Letters to Holly

Wednesday, April 18

Two Days

I cut the lawn on Tuesday as soon as I got home. Literally. I changed into the yard pants, grabbed the iPod, and made with the mowing. We're under siege by slow-moving, methodical dandelion weeds, and the weather prevented me from siccing the weedeater on them after work Wednesday. Your Sis ordered pizza for dinner Tuesday, and we ate the leftover for dinner last night. She went to bed early, and I watched "Lost." We're both working on her first round of student papers.

I also started writing a mini-comic for distribution at conventions through my unofficial publisher, the guy who prints the anthologies.

Picture of the Day
This is an obelisk chair sculpture. The chairs are lightweight, and the whole thing retail of more than $8,000.


In the News
The Supreme Court decision on partial birth abortions seems like a ruling that would only temporarily infringe upon those who don't want to carry to term. Even if this particular procedure is no longer available (and how many medial procedures are banned by Congress anyway?), others will be developed to replace it, and the legislative process will have to start all over again. I understand that the decision is seen as the first of incremental steps to make abortion illegal altogether, but I don't see that happening. Not so long as conservative lawmakers' daughters also find themselves with child at inopportune times.

+ + +

I have spoken to people who knew one of those killed at Virginia Tech. Jamie Bishop, an artist who taught German there, previously worked at Chapel Hill in the IT department. He was the first person I heard identified in Monday's attack via a message board. NPR presented a small report on him and his hometown friends this morning.

+ + +

Secretary of Defense Robert gates visited Iraq today and pointed out that the administration's military commitment is not open-ended. That sounds similar to the Democrats' rallying cry of a withdrawal time table which the administration very vocally denounces.

+ + +

I have no idea if you like Nine Inch Nails, but he/they have a new CD out, and it's pretty good. It's his first attempt at making commentary on current affairs as he usually writes about personal business and sexual interactions. Year Zero is his American Idiot, and his resistance to administration policies fits right in with his bailiwick of domination and resistance. It's a sparse production and somewhat light and poppy. He even commands his audience to sing along in one track, the first time I can remember him breaking the journal format of his writing and acknowledging his position as a performer. I loves me some NIN. This was the band I discovered and embraced when everyone else was worshiping Nirvana. When grunge took over, I was marinating in industrial.

Tuesday, April 17

It's a Bouncing Baby Toyota

The dealership called back Monday morning to say they could find no Matrix models with side airbags left unless we started looking at electric blue or white cars. We didn't want either, so we agreed to take the car they showed us on the lot Saturday. The still-turbulent wind knocked out power at the office right before 3, and I killed time at Barnes & Noble. I met Your Sis at the dealership at 6, and we emptied out the old Contour before trading it in. It was appraised at $1,000, a shock to both of us. I figured it would maybe fetch $200.

The salesman we talked to this weekend took our insurance information and the Contour keys and handed us to the finance officer for the billing. Then we signed about ten forms for contracts, registration, and warranty agreements, right before handing over the check for the down payment. Then we were handed to the service chief who showed us our manual and warranty paperwork. And he walked us out to the new car. Your Sis hadn't bought a new car before, so I made sure everyone was clear on what they were telling both of us. We moved the Contour contents to her sportscar, and I drove the Matrix home. I'd say we were there about 90 minutes.

It's a manual, and it's has been a few years since I drove one, but the gearbox is nicely built, and I had no trouble getting back into rhythm. It likes to go fast. Really fast. I like this car a lot.

Picture of the Day
The language makes it funny.


In the News
It didn't take long for the usual desperate blame-throwing to emerge on talk radio. It's the media, it's the liberals, it's a national move away from God, it's the anti-gun crowd -- everyone except the gunman. I almost understand the need to assign accountability. We face an boggling amount of mass shootings and have for decades. The California McDonald's shooting, the post office deaths, the office shootings, the school shootings. And the only way to make everybody safe is to also invite more danger. Arm college students? Arm teachers? Insert draconian safety measures (as if students didn't protest authority before)? Likewise the calls to fire the college president are in hopes that someone will face punishment when the gunman has escaped it through suicide. This, like 9/11, happened in the alignment of dark stars. A certain person on a certain day acted a certain way and did certain things. You can't escape chaos. By definition, you can't prevent it.

+ + +

The Pulitzer for fiction went to a sci-fi novel, The Road by Cormac McCarthy. I have to dig and see if the genre has won before.

Monday, April 16

Sedaris and A Funeral

David Sedaris, author and This American Life stalwart, came to Mayberry today in what must be the smallest stop on his 36-city tour. It's incredible that he held a two-hour reading just two miles from my house. Of course I attended. Of course Your Sis didn't. She doesn't find him funny; I think the voice annoys her.

Sedaris is a small man who looks like a cross between Anderson Cooper and Ben from "Lost." He read a short story about his Chapel Hill days called "The Heart Is A Lonely Menagerie," and then told us that he had never read it to an audience before. It showed. He was editing as he read, and he became stuck over word flow at points. But it was funny, and it was poignant, and it was good. It just was. Then he read a story published in the New Yorker called "All the Beauty You Will Ever Need" about how a water shortage in his Normandy house made him flashback to buying pot in a trailer outside of Raleigh.

He read a little bit from his diary concerning a recent trip to Japan. Many jokes were made about Engrish. He read some dog poems (The neighbor's pitbull named Cass/Bit the mailman in the ass/His lower teeth damaged his sphincter/ And now his walk's more distincter.)

But then he recommended a book for everyone to read, and it was the Zombie Survival Guide. Not only did he read the Q&As from the book (do zombies digest? how fast can they run?), but he went on to praise World War Z. Turns out, our gay nerdy New Yorker writer is a zombie-phile. Can't get enough of them. But you have to imagine the scene. This is a 500-seat house filled with couples over the age of 50, and he's going on for half an hour about zombies. He finds the book funny, but he's not sure if it's supposed to be. But he genuinely enjoys what each book does. And the audience is laughing in a mix of horror and habit. By this point, he could have read a soup can, and he'd get laughs. His rhythm was established, and he was working the room.

He mentioned that Night of the Living Dead was so good that it changed his life, but he was frustrated with those holed up in the house. He said he still gets annoyed that they didn't think to go upstairs and then destroy the stairs. The zombies couldn't climb. They'd be safe until the zombies got bored. He also complained about a woman from an earlier reading declaring that she'd be a vegetarian zombie. He was incredulous that anyone could think a zombie would have a choice. What would be the problem if we had zombie vegetarians? We could cut of their legs, chain them to the fence, and use them to cut the lawn. We'd sell them in garden centers. I tell you, the man has given this much thought. Somewhere in him lurks a definitive zombie story.

He went on to gripe about a recent letter to the editor in our fishwrapper. His publicity photo ran a few weeks back, and in it, he has a cigarette behind his ear. A reader complained. He's setting a bad example, she said. He'll be the funniest man with cancer, she said. And he went off. How dare anyone prohibit cigarettes in pictures, he asked. And he noted he's been smoke-free since January only because hotels are going smoke-free.

The two hours flew by, and I'm glad I saw it, but I can't believe that this guy was this close to my house.

Just as I left, Dad called to say my uncle Ray had died. He was my mom's oldest brother, I believe. He was diagnosed with cancer while back and beat the life-span estimate. He was a good and decent man. Retired Air Force too. His funeral was Sunday, and this was the first chance to catch up with some family for years and years. He received a full military funeral with taps and the flag given to his widow. I can't say I was close to him -- the family fell apart when my grandfather died 20 years ago, but the military honors and ritual hit me hard. I visited with my parents for a bit and drove back up the mountain during a small hurricane. The storm you're getting now hammered u for two days with big wind. It howled all night and driving through it was like hitting air turbulence. I don' recall being in a sustained storm like that before. There were reports of snow here and there.

We tried to buy the car on Saturday, but they didn't have a model with side airbags. A regional search turned up nothing, and I think we're going to break down and buy a model they have on the lot. By this time tomorrow, we may have a new car.

Picture of the Day
A most bridge-aceous bridge.