Personal

New Year, Old Habits

So, 2009 is here and I haven’t even bothered to write to congratulate you for surviving ’08.

Let’s recap, shall we?

My son was born in May.
The United States elected an African-American to the Presidency.
Phish announced a reunion.
And some other stuff happened, too.

That about sums it up, right?

Anyway, I’m mostly writing this to see if I can manage to post from my new iPod. If you’re reading this, it worked.

Oh, and where will that image show up, I wonder? It should be a cute shot of Emmet from our Holiday Card photo shoot. (I think it comes up below this here text so I’ll stop typing.)

Writing… 

(The following is transcribed from a pocket-sized notebook.)

I used to tell people, “That’s just my job to pay the bills, feed the kids and all that. That’s not who I am.” But that’s really just a line. I’ve probably said that more to convince myself than anyone else.

“No,” I’d tell them. “I’m actually a writer. I write fiction, lyrics, whatever.”

But it’s all bull.

I do, sometimes, compose such things but, as the saying famously declares, “A Writer Writes.” Wannabes,  like myself, who go a month at a time without so much as a journal entry, are not writers. We are our jobs first and the act of writing is *gasp* a hobby. It’s a hobby that I’ll not likely convert into a future or even so much as a past-time because I lack the discipline to put a pen to paper more than once in a while. It’s not as if I don’t have ideas or passions and the time is there if I am willing to take it; it’s just that the easy path is so damned appealing.

I can ride this train each night to the end of the line with my ipod screwed into my ears and eyes closed, copping a few extra minutes of sleep. That’s cake. Inspiration strikes when it’s ready and I’m not so lazy as to ignore it but I’m also not so motivated as to keep the ink flowing in hopes that additional wit might sneak onto the page.

I’ve written a few good songs in 2008. That’s my honest (if not modest) opinion. I wonder, however, if I couldn’t have written a few more had been I writing on the regular as I did many years ago. Always, when I have been more diligent as a writer, have I produced a greater volume of presentable material. The amount of dreck increases too but, to sit idly and wait for quality to fall out of the sky seems remarkably ego-maniacal.

And so, as I made a New Year’s resolution several years ago to make no further New Year’s resolutions, I am hoping and aspiring (but not resolving) to write more in 2009. This goes for all formats: this little book, my blog, song lyrics, love letters, and epic diatribes to politicians and old friends.

I won’t aspire to be a better or successful writer- just, simply, a writer. I will endeavor to undo the silence of my apathy and give textual voice to the thoughts, questions, and images in my mind. 

Plus, there’s that cycle of dirty song parodies that I’ve always wanted to write…

-jmh

Friday Morning Rant

I just have to get a little something off my chest.  I have a long, weekday, commute.  It involves trains (real, diesel, trains), subway, and a bit of walking and driving on each end.  It makes for a long day and, for better or worse, permits me contact with a great many people.  From the nice folks whom I see daily on my train to the random newspaper vendors/coupon pushers/donut salesmen outside the subway stops.

It is to the latter collective, specifically those at Foggy Bottom, that I address my next thoughts:

At seven a.m. on Friday morning, it is not appropriate to wish me a nice weekend.  You want to wish me well?  How about, “good luck crossing the street on the way to work” before we get all ahead of ourselves and talk about the weekend.  I still have to survive the morning and the afternoon before I can even begin thinking about the weekend because, if drop my focus for a minute, some asshole in a truck is going to come around the corner and ruin my whole day.  And my weekend.  That could be either a figurative or a literal truck.  Who knows.  If I’m busy thinking about drinking beers on Sunday afternoon, I may never know what hit me.

So you save your “Have a Good Weekend” for some one who has Friday off.  Maybe for the college student struggling with her suitcase en route to the airport, or the hospital patient in the paper gown and robe who’s smoking a cigarette and leaning on his IV stand.  Perhaps you could call up someone in Asia where it’s already afternoon and their weekend is actually upon them. Or, maybe, you could save it for me, when I’m hauling ass home tonight. You’ve almost made me more paranoid than usual as I go through my morning; worried that my next step will be upon a land mine of weekend work.

Thanks a lot.

 

Thank you for hearing me out, folks. 

Be careful out there.

Election Day

Well, it all comes down to this. I have voted, and hopefully you have or will too. This election has come to mean far more than any other in which I’ve voted. This is about more than a change in policies or personel, this is about the changing face of our nation.  We, today, take part in history.

Personally, I cannot think about much else. It will be difficult to focus on my work while my mind wanders to election returns and exit polls and the associated hopes and fears. Even last night at the less-than thrilling Redskins game, it was difficult to keep one’s mind from the election. Fans on the ‘jumbo-tron’ produced Obama signs. Talk wound around to the notion of the Redskins as a barometer for Presidential elections* and to when and where everybody had to vote in the morning. (Glad I voted on Saturday!)

I’ve been watching polls (electoral-vote.com, Real Clear Politics), watching too much CNN (Amy likes that Anderson Cooper, anyway), and living on Huffington Post.com. I’ve gotten into friendly discussions and heated debates. I’ve shouted “O-Ba-Ma!” as I passed a republican campaigning at the Metro yesterday. I’ve done this a few times around town. Not aggressive or in-their-face, just loud and in no one’s direction as I passed. My brief counter to their campaign.

I think living near and working in Washington, D.C. plays a significant role in this stress. It goes without saying that politics is the blood of this city. It’s also the bones and the bowels. I sometimes wonder if being geographically removed from D.C. would allow me to divest some of my focus as it’s utterly inescapable when you are here. This morning, for example, as I left the Starbucks near my office with my free coffee, I found myself holding the door for the next two patrons; secret Service officers from the security detail of a major political figure who happens to reside in that building when in town. This is everyday life. You look not for regular traffic when stepping into the street, but for armed motorcades. They don’t stop for pedestrians.

I’m so wrapped up in this thing that I won’t sleep tonight unless I know a result. I’m running on a stong simmer and in danger of boiling over. I passed a staff member as I entered Starbucks. As she walked outside, she took one look at me and said, “You voted, ask for your free coffee.” I stood stunned for a moment and I looked down to confirm that my “I Voted” sticker was still hidden underneath my coat.

She must have read it in my eyes.

Come tomorrow, you’ll be able to read the results in my eyes, too.

 

 

*Snopes suggests that the streak was broken in 2000 but, if you count all of the votes, it was not.

The Spoiler

It’s Monday morning; a time fueled by regrets, responsibility and coffee. Lots of coffee.

The Spoiler: I needs one

Let me tell you, friends, about my favorite cups of coffee. For years, I was a two-creams, two-sugars, coffee drinker until I realized that I had no desire for those extra calories and switched over to black. I love black coffee and I can now drink any coffee served anywhere (including that recycled motor-oil stuff they have sitting for days at a time in Jiffy-Lube waiting areas.) Of course, I prefer a good cup of coffee with a nice even flavor and smoothness rather than bitterness but there comes a time, say, Monday morning, when you have to shock the system. Readiness being essential, you can’t pussyfoot around the caffeine fix.

To that end, I have discovered and enjoyed the Red-Eye (drip coffee with a shot of espresso) and the Black-Eye (drip coffee with two shots of espresso.) Those potent cups are enough to make a strong man twitch but they’re too wild for an ordinary morning and, if the coffee or espresso isn’t perfect, they can be unpleasantly bitter. Not to mention the fact that paying someone five dollars to slap you in the face can really add up in these tight times. So, I’ve devised a new powerhouse. A cup of coffee with strength, a sharp but not-so-bitter bite and, best of all, a touch of spite:

The Spoiler

If, like myself, you work in an office with large 12+ cup coffee systems, you may be able to craft The Spoiler. All you have to do is make a pot of coffee and, immediately take the first cup as it brews. (seen below in a poor illustration.)

The Spolier Pour

The name is derived from the fact that the remaining cups in the pot will be weaker than average; leaving your coworkers groggy and more ineffective than usual. Meanwhile, you and The Spoiler are bolder and prepared for the day. The hefty body of The Spoiler is also ideal for iced coffee on a hot morning as it is more tolerant of the inevitable ice-melt/water-down factor.

The Spoiler Sip

Today, with forecast highs reaching 100 fun-loving degrees, I’m starting my day with an iced, skim, spoiler.

The Spoiler Cheers

Ahh… Exhilarating!