battambang, cambodia
is your wife or girlfriend at the hotel? no. you're here with friends? um, no. so, you are just traveling around for three months through asia by yourself? that's right. isn't that a bit...
yes, it is. it is weird, strange, lonely, exhilarating, and any one of a number of adjectives that cover the gamut of feelings and emotions. from the outside, it must seem bizarre. from the first person, it is no less so.
traveling alone is like eating dinner alone compounded by three months (or however long one might be on the road.) most of the time, this is no different than eating at the counter of the burrito chain after a long day of work or stopping by the thai place for takeout. sometimes, it can feel like going to a michelin star restaurant in soho and sitting at an elevated table in the middle of the dining room. the wait staff awkwardly removes the second plate from the table cloth. other diners leer and whisper not-so-furtively. the casual laughter from happy tables can sound like thunder.
but it must be so, at least for me. as circumstances would have it, i am a thirty-one year old, single male. i have a wonderful family and a rich tapestry of friends who make me feel the way that anyone would ever wish to feel. i've been planning this trip for about nine months and threw out a few invitations here and there to various persons of interest. i have one dear friend joining me in a month, but nobody else could take time away from their responsibilities to get some dust on their feet. and that's understandable. and okay. truth be told, i figured that i would be doing the trip alone from the moment i decided to go.
because it's not as if i am alone. it is intimidating in a heavily-trafficked place like siem reap to be by oneself in a sea of families and happy and not-so-happy couples. but the solo travelers seem to find each other, or else we're able to tag on as welcome third or fifth wheels for a spell. and if our company grows grumpy, lame, or annoying, we can always make up some half-hearted excuse to rejoin the wind and keep it moving.
still, the real justification for flying solo is the least substantiated, at least for me. because i'm looking out, rather than at someone across the table; because i can linger a little bit longer after grabbing that coffee or beer; because i have all of my attention on the strange new world around me, i'm able to take more in. and it's not just a simple calculus of quantity and quality of perception, either. things just kinda happen to me. policemen who had been seemingly stoic start joking with me. waiters and waitresses sit at my table for a breather. tuk tuk drivers go a little bit further out of their way to point something out that they could have just mentioned.
i don't have any definitive explanation for this; it's possible that it's universal and that others just don't really notice. i suppose the reason i make such a big deal of it is that it is such a big deal. to me. i really can't live without these moments of (bang a gong for each sappy cliche) cross-cultural bridging (bong!) and sixth-sensual stimulation (bong!) and interpersonal awareness of the here now us (bong! bong! bong!) so, the truth is that i travel because i have to. and if that means going alone, that's how it will be.
but like i said, it would certainly be preferable to have company. it would be so great to walk back to my hotel and have her standing there in the lobby. her hair would smell of dr. bronner's and her tank top would be stained from the fish oil she spilled two days ago. we will stare into each other with sun-kissed cheeks and love-drenched eyes and speak softly about our favorite train rides and shadiest border crossings. we will go dance beneath the starlight and spend the night whispering khmer swear words to one another beneath a mosquito net. and in the morning we will be wordless. we will sip our nescafe and eat our oily omelets before having a tuk tuk driver take us to some new, enchanting paradise where we will argue with him upon arrival over twenty-five cents.
or maybe not. perhaps that's just not in the cards for me. and if i have to always travel alone, then alone it shall be. and in which case i shall bequeath my legacy to my passport and my ashes to the sea, and just keep roamin' round this great goddamn world til there ain't nothin more to see.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Saturday, January 14, 2012
angkor wat
siem reap, cambodia
huge temples, you might already know that. to take a trip behind the music is to have a somewhat greater appreciation for the architectural/archaeological accomplishment that lies in this edenic, jungly swamp. to save you an afternoon of reading some dense tome of indecipherable names or even the quick trip to wikipedia, i've got the history right here for you.
basically, angkor wat is a huge complex. think of it as the capitol for the former khmer empire, a millennium ago more or less. so, one guy is king and his nephew, whom we'll call suryavarman II (history remains mum as to whether he had a cape and large 'S' on his chest), is fourteen years old and wants to be king. sounds like a total type-a prick, if you asked me. anyway, the dilemma is solved by attacking his great uncle (who is apparently riding an elephant at the time), bludgeoning him to death, and then receiving the loyalty of the two armies that had just clashed. the problem is that the khmer empire is massive and is always ensconced in some form of tension with the bordering siamese. if any part of the vast kingdom wants to separate, now would be the time. the consequences would be dire. we're talking domino effect here, people. our barely adolescent protagonist has to consolidate.
how? dude wants a huge temple constructed. there are others in the nearby area (this is the capitol, remember), but this must be the biggest, the best, the most holy. and he's ambitious (type-a, remember), so he wants it done in his lifetime. the solution? get a bunch of people (we'll use the term 'peasants', but 'slaves' or 'serfs' are more or less interchangeable) to cut, transport, and set more than five million tons of sandstone into blocks that will form the greatest temple in the land. the effect of such a project will be to reinforce his status as godlike among his people, earn their devotion, secure his legacy, and assure his passage on to a rewarding afterlife.
you see a parallel? so do i. let's go through the checklist:
if you asked me to be your guide
then i would recommend that you definitely go for the three-day pass to angkor wat. definitely rent a bike. day one, seeing as how you probably arrived late the night before, should start in the late morning/early afternoon and cover the heavy hitters (my guide book says to hit the smaller stuff first.) go to angkor wat first (only one compound is angkor wat, there are several others, but the name for the most prominent has been applied to the whole) and then angkor thom. if there's more time, do more. if not, not. the reason being that the crowds are so ridiculous that you won't be able to tolerate them on a second or third day.
day two: wake up at dawn to catch the sunrise at angkor wat. thousands will gather on one side of the main walkway and a dozen on the other side. join the smaller group. when the sun has fully yawned and stretched, go for a walk around the outside of the compound. all the tour groups go back to siem reap for breakfast and the ones that remain stay on the assigned path, so the grounds will more or less be entirely yours. when you start to really feel the sun, get a breakfast in one of those restaurants with plastic chairs "sir, bottle wa-ta? sir, bottle wa-ta?" spend the rest of the day biking around, getting a cold can of angkor beer from time to time, and-this is key-buy a tapestry from one of the stands (us$6.) when you get tired (you woke up around 5, remember, plus you biked about ten kilometers) lay that tapestry out and listen to your ipod in the shade of a temple.
day three: sleep in, you're tired. no need to do so much ascending/descending of temples, unless they're empty. go deep into the complex, make sure you bike that circuit. i certainly would never do such a thing, but i imagine one could, assuming one were of the disposition, get a takeout slice of happy pizza to enjoy just before sunset. again, this could be heresay.
soundtrack
it's midday. any sunlight that is able to penetrate through the low-lying, rapid-moving cloud cover is caught by the tall foliage above. there is a gentle wind. your shuffle playlist comes to "take care" by yo la tengo and the gentle strums set a rhythm to the serenity around you. the soothing voice, the sliding guitar, the lyrics so simple so as not to distract you from the nothing that is happening around you. breathe in. breathe out. this feels good.
huge temples, you might already know that. to take a trip behind the music is to have a somewhat greater appreciation for the architectural/archaeological accomplishment that lies in this edenic, jungly swamp. to save you an afternoon of reading some dense tome of indecipherable names or even the quick trip to wikipedia, i've got the history right here for you.
basically, angkor wat is a huge complex. think of it as the capitol for the former khmer empire, a millennium ago more or less. so, one guy is king and his nephew, whom we'll call suryavarman II (history remains mum as to whether he had a cape and large 'S' on his chest), is fourteen years old and wants to be king. sounds like a total type-a prick, if you asked me. anyway, the dilemma is solved by attacking his great uncle (who is apparently riding an elephant at the time), bludgeoning him to death, and then receiving the loyalty of the two armies that had just clashed. the problem is that the khmer empire is massive and is always ensconced in some form of tension with the bordering siamese. if any part of the vast kingdom wants to separate, now would be the time. the consequences would be dire. we're talking domino effect here, people. our barely adolescent protagonist has to consolidate.
how? dude wants a huge temple constructed. there are others in the nearby area (this is the capitol, remember), but this must be the biggest, the best, the most holy. and he's ambitious (type-a, remember), so he wants it done in his lifetime. the solution? get a bunch of people (we'll use the term 'peasants', but 'slaves' or 'serfs' are more or less interchangeable) to cut, transport, and set more than five million tons of sandstone into blocks that will form the greatest temple in the land. the effect of such a project will be to reinforce his status as godlike among his people, earn their devotion, secure his legacy, and assure his passage on to a rewarding afterlife.
you see a parallel? so do i. let's go through the checklist:
- built for a guy jealous of a powerful, older, male relative.
- built to fool the populace in order to post-justify the use of armed force.
- built by minions in a humid place no reasonable person would ever want to work.
- build by an insecure leader preoccupied with securing his posthumous legacy.
if you asked me to be your guide
then i would recommend that you definitely go for the three-day pass to angkor wat. definitely rent a bike. day one, seeing as how you probably arrived late the night before, should start in the late morning/early afternoon and cover the heavy hitters (my guide book says to hit the smaller stuff first.) go to angkor wat first (only one compound is angkor wat, there are several others, but the name for the most prominent has been applied to the whole) and then angkor thom. if there's more time, do more. if not, not. the reason being that the crowds are so ridiculous that you won't be able to tolerate them on a second or third day.
day two: wake up at dawn to catch the sunrise at angkor wat. thousands will gather on one side of the main walkway and a dozen on the other side. join the smaller group. when the sun has fully yawned and stretched, go for a walk around the outside of the compound. all the tour groups go back to siem reap for breakfast and the ones that remain stay on the assigned path, so the grounds will more or less be entirely yours. when you start to really feel the sun, get a breakfast in one of those restaurants with plastic chairs "sir, bottle wa-ta? sir, bottle wa-ta?" spend the rest of the day biking around, getting a cold can of angkor beer from time to time, and-this is key-buy a tapestry from one of the stands (us$6.) when you get tired (you woke up around 5, remember, plus you biked about ten kilometers) lay that tapestry out and listen to your ipod in the shade of a temple.
day three: sleep in, you're tired. no need to do so much ascending/descending of temples, unless they're empty. go deep into the complex, make sure you bike that circuit. i certainly would never do such a thing, but i imagine one could, assuming one were of the disposition, get a takeout slice of happy pizza to enjoy just before sunset. again, this could be heresay.
soundtrack
it's midday. any sunlight that is able to penetrate through the low-lying, rapid-moving cloud cover is caught by the tall foliage above. there is a gentle wind. your shuffle playlist comes to "take care" by yo la tengo and the gentle strums set a rhythm to the serenity around you. the soothing voice, the sliding guitar, the lyrics so simple so as not to distract you from the nothing that is happening around you. breathe in. breathe out. this feels good.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
one night in bangkok
bangkok, thailand
there are certain facts, namely: 1) other people watched the college football national title game the other night and 2) some people spent that very evening in the presence of thai prostitutes. but i was probably the worldwide champion when it came to 3) watching the college football national title game in the presence of the greatest number of thai prostitues. through prior research, i was able to find a bar that would screen the game here in bangkok. oddly enough, that very same bar that caters to people who watch televised sporting contests is also patronized by the sort of people who would pay strangers for sex. amazing how a single place could cater to such disparate clientele. to give a little more detail, but not too much, i would classify it more as a baseball bar than a sports bar from the observation that the budding romances were less of the may-december than of the april-october variety.
as for the game, you could say that lsu got burned a couple times in man coverage. a lot like the guy at the table next to mine, who put on a lot of pressure but didn't seem to be able to make the tackle on his tablemate, as evidenced by his solo departure from the bar. presuming the occupation of his companion (and one must presume, because only so much was seen), i can only say that that should have been an easy stop. as for the schematics, there were certainly some favorable matchups out on the field. it seemed like the alabama defensive line's size up front prevented any rushes of more than a few yards. like the guys over at the pool table. judging by the pairings, it seemed as though the gentlemen had a decided advantage in size up front, and around, and behind. though it must be said that i would assume (and one can only assume) that the girls on the other side of the line of scrimmage were probably more nimble. it also seemed as though alabama missed a couple wide open receivers for some big plays. like me. i was sitting there alone the entire time. while i am not in the market for that (don't roll your eyes- i wouldn't blog about the subject if it was my thing), i was a bit surprised that one of the, eh hem, quarterbacks didn't spot me downfield. probably because they saw i was intently watching the game. and probably because i started screaming at the television, especially in the second half when jefferson should have been pulled from the game, especially more so after that awful interception. let's just say i didn't stay for the trophy presentation. any of them.
soundtrack
yesterday was an absolutely lovely day. i woke and ate and then walked around during a sunny and not oppressively hot afternoon. my first stop was wat pho, a compound with several temples, the interior of each contained a variety of enchanting buddha statues. walking around alone and peaceful, i started thinking about music that includes the word 'temple' and could only come up with stone temple pilots and temple of the dog. so i'm sitting there next to a meditating thai couple with a beautiful golden buddha statue in front of me and i have 'wicked garden' in my head. i tried to get 'interstate love song' but i was already stuck. if you know of any others that fit the category (don't use google) and could inform me, it would be greatly appreciated.
should i stay or should i go
i arrived in bangkok at midnight, to my guest house around one, and finally set down with a tall bottle of chang and a tired head. at the very moment i set down the guide book to debate as to whether i should spend an additional (third) night in bangkok or leave for cambodia as planned, i hear a couple canadian guys on the other side of the banquet from me. one of them says, and again, this is at the very moment i am deciding, "this is my favorite cheer" and then proceeds to explain some convoluted toasting sequence that involves several iterations of tapping the beer on the table, clinking with the companion, tapping it on the table....broken every now and then by saying, "no, like this" and then tapping it and clinking it and.....so, yeah, i'm going on to cambodia today as planned.
big gulps, eh guys?
if you've ever been to bangkok, then you know that it must have at least ten thousand 7 elevens. i had never been to bangkok, so i did not know that. now that i'm here, i do. well, catch ya later.
there are certain facts, namely: 1) other people watched the college football national title game the other night and 2) some people spent that very evening in the presence of thai prostitutes. but i was probably the worldwide champion when it came to 3) watching the college football national title game in the presence of the greatest number of thai prostitues. through prior research, i was able to find a bar that would screen the game here in bangkok. oddly enough, that very same bar that caters to people who watch televised sporting contests is also patronized by the sort of people who would pay strangers for sex. amazing how a single place could cater to such disparate clientele. to give a little more detail, but not too much, i would classify it more as a baseball bar than a sports bar from the observation that the budding romances were less of the may-december than of the april-october variety.
as for the game, you could say that lsu got burned a couple times in man coverage. a lot like the guy at the table next to mine, who put on a lot of pressure but didn't seem to be able to make the tackle on his tablemate, as evidenced by his solo departure from the bar. presuming the occupation of his companion (and one must presume, because only so much was seen), i can only say that that should have been an easy stop. as for the schematics, there were certainly some favorable matchups out on the field. it seemed like the alabama defensive line's size up front prevented any rushes of more than a few yards. like the guys over at the pool table. judging by the pairings, it seemed as though the gentlemen had a decided advantage in size up front, and around, and behind. though it must be said that i would assume (and one can only assume) that the girls on the other side of the line of scrimmage were probably more nimble. it also seemed as though alabama missed a couple wide open receivers for some big plays. like me. i was sitting there alone the entire time. while i am not in the market for that (don't roll your eyes- i wouldn't blog about the subject if it was my thing), i was a bit surprised that one of the, eh hem, quarterbacks didn't spot me downfield. probably because they saw i was intently watching the game. and probably because i started screaming at the television, especially in the second half when jefferson should have been pulled from the game, especially more so after that awful interception. let's just say i didn't stay for the trophy presentation. any of them.
soundtrack
yesterday was an absolutely lovely day. i woke and ate and then walked around during a sunny and not oppressively hot afternoon. my first stop was wat pho, a compound with several temples, the interior of each contained a variety of enchanting buddha statues. walking around alone and peaceful, i started thinking about music that includes the word 'temple' and could only come up with stone temple pilots and temple of the dog. so i'm sitting there next to a meditating thai couple with a beautiful golden buddha statue in front of me and i have 'wicked garden' in my head. i tried to get 'interstate love song' but i was already stuck. if you know of any others that fit the category (don't use google) and could inform me, it would be greatly appreciated.
should i stay or should i go
i arrived in bangkok at midnight, to my guest house around one, and finally set down with a tall bottle of chang and a tired head. at the very moment i set down the guide book to debate as to whether i should spend an additional (third) night in bangkok or leave for cambodia as planned, i hear a couple canadian guys on the other side of the banquet from me. one of them says, and again, this is at the very moment i am deciding, "this is my favorite cheer" and then proceeds to explain some convoluted toasting sequence that involves several iterations of tapping the beer on the table, clinking with the companion, tapping it on the table....broken every now and then by saying, "no, like this" and then tapping it and clinking it and.....so, yeah, i'm going on to cambodia today as planned.
big gulps, eh guys?
if you've ever been to bangkok, then you know that it must have at least ten thousand 7 elevens. i had never been to bangkok, so i did not know that. now that i'm here, i do. well, catch ya later.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
nobuyuki
tokyo, japan
my grandfather spent months of each year working in utsunomiya throughout his career with boeing. though still a little hazy about the exact projects, i do know that it was engineering (math, but louder) and that one involved a rail link near an airport. what i know most about these years is that his hard work put food on the table for my mom and family and that through all those years and projects, he befriended the takahashis. in 1995, when he was retired and i was fifteen, he brought me and my dad for a week to see this country he loved so dearly.
my dad warned me not to compliment anything too effusively and i soon learned why. walking around a japanese home and casually saying, "mighty fine sword you got here" could result in their insistence that it be your souvenir. it doesn`t matter how many centuries the object in question has been in their family; your expressed curiosity is enough to trigger their ceaseless desire to please their guest, especially if you were a relative of tomsan. i obliged for the most part, though i did come home with several programs from sumo matches simply because i saw a television match and said something prophetic along the lines of, "dude, sweet."
if i fast forward to today, it`s more or less the same predicament. it doesn`t matter that nobuyuki and i were roommates for almost two years in brooklyn. it doesn`t matter that we existed as equals during a very long period of co-habitation. we were respectful with noise and cleanliness in the common areas and always had a kind greeting when we`d run into each other in the kitchen. sure, i helped him out a little. i invited him into my room to watch the ncaa tournament and brought him out to a number of parties or barbecues. i introduced him to my wonderful circle of friends and people seemed to really dig the japanese guy who made his best effort at english and was willing to put back an equal number of beers. he more than appreciated the immersion into our particular brand of american "culture," but i`ll be the first to admit that this was really not that big a deal.
he returned to tokyo six months ago to be with his girlfriend, masami, whose american work visa was soon to expire. two weeks ago, out of the blue, i realized that i have to connect in tokyo and so i send a casual i`ll-be-there-it`d-be-cool-to-see-you email. what has transpired was totally unexpected, though hardly surprising.
the guy is not exactly raking in the yen, even if he is getting by. still, he rented a car to pick me up at narita. he rented it again to drop me off. dinner each night has not been some casual gathering while we nourish ourselves. they have been greco-roman challenges. each time i mentioned i was full, it seemed to signal that it was time to only order two more dishes. when the check came, it was not one of those "i'll get it" "no, i'll get it" "no, i'll get it" "are you sure?" "i'm sure" "are you really sure?" "i'm really sure" "thank you" affairs. it was his two fierce hands propelled by working forearms that snagged it before i even had the chance. for transportation, he went and bought my daily metro pass before i even woke up. it got so ridiculous that when i insisted on buying travel items at a department store for myself, he thanked me.
and then last night i paid. i surreptiously dug my credit card from my wallet and slipped my hand behind the bamboo divider so the waiter could take it and run. and when he returned with the slip, my friend's first reaction was not gratitude. he was disappointed. and this was no shame at not being an adequate host or feeling some tinge of hurt pride. he really just wanted to provide for me so that i would have more money for my trip. again, i gave the guy two weeks notice that i was coming into town.
after a fifteen minute discussion, he reluctantly thanked me even if he wouldn't really look me in the eye. his mood lightened by the time we hit the train. i'm sure i can find a way to attribute his reaction and hospitality to his culture, just as the takahashi clan showed so many years ago. but i think that would be so simple. the reality is that i hit the craigslist lotto so many years ago and have found someone who is so much more than just a friend. i've found someone to admire. and if he is/was going to be too stubborn or reluctant to let me pay him back, then the least i can do is let him inspire me to pay it forward.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
huge in japan
tokyo, japan
it`s not my first time in japan, but it has been over sixteen years since my first and only trip to the land of the rising sun. i don`t know that i can exactly call these first impressions, so maybe i`ll just label them my "oh. right. that"`s.
first oh. right. that.
this place is clean. i know you`ve heard that before, but this place is clean. ka-lean. and this observation is both empirically valid and reliable after doing no more than retrieving my bag and hopping into an expressway-bound toyota after leaving the airport. there is not a single piece of litter on the road or in the median. every car appears to have been recently washed. even the neon signs of the love motels look live they`ve been dusted recently. and i just couldn`t help but look around and think and wonder and wish that if all the tiny, well-dressed people could climb out of their shiny office buildings and all the uniformed highway attendants could step out from their adorable, miniature little highway booths and if all the happy drivers could stop their tiny little vehicles right then and there and congregate on that immaculately clean expressway asphalt, we could have an absolutely splendid tickle fight.
slow down, yoshi
it doesn`t matter if i`m running on six hours sleep from the previous night (we don`t need to mention jetlag, even if i am, in fact, mentioning that) or if i`m still full from dinner the night before, cause it`s time to wake up and hit the tsukiji fish market. this is a huge tourist draw despite the hour and it makes sense that they would do all in their power to dissuade that. for one, people are working. another is that apparently (well, not apparently, as i happen to know at least four people who have done this) some of the tourists visit the market after a night out at the bars and clubs. standing there dead sober, i could see the danger with all the hustling of the early morning workers. they are carrying tuna. they are chopping tuna. they are filing through with hand-pulled carts. they have mini-motorcycles. there are miniature lorries and pickups and there seems to be a small cavalry of guys zipping through on these vehicles that basically look like a wooden platform attached to the back of a standing oil drum. and that`s when it hits me: there is no way any other culture could have invented mario kart.
holy maguro
a big newsmaker (i even read about this in the states) was the record price fetched for one particular tuna at tsukiji. ¥55,000,000 (north of $700,000). obviously, it`s pretty big. and pretty tasty, as per its fat content. as i sat down to have my own bite of it, i learned that the winning bidders overpaid as a form of advertisement. all the local and national media covered it, ensuring that sushikanzai (translation: sushi addict), a chain that is more or less the local equivalent of applebee`s, would have great press for weeks. an additional reason was that by overpaying and taking a loss by offering its pieces far below market value, the restaurant was gambling that its generosity would translate into a prosperous new year. as a beneficiary, i certainly hope it does.
linguistics
i nominate japanese as one of the world`s most beautiful languages. it`s breathed more than it is spoken, coming out with crisp consonants and soft vowels in between. if i were ever to write and compose some intricate dinner theater piece where all of the characters were fluffy cats and in time-period costumes, the dialogue would be in japanese.
where it counts
while withholding from the rant i am certainly capable of, one can`t help but notice that somewhere, or maybe even everywhere, in the last thirty years the u.s. fell behind. way behind. if you take apple out of the picture, it`s pretty bleak. while we spent the past thirty years devising new ways to trade paper, this part of the world was innovating. they got more efficient transportation, better technology, and more comfortable waste disposal. literally. they`ve got heated toilet seats over here.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
writing a novel
seattle, washington
comparison #1
writing a novel is like running the new york city marathon, the day after the new york city marathon. this makes it more or less the first monday in november and the course is the exact same 26.2 miles that everyone ran the day before. the difference is that as you're running over the verrazano bridge, along fourth avenue through brooklyn, on to queens and the bronx and the east side, the roads are not empty. there are buses and taxis and delivery vans and personal vehicles. everywhere. they're honking their horns. they're filling the lanes. and they don't understand why you're running in the middle of traffic.
if you are wearing a bib, it's of your own design, seeing as how there are no sponsors. there are no friendly figures holding out cups of gatorade or unwrapped powerbars for you; your hydration and hunger are your own responsibilities. there are a few people who know what you're doing, a few may even run beside you for a stretch. still, you notice that some of those cheering you on at mile three have long since disappeared by mile fourteen. this is not to say that all support is so fickle. it must be remembered that each runner runs their own race and it is a monday, after all. people have their own responsibilities to attend to. you rightfully anticipate that there will not be anyone standing there to hold the blanket for you at the finish line in central park.
the part where i try not to sound like i'm so bitter (t.p.w.i.t.n.t.s.l.i.s.b.)
as soon as somebody reads it and tells you their impression and it was exactly what you intended to write: it's as if they had been running beside you all along.
comparison #2
writing a novel is like applying for college, except the admission decision is made afterwards. you go to all your classes and do all your homework and study diligently semester after semester, just as any other student does. all the while you take out loan after loan and work at various small jobs to keep food in the belly and lights overhead with the occasional beer in between. then, when you have fulfilled the credits, you take your transcript showing years of completed work and attendant grades and take it into the admissions office to determine if you did, in fact, gain admission into that school. the key difference is that every school is an ivy (self-publishing, for now, is roughly the same as a for-profit trade school.) there are ways you can gain admission with the literary equivalent of a 3.0, but that's just because your family is friendly with the dean.
t.p.w.i.t.n.t.s.l.i.s.b.
the day you receive admission is also the day that you graduate.
my 439 step guide to publishing a novel
step 1: write a novel
steps 2-438: go through a bunch of bullshit
step 439: dedicate it to your parents
comparison #1
writing a novel is like running the new york city marathon, the day after the new york city marathon. this makes it more or less the first monday in november and the course is the exact same 26.2 miles that everyone ran the day before. the difference is that as you're running over the verrazano bridge, along fourth avenue through brooklyn, on to queens and the bronx and the east side, the roads are not empty. there are buses and taxis and delivery vans and personal vehicles. everywhere. they're honking their horns. they're filling the lanes. and they don't understand why you're running in the middle of traffic.
if you are wearing a bib, it's of your own design, seeing as how there are no sponsors. there are no friendly figures holding out cups of gatorade or unwrapped powerbars for you; your hydration and hunger are your own responsibilities. there are a few people who know what you're doing, a few may even run beside you for a stretch. still, you notice that some of those cheering you on at mile three have long since disappeared by mile fourteen. this is not to say that all support is so fickle. it must be remembered that each runner runs their own race and it is a monday, after all. people have their own responsibilities to attend to. you rightfully anticipate that there will not be anyone standing there to hold the blanket for you at the finish line in central park.
the part where i try not to sound like i'm so bitter (t.p.w.i.t.n.t.s.l.i.s.b.)
as soon as somebody reads it and tells you their impression and it was exactly what you intended to write: it's as if they had been running beside you all along.
comparison #2
writing a novel is like applying for college, except the admission decision is made afterwards. you go to all your classes and do all your homework and study diligently semester after semester, just as any other student does. all the while you take out loan after loan and work at various small jobs to keep food in the belly and lights overhead with the occasional beer in between. then, when you have fulfilled the credits, you take your transcript showing years of completed work and attendant grades and take it into the admissions office to determine if you did, in fact, gain admission into that school. the key difference is that every school is an ivy (self-publishing, for now, is roughly the same as a for-profit trade school.) there are ways you can gain admission with the literary equivalent of a 3.0, but that's just because your family is friendly with the dean.
t.p.w.i.t.n.t.s.l.i.s.b.
the day you receive admission is also the day that you graduate.
my 439 step guide to publishing a novel
step 1: write a novel
steps 2-438: go through a bunch of bullshit
step 439: dedicate it to your parents
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
third floor
centennial, colorado
thirty-one is a weird age. it falls into that broad demographic checkbox where one is expected to be seen and not heard, to do and not say. you're a bit too old to have grandparents pinching your cheeks (your grandparents are probably dead) and a bit too young to be doing so to young relatives (if not entirely creepy). if you are successfully holding a job, committed to a relationship, raising a young child, or just generally kicking ass in the great bass fishing competition that is life in america, there are no congratulations. your endearing days are behind you, any potential recognition is a small, amorphous light too far ahead to be guaranteed. for now, just shut up, keep the lights on, and let that receding gumline and copse of gray hairs serve as a reminder that you are no longer the next big thing. you're just here and should be grateful for it. now don't forget your niece's birthday.
and so it is a strange age to travel. the late teens/early twenties have the wide-eyed, i'm-going-to-see-the-world voyage commonly known as the gap year or the post-collegiate sowing of the proverbial oats. and then there's the retirement trip that has you happily gripping starboard as you and your significant other sail the sunny seas like an ad for denture whitening products or erectile dysfunction-amending pills. in between, nothing.
well, not nothing. because people who travel during their thirties or forties have their own blips on the societal radar, but they are more commonly known as fugitives or the hobos who are not (yet) dead. everyone else: they're working. that's the only way you get to be the happy face on the metamucil commercial.
it was with all of this in mind that i prepared responses and rejoinders to inquiries, real and imagined, as to why i was embarking on big trip #7. in fact, i've put more preparation into explaining to others exactly why and how i can travel than into any actual logistical arrangements. i simply decided i had to go and then thought of ways to explain it to others. there's a guide book for the rest.
the economic crisis was the easiest excuse. it is true that they're not hiring, it is true that the jobs pay too little (if at all) and are not necessarily aligned with my (eh hem) expertise. then there's the book. sure, yeah, those agents are totally reading the manuscript and i'm sure they'll be getting back to me and so it doesn't really matter where i am. oh, and don't forget the fulbright. i'm definitely getting that and i might as well kill some time before beginning my project and really cranking up the professionalism.
but the real reason is that there really is no one reason. it is partly that i have worked too hard for too little pay and somehow managed to save. it is partly that i have put a little too much faith in other people and am ready to get a clearer glimpse of humanity's brighter side. it is largely that i'm exhausted physically, mentally, spiritually, and just about any other adverb from putting my all pursuing a dream and realizing that this particular yellow brick road is not made of yellow bricks but rather something brown and malodorous that has adhered itself fiercely to the bottom of my ruby slippers.
but mostly because nine years ago i decided to do something only because it made sense and i was well-compensated for the risk. and so it made sense to see southeast asia, if only to make sure that it does in fact exist, and the natural decision was that i had to go there. so i will. tomorrow.
the jury might still be out on whether i deserve a few months in the sun. that concern was long ago dismissed. i just know that i've got a sublet apartment, a humble quantity of zeroes in checking, a brand new passport, and the need to feel like i'm still alive. that's all i need at this age. so i promise that when that day comes, i will be a terrific uncle and i won't be in the unemployment line and i'll do whatever the selfless situation requires. but for now, i don't have to be selfless. i just promise that it'll be easier on all of us if i just be me.
see you in tokyo.
thirty-one is a weird age. it falls into that broad demographic checkbox where one is expected to be seen and not heard, to do and not say. you're a bit too old to have grandparents pinching your cheeks (your grandparents are probably dead) and a bit too young to be doing so to young relatives (if not entirely creepy). if you are successfully holding a job, committed to a relationship, raising a young child, or just generally kicking ass in the great bass fishing competition that is life in america, there are no congratulations. your endearing days are behind you, any potential recognition is a small, amorphous light too far ahead to be guaranteed. for now, just shut up, keep the lights on, and let that receding gumline and copse of gray hairs serve as a reminder that you are no longer the next big thing. you're just here and should be grateful for it. now don't forget your niece's birthday.
and so it is a strange age to travel. the late teens/early twenties have the wide-eyed, i'm-going-to-see-the-world voyage commonly known as the gap year or the post-collegiate sowing of the proverbial oats. and then there's the retirement trip that has you happily gripping starboard as you and your significant other sail the sunny seas like an ad for denture whitening products or erectile dysfunction-amending pills. in between, nothing.
well, not nothing. because people who travel during their thirties or forties have their own blips on the societal radar, but they are more commonly known as fugitives or the hobos who are not (yet) dead. everyone else: they're working. that's the only way you get to be the happy face on the metamucil commercial.
it was with all of this in mind that i prepared responses and rejoinders to inquiries, real and imagined, as to why i was embarking on big trip #7. in fact, i've put more preparation into explaining to others exactly why and how i can travel than into any actual logistical arrangements. i simply decided i had to go and then thought of ways to explain it to others. there's a guide book for the rest.
the economic crisis was the easiest excuse. it is true that they're not hiring, it is true that the jobs pay too little (if at all) and are not necessarily aligned with my (eh hem) expertise. then there's the book. sure, yeah, those agents are totally reading the manuscript and i'm sure they'll be getting back to me and so it doesn't really matter where i am. oh, and don't forget the fulbright. i'm definitely getting that and i might as well kill some time before beginning my project and really cranking up the professionalism.
but the real reason is that there really is no one reason. it is partly that i have worked too hard for too little pay and somehow managed to save. it is partly that i have put a little too much faith in other people and am ready to get a clearer glimpse of humanity's brighter side. it is largely that i'm exhausted physically, mentally, spiritually, and just about any other adverb from putting my all pursuing a dream and realizing that this particular yellow brick road is not made of yellow bricks but rather something brown and malodorous that has adhered itself fiercely to the bottom of my ruby slippers.
but mostly because nine years ago i decided to do something only because it made sense and i was well-compensated for the risk. and so it made sense to see southeast asia, if only to make sure that it does in fact exist, and the natural decision was that i had to go there. so i will. tomorrow.
the jury might still be out on whether i deserve a few months in the sun. that concern was long ago dismissed. i just know that i've got a sublet apartment, a humble quantity of zeroes in checking, a brand new passport, and the need to feel like i'm still alive. that's all i need at this age. so i promise that when that day comes, i will be a terrific uncle and i won't be in the unemployment line and i'll do whatever the selfless situation requires. but for now, i don't have to be selfless. i just promise that it'll be easier on all of us if i just be me.
see you in tokyo.
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