8/14/09

It's Gettin' Hot in This Here... Oven

You know what makes me hot under the collar about myself? I'm fuckin' fickle. Oh sure, it's cute when it comes to taking too long to order something off a menu (the first 12 times). It's even tolerable when all four of my kids really really want to get home after school, and we take a grocery store detour and I've got to inspect the ingredients of all of the bagels to see which has the most fiber. Where did those sun dried tomato ones go with 11 g/ bagel? I knew it was too good to be true. First "they" raised the price, then they disappeared. The other inferior bagels strong armed them out of business, I just know it. There are other manifestations of my indecisiveness that are not so attractive.

I used to keep those old-timey journals. You know, those ones with paper. There ised to be these weird writing sticks that you would crudely smear across the page and some blue, black, or other cute color stuff used to some out. I used to have a little nubby callous on my right middle finger. It's kinda even still there, actually. Sometimes, I go back and I open those old journals and I read them. Unremarkably, they are unremarkable, but even less remarkable is the lack of progress I've made in all the years. Switch out names, locales, vices and you get the same old shit different day. Lest I spout off catchy AA phrases I never can get right, plus never hear them these days, (eg. Fear= Future Events Appearing Real. I do remember this one), just believe me on this.

The most annoying of these redundancies is probably my aspiration to be a "writer." Sheez. I mean, since the advent of my blog, I've read ridiculously few books, myself. It's easy enough to get by on the "school" excuse. They make you read shit there, teaching and education material mostly in my case, but that part's over until if and when I need to apply said guerrilla tactics. Of course, I read each and every one of your blogs each and every day, and then there's that newfangled Wikipedia™. I read useless shit there every day, unless I don't. I goggle words I don't know and even on occasion I will use, gasp, a thesaurus. But, most often I rest on my reading laurels (which are very antiquated, 80's hairsprayed bangs antiquated). Oh sure, there was that summer I read the first five books of the Clan of the Cave Bear smut in three or four weeks. There've been a smattering here and there. Fortunately or unfortunately, my next door neighbor in jr. high, a woman one year older than me, with our overlapping friend circles, is an author of two books, and even makes her living that way. It's fortunately in a wow, good for her way. Our little culdesac must have been so boring it required a keen imagination to stand. The only action I ever saw there was that one day when I was walking my little brother in his stroller down the street, as I did quite often, that teen aged guy's car started to roll back down the hill of his driveway, a little slowly, but persistently, and so I had cause to knock on the door and get out a point before he yelled, "Holy Shit!" and ran to take care of it. Yep. The whole of it is right there. It is the utter ordinarinesses that I get off on, you know. 93.32486% of the things we do and think and say are complete and utter superfluous bullshit. Take this blog for instance. What am I even saying? What are these unrelated pictures? I just had a profound realization today.

I realized that a book of mine isn't going to write itself. Oh, that's not the profound part. Upon nearly finishing listening to Fay (which I am too lazy to actually read, and apparently, must have read to me care of audible.com), I thought about what it would take to write a book like that. I know it was recommended to me because of the couple of resemblences to Flo Jo Fay has, but without the overt snark, and sure Larry Brown refers to tittie bars and doin' it, but what I noticed is that he, apparently, devised a story, a plot, a place where you go when you start doing this thing with your fingers on these little black keys, my only musical fluency. And, I am baffled that such thoughts are just occurring to me. I know I want to write a memoir, but I think I really want to do that by interjecting the details and insights from my own life into some fictional format. The novelty of the idea is astounding to me. How could it not have occurred to me? I know it's a winner beause it is always the simplest of things that can be most elusive. I saw that Seinfeld tonight where Peterman is in actuality extraordinarily boring in his own living room, and he then wants Elaine to capture that essense until they decide that's too boring, and they buy Kramer's stories for Peterman to use as his own, and then all that hilarity ensues.

I think I just broke the first w589635 codes of blogger conduct by referring to tv programs in my blog, but fuck it. I gots a story to make up. I'm thinking about not wasting all that geeking out I did on that concept map program on graded matters, and actually using it for something real, the way algebra can for reals tell you shit. Don't know what, but you know, that shit.

Of course will have to have:

southern accents, but not all characters
sex sex and more sex
lesbian stuff
mockery of political, consumeristic, and religious motifs
doom, dread, hopelessness
humor
caring for people
pain
alcoholism
natural beauty described in detail
Austin or Arkansas or fake approximate sceneries
betrayal
lucid and other dreaming
existential questioning
mental health issues
a not happy ending

Welp, now there, I think one of the things I read about in a literature class somewhere down the road is what those elements, or the tone or the blah blah somethings are up there. Since I have about 12.97354 books in me, I'll have to organize this. Maybe that will help. CMaps, take me away!

pics:
  • first one is another from Smitty's I took with my won't close anymore camera phone;
  • second, the other half of the bedroom. That is the bed I don't ever make, but I staged this half-assed making, and it is the place where Mr. Bee and I don't have sex anymore. Oh yea, I forgot that TMI is another element this so-called book must contain. Have I mentioned that I apprenticed with a midwife long enough that I love to talk about menstrual cycles and birth. Well, I do. Maybe, that was implied with the lesbian thing. Oh wells.
  • third pic, lets see... oh yeah, this is what the Texas Senate accomplished under the George Bush governorship. Perry's just jealous. Did I mention I worked at The Republican Party of Texas as my first job in Austin? Put that in there too.

It's ridiculously late. Thanks for keeping me up. I've got to finish making my walls colors I may has mis-chosen tomorrow, and that's gonna require a lot of strange dreams, a lot of petting my kitty, and coffee I just remembered I forgot to buy, damnit! I blame Starbucks!

8 comments:

Randal Graves said...

Thanks to some stupid computer-freezing script perpetrated by Starbucks, my brilliant comment got eaten real good upon rebootage. Rest assured, my ingenious weaving of Kojak, Bender and Richard Nixon would've blown your manuscript.

La Belette Rouge said...

I had never heard that FEAR acronym before. That is a good one. And, hey, I still keep the old timey journals. I use this antiquated device known as a pen. Yep, the ink is made of dinosaur blood.;-)

Sandy Underpants said...

put the space needle in your wonderful book please Bee. so then when I'm in the library I can open it up to the space needle part and show it to someone and say that I was the inspiration. OK also please, I prefer you don't have me jumping off of it. the space needle, not your book. maybe just have one of your characters walk by it, the filthy-mouthed teen with the heart of gold could say, "what the fuck is that?". and I would be leaning up against it and I could say, "it's the space needle".

Sandy Underpants said...

if it's going to be a comedy, I could say, "it's the space needle, silly." a drama: "it's the space needle and I have bad cancer." a romantic comedy: it's the space needle and I just had a threeway with your mother and your sister." science fiction "it's the space needle and I'm a robot." adventure: "it's the space needle, watch out for robots and mummies and boulders and spies." a Christian film: "it's the space needle, watch out for Jesus." see how versatile, I'm sure you can make it work.

Freida Bee, MD said...

Randal, Will you write them into the introduction. Maybe you'll have a free moment for that in the year 2525 when the manuscript is ready to be uploaded into people's brains... if by then we're not already neurally linked or extinct.

La Belette- Sometimes I miss handwriting journals and even more so letters. I've recently noticed that what I write here is different than those old journals used to be, but I've been thinking of writing something from that old journal writing mentality. It is so intimate.

Sandy U.- Ok and well, since I've never been to Seattle, I'll have to work your space needle shtick into the story a little more creatively, but believe you me, I've got a place for it.

Bubs said...

All I can say is, I like your sensibility. You had me at "southern accents, but not all characters
sex sex and more sex"

themom said...

I recently discovered my twin sister's journals and even my old ones. Interesting and comical reading for sure. I remember well, the welt on my finger from constant writing. Ahhh, the good old days.

Now, we have keyboards on computer and cell phones to accomplish the mundane.

Distributorcap said...

can you come make my bed?