although there were some surprises in the top ten (I expected to see Phillip Seymour Hoffman there, but I guess he’s lazier than I thought).
But this guy is amazing:
Samuel L. Jackson appeared in 19 films over the past 3 years. Time for a break.
Fathers, Sons
I wrote yesterday about Herman Rosenblat and his foray into James Frey fiction. Gabe Sherman in The New Republic was on top of this from the beginning, and adds an interesting footnote in what is really a sad story, Rosenblat’s son Ken:
When I asked Ken how his parents could have lived a double life for some 15 years, he explained that for his mother, who survived the Holocaust as a child by hiding as a Polish Catholic, living with an assumed identity was almost natural. “My mother lived a life of hiding. It was natural for them to lie, to cheat, and this is something that they lived with,” he told me. “This is something they knew, and they lived. And they continually lived with that. It’s very difficult for my father to confront what they’ve done.”
I really don’t know what to think about this; or, rather, whether I really care one way or the other. Something about it depresses me, though.
Read Paul To Pay Peter
I wasn’t a big fan of Paul Krugman’s column during the election season — the man is an economist, regardless of the high profile, and personally I found him a little shrill and shallow.
But the election is over and something is just beginning, and I’m a faithful fan of Mr. Krugman when it comes to the economy. The man has a Nobel Prize, which at least means we might want to pay attention, if not agree.
Anyway. Here he writes about a serious issue that isn’t getting a lot of play — the consensus, across the economic board, seems to be that pumping money in the form of a stimulus is necessary. At the same time, state governments are slashing spending, mostly because they’re required to do so by law. A conundrum, I believe is the word.