johnvano.com

Not Happy

My favorite team was eliminated from playoff contention by the hated White Sox. For what it's worth, I've shown my rooting interests for the postseason (see below). I love this time of year.

   

 

     

But I have to say, if it's not the Brewers in the NL, I'll be rooting for the Phillies.

The Novel Has Moved to Version 2.0

Did I mention I finished my novel last week? I didn't think so... and there's more than that I haven't yet mentioned in this space. The day before I finished draft one, my position was "eliminated" at the organization I've served for eight years. So I'm on the jobhunt prowl. While I look, e-mail, and take meetings, I am trying to spend at least two hours a day on the second draft of my novel and now I'm up to page 35 of version 2.0. Here's a little taste...

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    In college, Anderson Mayer was one of the socially awkward. He was never afraid to make a friend, and yet, never aware that his efforts were fruitless. He wore useful clothes, large glasses, and always looked like he had just climbed out of the shower. Cleanliness is appreciated, but it was rather unsettling to see his hair continually slicked wet, his pores reeking with the fresh scent of Irish Spring. It was all so earnest and disconcerting.
    “Hey guys!” Anderson welcomes us as we approach. For him, entering a twenty-foot circumference was akin to shaking his hand. I’m sure it’s not by accident that he’s positioned himself by the door where he can accost anyone who dares to leave for the bathroom. “Ben and Eleanor! My study buddies!”
    “Ha, yeah,” I say. I can’t imagine when we studied together, but whatever. I try not to make eye contact with him, focusing on his nose while I apply pressure to Eleanor’s shoulder to get her past him.
    "Eleanor, you’re looking hot,” he snortles. “Great dress.”
    Funny, I don’t remember him having game, or even pretending to have it. When I knew him, he barely acknowledged a difference in the sexes—giving us all an equal dose of platonic attention.
    Eleanor keeps moving, but manages eye contact, “Aren’t you sweet?” she purrs a bit too convincingly. “It’s nice to see you, Anderson. You’ll excuse me, won’t you?”
    And as easily as that, Eleanor has flitted from the room on her way to our rendezvous. 

    “So Anderson,” I stick my hand out for a shake. “Great to see you.” I emphasize the word “great” as a concluding clue. How is it that everyone seems to understand that this special emphasis means the conversation is over? Problem is, guys like Anderson Mayer do not universally appreciate these social clues.
    “Well it’s great to see you,” he agrees, but instead of shaking my hand, he tickles my palm, raises his hand in a fist, and drives it down with a bounce off my hand. I have no idea what he’s doing, but he probably picked it up from some cool kids he’s been watching.
    “Yeah,” I answer, dragging out the sound of the word while I try to come up with something else to say. “So you doing good?” I answer, cringing at the knowledge that I’ve now engaged the enemy.
    “Can’t complain. I’m a manager now.”
    “Oh yeah? A manager where?” I oblige, craning my neck to see Eleanor disappear from sight.
    “It’s no big deal. I get an extra two bucks an hour for it.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “I’m in shades,” he says with a grin.
    “Oh? Blinds and windows and stuff?”
    “Nooo, sunglasses. It’s a great way to meet people. I work at one of those kiosks at a mall in Hartford. Lots of pretty ladies.”
    Think of a way out, think of a way out, I find myself ruminating. “I bet, the ladies, they love to shop.”
    Why I am I affecting my voice like his? It’s probably going to encourage him.
    “Yea-ah, you know it,” Anderson agrees. “But they can get a little cranky sometimes, you know?”
    “You know it.” Actually, I’m not sure what he’s driving at.
    “Got some on my staff,” he continues, “so what I do is, I make notes on them, track their cycles.”
    This gets my attention. “You mean their menstrual cycles?”
    “Oh yeah, best thing I ever did. I can keep them in line that way, knowing when they’re on it and when they’re off. And it really doesn’t take long before the new girls get on a schedule with the others. That way they can all be crappy together. Excuse my French.”
    “No problem,” I say, unsure what it is I’m excusing. “You haven’t told anyone else about this technique, have you?”
    “It’s in my records,” he says, tapping a big curled notebook that’s sticking out of the front pocket of his pants, “but I keep it on the down low.”
    “Good. Be sure to keep it that way.”

Copy This Shirt!

This one asked a few months ago if I could take her t-shirt to the office. This was when her garage band was to be called "The Beatles." She wanted me to make copies of it for her bandmates--using the copy machine. Makes sense if you think about it. 

When my wife and I explained that there might be another band that once had that name, she demurred, landing instead on "The Slick Team." She's convinced they're bound for greatness, though not a one of them plays an instrument. We're cheering them on of course.

Can You Catch the Bunny?

Paula was at a women's retreat for 27 hours this weekend, which left me and the kids alone to get into all kinds of fun. We went to a church pizza party Friday night, and on Saturday morning we cleaned the house, went for breakfast at Dunk'n Donuts, enjoyed a two-hour hike, did the playground, and had a very late lunch at Wendy's. 

At the beginning of our hike, we found a bunny that must have been domesticated and dumped at the park. Madison tried to catch it.

Here they slowly sneak forward... 

Madison just touched it, but it hopped away...

I Was Hurt Today But...

From the archives... originally posted 2/10/06 at http://myyarn.blogspot.com/

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In the two and three year-old Sunday School class my wife and I teach, there is a short form we're supposed to fill out in the event that one of the young ones injures themselves. It is just a little parental notification to pass on to the parents at pickup. So far, we've never had to use it.

It reads: "I was hurt today, but I'm okay now." This is followed by blank spaces where we are to fill out an injury report (presumably in the child's voice, but I'm not quite sure how to do that). This form got me thinking of some alternatives in the event the child is not okay. Here's how that form might look:

I was hurt today, and I'm still bleeding.
I was hurt today, and I should've gone to the hospital.
I was hurt today, and I don't think I'm going to make it.
I was hurt today, and my last words were _______________.
I was hurt today, and I can't remember my name.
I was hurt today, and now I'm missing a thumb.

Clearly these adjustments would give us more options for life's little emergencies.

I Think I'm Going to Drop Something... and Make Millions

We all know that some of the world's greatest discoveries have been by accident...

...the grease-fried roast beef sandwich (accidentally dropped in a Los Angeles vat of oil in 1918)... the Slinky (a spring that bwoinged when it fell off of a desk in 1940... the potato chip (a cranky chef tried to get comeuppance on a finicky customer who didn't like his fries, cutting them super thin and dropping them in grease--Saratoga, NY, 1853)... the Post-It Note (a "you got your chocolate in my peanut butter moment"--with one 3M employee realizing that the adhesive mistake of another would keep the little paper bookmarks from falling out of his hymnal)...

There is much good that can come from dropping, flopping, and failing... I just need to figure out what I need to accidentally do.

God is Large and in Charge

“I am He who will sustain you. 

I have made you and I will carry you”  (Is.46:4).

Smoking Tales for Houseguests

Here are three more reviews of the 34 books and counting that I have read or listened to this year. Two are story collections, while the third is a comic cookbook, written by the sibling of one of my other featured authors.

David Sedaris' new collection of biographical essays, When You Are Engulfed in Flames, relate tales of a frightening caregiver, his parents' frightful taste in art, and his misgivings and misadventures with travel. Of particular note are his encounter on an airplane with a displaced spouse, his experiments with a catheter, and his 83-page recollection of smoking--beginning, living, and then quitting. Some moments are laugh out loud funny, such as the nine-year-old who he defeats in a swimming race that accuses him of having unfair help, or his relaxed urination when out and about with his catheter. More often, the stories are well-written and reflective, and from a viewpoint drastically different from mine. Best of all is his trip to Japan to quit smoking. Though "Flames" is not as engrossing as some of his other work, it is largely worth the time. Grade: B-

I Like You: Hospitality Under the Influence, is by Sedaris' sister, Amy Sedaris. I first saw Amy on the odd Comedy Central program, Strangers with Candy, an after school special mockery that had some amusing moments. Amy is a frequent character in her brother's essays and also shows up in films and on late night television. Her style is to take a convention and twist it to obscurity. She always shows great talent, but this is often a hit-and-miss prospect. With I Like You, it was generally a miss. The book is a cookbook, which best I can tell, contains serious recipes amidst silly scenarios. She talks of entertaining for all kinds of hilarious combinations of people, and her dry, unflappable hostessness is amusing, but it is hard to carry off the trick through an entire book, particularly with the mix of serious and surreal. Grade: D

Jeffrey Archer is one of my favorite novelists. Famous for epic, historical tales featuring interweaving characters whose lives intersect over 60 or 70 years, his books are engaging and fun. One of my favorites (though different than his norm) is The Eleventh Commandment. It involves a government assassin who has a family at home--it chronicles how he risks his life, and reverses a double-cross, while maintaining a quiet life at home. Archer also writes short stories and Cat O'Nine Tales combines some fanciful true stories he was told in prison with a couple that are fiction. The tales are well-written but largely pedestrian. The collection is nice for a quiet afternoon, but falls short of the mastery he displays in his other story collections. Grade: B-

Too Lazy to Blog

I have lots of ideas, but not enough energy to develop any of them. I want something pithy or deep or warm or sensational, and I'm tired... so you get squat. I just needed to get something up lest my automatic "I'm dead" post publishes and freaks everyone out.

By the way, I was watching the Georgia Bulldogs defeat the South Carolina Gamecocks on Saturday and I kept wondering why these uniforms just say "Carolina." Are they suggesting the other Carolinas don't matter? Or that all Carolinas are one? How was this consensus achieved, because last I checked, both the University of North Carolina and East Carolina University seem unaware that South Carolina is their daddy...

Hurricanes are Smart

Have you ever noticed that BIG HURRICANES always seem to make landfall on weekends? Particularly holiday weekends? They know that their biggest audience is then--when there will be plenty of eyes watching the developing story.

I hope it turns out okay for everyone. Crazy Texans who don't want to leave included.