Are you mindful of the other driver?

Between home and work, those huge digital matrix signs loom over the interstate, the ones intended to keep you abreast of traffic situations. But, except during snowstorms, there are no real traffic situations between home and work. It’s not that kind of town. So, instead, the signs display helpful messages and driving tips. Usually somewhere between self-righteously bossy (“Texting and Driving Don’t Mix”) and winkingly practical (“DUI Patrols Tonight”), lately the DOT has turned more philosophical. The other day, all over the state, the signs asked, “Are You Mindful of the Other Driver?”

It is the word “mindful” that seems out of place in square letters above the interstate. I am used to the DOT being concerned about my driving habits and even about the more physiological aspects of my mental state (who doesn’t like rest stops with free coffee?), but this seems to enter another kind of territory, a territory that is normally the domain of poets and pastors (and—on a side note—of Dinty W. Moore’s new book). I’m not used to hearing about such existential stuff from the lower levels of state bureaucracy. Not that I mind. In fact, I kind of like the idea that they might have more to say than “Merge Left in 1500 Feet.”

But that “mindful” and the abstract “other.” The word choice suggests authorship in a venue that is normally dominated by anonymity. This is not, I think, language that could be produced by machine or by government committee. This language was created, composed. So, reading it, driving beneath this message, I imagine the DOT copywriter in his cubicle, the perfunctory fabric walls, the smell of canned air. Read more »

Next Time You Have to Speak in Public, Picture This

While watching bumper cars at a German carnival, I wondered how I’d give a presentation on superlatives for my new boss the next day using only questions. I was resentful that I had to worry when people around me were eating giant pretzels stacked with cheese, ham, and pineapple; being jerked through the air on the Devil Rocker; careening through Dämonium, “the most innovative haunted house amusement park ride  in the world”; or crashing into each others’ rubber bumpers.

Fortunately a vision saved me from my own self pity: A man with feathery, close-cropped hair, a button down shirt, a pointy nose, and an expression always within a hint of a smile, shared a sparkling teal car with his 6 or 7-year-old daughter. He was letting her drive—except for when they got into horrible pile-ups. Then he would place his hand on the wheel and back up or make a hard turn. He seemed relaxed, pleased with his daughter’s driving skills. He seemed to be enjoying himself. Read more »

I’ve spent the last few weeks applying to teach creative writing (specifically poetry) at various summer camps. Creative writing seems like a rarefied enough skill to have—most people give me blank stares when I tell them what I’m in graduate school for—so I was a little perplexed when the applications asked me what other skills I possessed to pass on to younger generations. I glanced over the list of options and suddenly began to panic. I came to the conclusion that, outside of writing, I’m not qualified to teach even the simplest things to children.

I never learned how to properly cradle and run at the same time in lacrosse, I was never a Girl Scout and have no woodland survival skills, and I definitely can’t ride a unicycle or walk on stilts (which, given the sheer number of summer camps with a circus program these days, is apparently a larger problem than I realized). Why couldn’t they just hire me to gush about poetry all summer? Why do I need to be multi-talented? And most importantly, what have I been spending my time doing if I don’t even have CPR certification?

Something that is multifaceted. Unlike me.

Read more »

If you can understand the me, then I can understand the you.
–Metallica, “The Unforgiven II”

Don't Get Trapped in the Yellow Dog Sentence

Back in my demolition days, I was going to a lot of Amazon parties. That was when Amazon had ads every week in the Seattle Weekly and The Stranger in an ongoing hiring spree.

While Amazon snatched up my friends, I tore down walls. I remember describing some of my misgivings about my job to a woman while sipping wine from plastic cups in an overgrown yard in Wallingford. The sledge hammer was heavy, its blows loud. I wasn’t sure I had enough “rrrr” in me to last in the field.

The woman I was talking to had probably graduated from an Ivy League school and moved to Seattle to work for this start-up. She was the type of person who still thought she was the smartest girl in the world. She said, “You need to embrace your inner balls,” and then demonstrated how I should approach my job by springing into a lunge with fists punching the air, scowling, and growling. Read more »

As many of you know, I have this job.

The thing about this job is that it sucks up all of my time. Not because I’m learning how to do a few aspects of it, but mostly because there is a lot to be done. There just is, and this year in particular, we were faced with a compressed timeframe. So it goes. My point, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, is that I don’t have writing time. I’m not writing. And lest you think I mean, not-writing-but-revising, or not-writing-but-still-submitting-older work, or not-writing-but-plotting-out-my-novel, or not-writing-but-doing-important-work-in-my-head, let me assure you: I’m not writing. I’m not doing anything.

Now, you may be sitting there in the comforts of MFA-land (or from a comfortable, writing-filled, post-MFA perch) promising yourself that you’ll never be like that. You’ll never be the person who doesn’t make writing a priority, or you’ll make sure to find a job that assures you writing time. You’re certain that you can make it work. You know it’s going to be tough, but you can do it.

And I wouldn’t disagree with you. I would never say that you can’t do it. There are certainly many people who are doing it: they’re working full time and waking up early to write; they’re writing one day a week, if that’s all they can spare; or they write in binges when they’re on break from whatever they usually do. Read more »

I’ve been working a ton lately, so I’ve got medical transcription on the brain.  I transcribe for a bunch of different doctors in a few different clinics, and at least once a day I have to stop and write down something that interests me.  Sometimes these things are funny:

CHIEF COMPLAINT:  The patient has been seen by me previously.  (The Chief Complaint is the reason the patient has come in for a visit.)

 She has a point on her back where if she touches that point it causes her to have nausea.  I indicated to her she should probably not push on that spot.

 It actually only happens when she gulps cold beer.  I told her to stop doing that.  (Docs really do say that!  Haha!)

 Sometimes they are poetic:

Six-two-nine-six Cedar Canyon Road.  Say it again:

Six-two-nine-six Cedar Canyon Road 

Pepcid utilized in place of Prilosec given the issues of Plavix.  

Counseling concerning cryotherapy.

 Sometimes the things I write down are things that make me think and sometimes make me angry/sad: Read more »

Being Flynn is a newly released movie, based upon the best-selling memoir by Nick Flynn, Another Bullshit Night in Suck City.   At some point over the next few weeks, I plan to see this film.  But before I do, I wanted to write a review so as not to be over-influenced by the subjective experience of it.

First of all, Nick Flynn is a poet and prone to madness.  That is to say, he’s genetically predisposed to delusions of grandeur, which is the non-technical name of the condition suffered by Nick’s father, Jonathan Flynn.  Plus, and this truly sucks, the mother of the writer committed suicide when he was 22 years old.

Second, Robert DiNero plays the part of Jonathan Flynn, which is reason enough to fork over the funds for a $9 matinee viewing.  Spoiler alert:  it’s his best role since playing that scary father-in-law in Meet The Fockers.

And third, I’m now officially wondering (and worried about) what my children, presently ages 17 and 20, may write about their dear ol’ M.F.A. student Dad.   I mean… don’t misunderstand:  I would be proud to have the same thespian who honed his craft on “taxi driver” interpret my curiously complex personality in his dotage.  There are things far worse than having your own chromosome-kin write something like  Cartoon Physics, Part 1, only to then revisit and rehash your own life’s closing chapters:
Read more »

T-Rock, Who Gave Me His Kindle, Knows How to Enter the Next Phase

You know you’re impressionable when you want to change careers with each paper you grade. When I read “Formaldehyde Follies,” I wanted to become a chemist. When I read “The Balance between Piracy and Freedom,” I wanted to become a computer scientist.

Perhaps I’m a little more impressionable than usual since I’m currently finishing one job and searching for the next. The job I need is in Germany and doesn’t require German language skills. I’m moving to the land of Sauerkraut on Sunday.

So far I’ve noticed one outstanding cultural difference between the US and Germany. Tracy, my dude, had to fill out forms for the company that is moving our things to Franconia. The first set of forms was requested by a German moving company and required that everything we own be quantified in number and/or metric feet. For instance, “How many meters of hanging clothes do you have?” “How many parasols?” Read more »

ME: Here’s what the writer is doing.

Student who paid attention in high school English: I disagree.

ME: You’re wrong. Here’s why. [NOTE, in case my tenure committee is reading this: I say this very kindly, taking advantage of a teachable moment, making sure that the student understands that his/her participation is valued and feels both validated and enlightened.]

STUDENT: My HS English teacher said there are no wrong answers about literature as long as you can defend your ideas.

ME: Your HS English teacher was wrong. Read more »

Have You Considered Fish Spearing? Photo by Mitchell Kanashkevich

If you had to choose your career strictly on its name, which would appeal most to you and why?

Designer
Welder
Phlebotomist
Cobbler
Professor
Barista
Carpenter
Architect
President
CEO
Hygienist
Guitarist Read more »