Boys and Their Toys

My new toy arrived last night and I'm just playing with different settings to see what it will do. I am a complete novice at photography, digital or otherwise. I'm hoping a good camera can make up for a lot of my shortcomings.

This photo is just an ultra-closeup of some Book Thongs in my shop. (They're bookmarks made out of beads and things.) It's pouring outside so I can't take any landscapes, so I was playing with the Macro setting to see what came of it. A boy with a new toy; be afraid ... be very afraid.

Time Is Money

I just had a customer (my only customer, by the way—what is this, Friday again?) tell me she always keeps $500 in her checking account that she doesn’t include in her checking balance. Her theory is that if she doesn’t include it in the balance and pretends it’s not there, it will be there when she really needs it. Excuse me? Are you really able to fool yourself? Unless you have Alzheimers, you still know the money’s there, so what’s the point? If you want a safety cushion, just don’t spend it. But don’t start acting like an Enron executive.

It’s like people who set their clocks ahead 15 minutes so they’re not late. You know it’s 15 minutes fast so the whole time you’re trying not to be late you’re telling yourself you really have an extra 15 minutes, which you’re going to piss away anyway. Face it, if you’re chronically late, you’re not going to get there on time by trying to fool your watch. It knows you’re always late. I suppose this way you can at least feel virtuous about being late, though. “I tried! Really, I did!”

Robson Out

You heard it here first. Just last week I was saying this might happen. Sir Bobby has been sacked.

A Free Trip

It's pissing down rain this morning, courtesy of Gaston. And if I take my glasses off and squint real hard so as to block out the trailer parks, the Wal-Mart and the combination storage unit/evangelical church (I shit you not), I can almost convince myself I'm in England. Just think of all the frequent flyer miles I saved.

Culture Vulture

Queenan Country: A Reluctant Anglophile's Pilgrimage to the Mother Country, by Joe Queenan. I have a love-hate relationship with writers like Joe Queenan. Reading him is like watching Dennis Miller; the jokes I get are hilarious, but there are so many insider jobs that I don't get, it makes me feel out of the loop and stupid. But the self-proclaimed culture vulture has a decidedly entertaining take on "the limey heart of darkness."

Pattern Recognition

Aston Villa 4 - 2 Newcastle United. The troubles for the Magpies continue as the side gave up yet another second-half lead to lose at Villa Park. Newcastle's horrendous defense gave up three goals after half-time, and remain without a win this season. In fact, they've only won one of their last eleven league games, stretching back to last season, and they're without a victory on the road since last October.

I give Sir Bobby credit for sitting Alan Shearer down and at least giving Patrick Kluivert a chance. And Kluivert looked good, a brilliant goal and very nearly a second. But Newcastle's problems aren't up front. With Shearer, Bellamy, Kluivert, and Ameobi, we've got plenty of scoring power. Freddy Shepherd isn't going to get Wayne Rooney; Manchester United is where Rooney wants to go and they have deeper pockets. What's worse is that we don't need another striker, even of Rooney's promise. We need some defense, man! And we need it now, or instead of battling for a European spot, we'll be fighting to stay out of the relegation zone.

Reader Interrupted

I've been "reading" the same book, Joe Queenan's Queenan Country, for over a week. Can't imagine what could be distracting me from my usual reading time. Could it be blogs? The Las Vegas odds are pretty good on that one.

New Comments Format

Last night I added Haloscan's comment bot so that non-Blogger users are able to comment, too. Unfortunately, it wiped out all the comments that were already on the blog. If you've commented on my blog and don't see it any longer, please know it wasn't my intention to erase them. Sorry ... live and learn, huh?

Fascinating Customers

Here's the transcript of the most fascinating conversation I had with a customer today:

Me:

Her:

Me:

Her:

Oh wait, that's right. I haven't had a customer today. I've been here for five hours, for fucksake. Why am I doing this again?

Musical Memory Lane

A sure sign that you’re getting old is when you don’t recognize any of the music played on the radio. And on a lot of the good blogs, contemporary music is a regular topic. I read the entries and I shake my head. “Kids these days …”

The problem, though, is that I’ve always felt that way about contemporary music. For me it’s not even a generational thing. And it’s not even that I don’t like it; in a lot of cases I do. I just don’t listen to it. **ahem** Hi! My name is Robert, and I’m a musical dork.

Ever since the 6th grade, when I began playing the baritone (before graduating to a euphonium), I’ve listened almost exclusively to classical music. And yes, I liked it even then—go figure. Today I don’t listen to as much classical as I used to, partly because I’ve stopped playing my horn and partly because in my store I play Putumayo World Music, which I sell.

But even though I’m a musical dork, I still remember certain musical epiphanies like everyone else. A special concert moment for someone else may have been seeing the Stones in concert, or Bob Dylan, or even the Beatles. For me, that special concert moment was provided by the Canadian Brass.

I was a sophomore or junior in college, just beginning my decade-long sentence in west Texas, when the brass quintet was doing their college concert circuit. They spent the whole day on campus, and because I was one of big fish in our little pond, I was able to spend much of that day in a master class with the tuba player, Chuck Daellenbach. The whole day was inspiring, but not life changing—that is, at least not until the concert that night.

All five members are fabulous musicians, but there are lots of terrific groups of classical musicians. What separated the Canadian Brass—apart from the fact that they were on campus!—is that they’re funny as hell on stage. Chuck Daellenbach and Gene Watts (trombone) play off of one another and their stage presence is mesmerizing. It was the combination of showmanship and virtuosity that makes that concert remain so vivid in my otherwise cloudy memory.

Two highlights stand out. One of the quintet’s signature pieces is a transcription of Bach’s famous organ piece, Toccata and Fugue in d minor—think Phantom of the Opera music—the old movie, not the hideous Andrew Lloyd Weber monstrosity. (Hell, don’t imagine it; go here and listen to the Canadian Brass playing it. If it doesn’t start automatically, choose it from the pull-down list.) When Chuck was introducing the piece he was explaining some of the technical things, like the alternating 32nd notes in the trumpets and I was thinking to myself: “bullshit, he has to be joking.” Then, of course, they went and did it. But toward the end of the explanation, he said something to the effect: “The climax of the piece comes right here, in measure 307,” and then he flips out like 20 pages of music and points to the little spot on the page as if we really could see it, “where the tuba takes over the melody.”

You had to be there.

The other highlight was when they played a transcription of Rimsky-Korsokov’s Flight of the Bumblebee. You’ve probably heard it, but usually on flute or something nimble. Not when these characters play it…. You’re way ahead of me. That’s right, Chuck played it on tuba, which by itself is astounding and too cool. But they couldn’t leave well enough alone. Part way through all those notes, Chuck pretends that it’s too much for him and he begins slowing down. So they rest a second and start again. This time when he runs out of gas, the solo trumpet player whispers something into Chuck’s ear and they start off again, but this time with the trumpet player doing the fingerings on the tuba while Chuck plays! Unless you’re a brass player, you have no idea how amazing this is. Check that, it’s not amazing at all; it’s impossible. And to this day I’m still not sure I believe what I saw.

I’ve gone on way too long about this, but I woke up in the middle of the night earlier this week with all these memories flooding through me and had to write about them. It’s a shame I don’t have the words to make the feelings clear. Those years when I was playing full-time and launching a professional career were the most exciting years of my life and every day I regret letting it slip away. It’s like a part of my identity has been erased since I left music.

Newcastle 2 - 2 Norwich

The kings of late-game collapse have done it again. Playing at home, against one of the three newly promoted sides, Newcastle United blew a two-goal lead late in the game. Three games in and the Geordies have yet to win a game. Only two points from nine, and the way the game ended, Newcastle was lucky to end up with a point at all. Unbelievable.

Should I Be Depressed?

Got an e-mail from my agent today that my last publisher, HarperCollins, is passing on my current project. They technically had the option on my next book, but Wes told me they would probably say no. The editor I worked with on the last one left Harper last year, and he was the only one there who dealt with stock market books.

In the big scheme of things, this was expected and should be seen as good news because we're free now to sign a contract with whomever we like. But it still carries a little sting. The little boy in me wants to whine, "Why don't they want me?"

But if Wes does his magic for me with another publisher like he did for me on the last book, all will be right with the world again. So for the next several weeks I will actively not be thinking about this constantly.

Hypocrisy

I promised myself I wouldn’t turn this space into a political arena, and I still plan to keep out of that cockfight, but I’m steamed about our society’s mind-blowing inability to recognize that reasonable people can still disagree. (And the operative word there, class, is reasonable.)

Over the last week or so, the independent booksellers have their collective knickers in a twist over Unfit for Command, the book by men who supposedly served in Viet Nam with Kerry (or at least concurrently with him), and which purportedly attacks Kerry’s war record. Now I have no idea whether the book has any merit or not. There’s no way I could because none of us has been able to get the book from the publisher yet! It’s been on backorder for weeks.

But that hasn’t stopped this group of booksellers from screaming loud and long about how unfair the book is, how it’s based on lies and half-truths (like any of them was there and knows the truth).

And the book may well be trash. Like I said, I haven’t even seen it so how can I have an opinion about it? But what really chaps my ass is that this group hasn’t made a peep about the unfairness of a single book coming from the other side of the political spectrum. You’re telling me Michael Moore hasn’t made a career of torturing the truth into unrecognition?

Personally I’m sick of the whole campaign and we still have to suffer through another two months of it, but what sickens me more is that a so-called well-read, well-educated group like independent booksellers can’t see beyond their own prejudices. If someone happens to disagree with your view, well then it’s obvious he’s a moron, right?

And don’t misread this and accuse me of trashing the liberals. This kind of pettiness is the hallmark of both sides of the political spectrum. It’s no wonder our voter turnout is so appalling when this is what passes for political discourse. Fucking hypocrites.

Professional Angst

I’m wondering when the right time is to throw in the towel. I’ve had my bookshop open now for just 14 months, which I know isn’t a tremendously long time, but I can’t decide if I’m just being impatient or if I’m being smart in seeing signs that this shop—in this location—wasn’t a good idea.

August is the third month where I have year-over-year comparisons with last year’s sales and there’s simply no growth. That’s consistent to some degree with other independent bookshops around the country, but a new store like mine doesn’t work on the same growth curve that mature stores do. I’ve got to see some growth in the first two or three years just from more local customers figuring out I’m here and starting to trickle in. But that hasn’t been the case. June, July, and August of 2004 have all trailed slightly behind the sales in 2003, and those were too low to start with. Sales in this town haven't met even my conservative expectations going in.

The frustrating thing is that sales are too slow for me to pay myself anything, and living off my savings is getting old. I’m not willing to do it much longer. So, either my sales need to dramatically to afford me at least a modest salary—and the odds of that look slim—or I need to look for an exit strategy. Problem is, who would buy a small shop like mine that’s living on the edge? The shop doesn’t owe anything, that’s true, but it’s just getting by month to month.

Closing the shop altogether is always an option but then I get nothing for all the inventory and the fixed assets. I can try to auction them off but it’ll be for a fraction of their cost. I don’t know what the answer is, but just doing what I’m doing now isn’t working, and the hours I spend here keep me from writing or working somewhere else. I guess I need to hope to find someone for whom the shop would be a hobby rather than a way to make a living. Unfortunately for me, I’m not that person. Gotta have a paycheck, dammit.

Bourbon Conquers All

I was reading about Julia's weekend adventure to Atlanta when it dawned on me that I haven't been on a plane since before 9/11. This is a tragic state of affairs.

What makes it so tragic is that the long absence from the airways isn't a reaction to terrorism or a fear of flying itself. It's because my life has grown so pathetically mundane that I haven't had occasion to go anywhere that requires air travel.

Julia's do-over flight leaving Atlanta reminded me of a time when I used to fly regularly, though. I was in New Orleans, waiting for a flight back to Dallas after a long weekend academic conference. (I used to go to this conference every year, attend the session where I had to give my paper, then spend three days in the French Quarter, drinking and eating the best food on the planet. I was serious about my scholarship, I tell you!

The flight back to Dallas was the last possible one Sunday night. (No way I was going home early.) And when they announced that the flight was delayed, no one really took serious notice. But the way the terminal and the gate were configured, we could see that the maintenance crew was working on one of the engines. So over the course of the next hour, the repair became the primary topic of conversation among those of us staring out the window and watching the spectacle. "He's got a bigger wrench now. Wonder what that means?" "You think they'll fix it in time to get us to our connecting flights?" "Where's the drinks cart?"

At one point, the biggest guy on the crew, and the one who appeared to have the most experience, grabbed one of those colossal rubber mallets and started pounding the shit out the offending part of the engine. After five or six massive blows a piece just fell off! And then he kicked at it, threw the hammer down in disgust and walked away.

Ten minutes later the drinks cart really did arrive. By that time, ours was the only gate left with any passengers and the airline knew we couldn’t jump to another carrier the same evening, so in an attempt to appease us—or to get us so stinko-paralytico we wouldn’t notice what they were doing to the plane—the open bar commenced.

Two hours—and way too much bourbon later—we boarded the plane. The scary thing was that none of us had seen them replace the part they broke off the engine hours before. Is that blind faith on our part or drunken despair to get home?

Format Confusion

The last two entries I made (with the pictures), I posted via Flickr, and on my laptop the entries looked fine; the text is left of the photo. But on my Mac at the bookshop this morning, those same two entries look different. The text is still left of the photo, except for the first line of text, which runs on top of the photo itself.

Just wondering how it appears to y'all?

Olympic Fantasy

Sotherton Wins Bronze

I've read in a lot of blogs lately the general concensus among the women that the swimmers are hotties. But I've got to tell you, I'm way into the bronze medalist in the Women's Heptathlon, Kelly Sotherton of Great Britain. Of course, I could never catch her once she got running. (I'm a sucker for a British accent.)

Newcastle 0 - Tottenham 1

Robert Can't Get it Done
Originally uploaded by Robert Sheard.

And a collective groan goes up at St. James' Park. Newcastle has now secured just 1 point out of 6, a horrid start to the new season. If we're unable to score (let alone beat) middle-of-the-table sides like Tottenham, at home, there's no chance we'll be competing for a spot in Europe next year.

Take the Money & Wave Good-Bye

Newcastle is losing Jonathan Woodgate to spendthrift Real Madrid for a reported £13.4. Yes, he's probably the most talented English defender around, but I say take the cash for him and buy someone who can play once in a while. In the 18 months since Woodgate came to St. James' Park from Leeds, he's played in fewer than a third of Newcastle's games. His salary is a helluva lot of cash to spend each week for someone who can only play in one out of every three games.

And if Kieron Dyer is too good to play where the team needs him, sell his whiny butt, too!

Long Night

For all the wrong reasons, it was a long night. Ugly words were spoken, deadly looks were exchanged, sleep was lost. Hurricane Charley had nothing on us in full gale.

Wanted

Wanted: extremely talented and even more generous soul to transform my pathetic off-the-rack blogger template into a sophisticated, sleek, gorgeous blog site. Must be able to speak slowly regarding technical terms and must be willing to work for undying gratitude.

So Happy Together

I don’t stroll down memory lane all that often—probably because my memory sucks for any event more than a month ago—but every once in a while something jogs an old memory loose. It’s usually when I’m trying to get back to sleep at 4:00 or 5:00 in the morning, and no matter how hard I try to ignore it, I’m stuck with it for a couple of hours.

When I was in third grade (and the only way I know this is that was the year my father was in Viet Nam and we lived with my grandparents in Piscataway, New Jersey), I was introduced to the world of pop music. Up until that point, the only records we listened to at my grandparents’ house were Herb Albert & the Tijuana Brass and Al Hirt.

My mother to this day tells the story that when I was an infant she used to set up my playpen in front of the TV when American Bandstand came on. She swears that for one solid hour I was an angel, completely mesmerized by the show. (She makes no such claims about the rest of the time.) I’d stand up, or so her version goes, and dance along the whole time. (“I give the song an 85, Dick. The tune’s just average, but you can really do a mean diaper boogie to it!”) I’m not sure how much I want to believe her story given the fact that I have yet to dance again since that day.

For Christmas that year in New Jersey, I got my first very own record player. I still remember pulling the wrapping paper part-way off the box and seeing the letters PHONO… and immediately shouting “a record player!” My mother, never for a moment assuming I was able to guess the rest of the word based on reading skills, accused me of having found the gift wherever she had hidden it before she wrapped it. I wonder why that part of the memory is the clearest to me all these years. My mother was always one to talk me and my brothers down at home—maybe to keep us humble?—but to her friends, she was as proud of us as all the other mothers were of their children. But I didn’t care; it was an ugly brown plastic clamshell style portable, and it was all mine!

The point of all this—and the whole reason I dragged up the memory in the first place—is what good is a record player without records? Being the enterprising young reader that I was, I found the perfect solution in one of my mother’s magazines. For just 11¢ some company called Columbia House would send me four records! Well, I had 11¢ and I needed records, so I did the logical thing and sent the coupon off. A couple of weeks later my introductory shipment arrived and I was in heaven: The Turtles, The Cowsills, The Monkees. We were So Happy Together.

“What’s all this?” my mother asked when she saw the box and wrapping strewn across the living room floor. “They’re my new records. You know … for the phonograph you gave me?” She hit the roof.

Over the next hour I learned a number of new vocabulary words and math lessons: contractual obligation, shipping and handling, responsibility, allowance minus cost of records equals extra chores.

When I look at my collections today—movies on DVD, music on CD, and the books!—I wonder how well those lessons really stuck with me, although I still get pissed when I have to pay shipping and handling. Some things never change.

Not Worthy

Every now and again, I'll come across a writer's work that really impresses me, maybe not for the content necessarily, but for the way he or she puts blocks of meaning together seemingly effortlessly. I know from too much experience that it's never done without effort, and seeing a piece that has all the tell-tale signs of hard toil hidden is a delight. Such is the case with someone like David Sedaris.

I've been reading and re-reading some of his essays to get a better feel for how he constructs paragraphs and ties ideas together. I occasionally even type out entire essays because it slows me down to see more clearly how sentence cadences work. I have no way of knowing if that will ever help my own writing, but I suppose as long as I believe it does, there's some benefit to doing it besides creating a very productive looking way of wasting time without accomplishing any real work.

Reading someone's work that I admire, though, usually throws me into despair. I can't ever imagine getting to the point where my writing becomes that smooth and free, without showing the signs of my having tried so hard to make it appear that way.

And then there's my inability to take this site beyond the limits of the pre-fabbed Blogger templates ... but that's an entire other area of incompetence I don't want to face today. One fight against limitations at a time is more than sufficient to make me feel inferior.

To Cut, Or Not To Cut?

I’m sitting in the dojo, waiting for my son’s karate class to end. (30 minutes to kill—thank goodness for laptops.) I’ve got mixed feelings about karate these days—nothing philosophical—more lifestyle reservations.

I studied Tae Kwon Do for a number of years back in my college days and I miss the flexibility and strength I had. But then grad school and pretending to be an adult meant losing track of martial arts. After a 20-year layoff, though, I started studying karate and jujitsu two years ago. In the process of getting up to speed with the different discipline’s techniques (not to mention overcoming a two-decade gap in my training) I regained a lot of the flexibility, but the endurance never fully came back.

Then my age really showed. Sparring with my teacher one day, my foot stuck on the mat when he swept my leg and the resounding pop from my right knee was audible even in the dressing room. Later that night I thought I was going to be fine because I was able to walk without excruciating pain, but two days later when the swelling still hadn’t receded I had the MRI done and sure enough, I had ruptured my ACL. Because I was able to walk reasonably well, though, I passed on the reconstructive surgery. Who had 9 months to rehab?

So after my knee healed (other than the missing ligament, that is), I began training again, wearing a soft brace. Sure enough, a few months later, during another sparring session in our black-belt class, I got swept again and my knee collapsed. The recovery time wasn’t as long the second time, but now I’m gun shy. I don’t want to spar any more because I don’t trust my knee any longer. As a result I’ve lost interest in training.

The problem now is that my fitness level is pathetic. Do I continue on the road to full couch potato or do I risk damaging my knee further by training again? I have to admit that the path of least resistance has been winning.

Watching my son spar (he’s a brown belt and has really done well in his training) brings back a little bit of the desire to get my gi on again, but the creak and wobble in my knee in the mornings puts a damper on that desire mighty fast. If you have stories about your own knee surgery, let me have them. I still may get it fixed.

Noise, Noise, Noise

I gave up trying to read a few minutes ago because the racket coming from the coffeeshop reached record levels. So I peeked ...

Eight retired ladies, playing some kind of penny-ante dominoes. All eight talking simultaneously, no one listening.

I want to be retired.

Reading

It dawned on me this morning that I set this blog up initially as a place to write about what I'm reading. But I get distracted easily and haven't talked books in a while.

I just started reading Joe Queenan's forthcoming book, Queenan Country. (It comes out in November.)



I first ran across Queenan's work in Red Lobster, White Trash & the Blue Lagoon. How can you not pick up a book with that title? And let's face it, no one is safe in a Queenan piece. If you hold anything totally sacred, don't read Queenan because sooner or later he'll offend you. That's just part of his charm.

In Queenan Country, he's writing about his adventures in the UK. Queenan's wife is English and while he's traveled there many times, he felt it was always to visit his wife's family and as a result he never got the authentic British experience. So he went solo to see if he could understand what makes the island tick. Queenan's big into music and a lot of the British history he lampoons is offset with discussions of music—especially the Beatles.

I somehow missed his last two books, Balsamic Dreams and True Believers, and since the latter is about the nature of being a devoted sports fan, I'll have to back up at some point and read that one, too. But for now, I'm enjoying his hilarious take on the "limey heart of darkness."

Soccer Dork Update

After one week, I'm stomping the competition in both my Predictor mini-league and my fantasy league. Yeah, yeah, it's just my brother and my son, but I take my pathetic thrills where I can.

I scored 8 points in the predictor game, twice the average player's score, putting me in 1,148 place. (I wonder how many players there are.) My brother, Charles, got 2 points and my son, Brenden, lost 4 points. It's a long season so I'll do all my gloating up front, thank you very much.

In the fantasy league, I scored 66 points, which puts me 13,594 out of 226,267 players. More importantly, it puts me 12 points up on Charles. He mocks me regularly for being a newcomer to soccer, so beating him—even if it's only for one week—is sweet!

Thumbs Up

The new Blogger navigation bar is a big improvement over the banner ads. I'm a random blog reader and I appreciate the "next blog" button. Good change, Blogger!

Sucked Right In

I told myself I wasn't going to get wrapped up in the Olympics this time. With the proliferation of professional athletes in the games, I feel that their essential character has been cheapened. Yet here I sit with my laptop, parked in front of NBC's lousy coverage. (Are swimming and gymnastics the only two events going on?)

I was disappointed to hear about the latest political intrusion into the games. The favorite for one of the judo gold medals is from Iran, and he was forced to pull out of the competition because his country won't allow him to compete against an athlete from Israel. What a pathetically childish display of pique that was.

Here's the solution (which because it's beatiful in its simplicity will never be adopted):

Immediately abolish all team sports and national olympic committees. Only hold events where individuals compete on their own. There are too damn many events as it is now anyway.

Forget about national qualifying. Every sport's unifying body will determine what the qualifying standards are; if you meet them, you're in, regardless of whether you're American or Iranian.

Then every competitor must compete wearing solid white--no national emblems, no flags, no anthems, no government intervention, no more bullshit politics. And the first newspaper or television reporter who mentions "the medal count" becomes the next target for the archery competitors.

And what's up with the Greek "crowds"? When the host country can't even be bothered to show up for the events, it's a sure bet the games have lost their appeal.

Productive Morning

I finished what I think is the final round of revisions for my book proposal this morning. (I'm not selling any books today apparently, so I'm taking the quiet time to work on my own.) Now Wes, my agent, is checking with trademark lawyers to make sure the title he suggested isn't going to run into trouble anywhere and then he'll be able to start talking to editors.

I came up with the title Ride the Bull, Shoot the Bear because I thought it was funny and brought the idea of profiting in both good and markets into the title—the real thesis of the project. But Wes thinks we should pitch it in the vein of the David Bach books. The latest is The Automatic Millionaire. So for the sake of the proposal anyway, we're working with The Two Minute Millionaire. The idea is that with the strategy I lay out in the book, one can become a millionaire in the stock market over time, but it only need take a couple of minutes a day to maintain one's portfolio. Investors tend to make investing far too complicated and end up the poorer for all their efforts.

It doesn't really matter what I call it in the proposal stage, though. Whoever publishes it is likely to change the title again after the marketing committee has its say. I found out very quickly in my first two books that publishers are less concerned with the contents of books than they are with the covers. How they can market it is paramount to all other considerations.

Anyway, it feels good to get something accomplished this morning. I've got a short book review to write this afternoon for the local paper and, I hope, my two delayed shipments of books will be here shortly. At least I'll have something to do in the absense of customers. It begs the question of why I continue ordering new stock for the store, doesn't it?

Embarrassed

This just goes to show you that being freakishly tall and vulgarly overpaid doesn't mean you can shoot or play a team game. The NBA has degenerated into a loose collection of one-on-one contests. I think it would be fitting if the US team didn't even make it to the knock-out round. (They will, of course, but I can still hope.)

What Language Is This?

What language is this? And more importantly, did I get a royalty?

Losing My Grip

One of my good customers mentioned something to me last week that must be gnawing at the back of my brain. She was talking about a job she once had that wasn't awful, but wasn't exciting either. Then one day everything about the job suddenly drove her batshit. And once that happened there was nothing she could do to bring herself back to that even keel where she could tolerate it.

I think that's what happened to me yesterday, although in my case it's been building for a little while. I've been frustrated about my bookshop for a while. It's not losing any money, although 14 months in and I can't yet afford to take a salary either. But more than that, it sucks up so much time that I feel that my life is being wasted in a futile activity. And it's obvious to me now that I'm not tolerant enough to deal with the public all day. I just want to smack too many people by the end of the day for me to stay in retail.

I always wanted to build something from scratch, like a bookshop, but I'm finding that everything else I want to do—reading, writing, traveling—is going to be sacrificed if I stick with it. And more practically, I need an income. I'm living on savings right now and that can't go on much longer. The store won't support me; it really needs an owner who doesn't need for it to generate a living. So the problem now is finding a buyer and getting out without taking a huge bath on my investment.

Here We Go Again

Middlesbrough 2 - 2 Newcastle United



Last year, Newcastle was the king of draws in the EPL. Somehow, some way, the Magpies would find a way to blow a victory in the final moments.

Today we start the madness again. In the Northeast derby against Middlesbrough, Newcastle found a way to give up an equalizer in stoppage time to forfeit two of their hard-won three points right at the death. Apparently it's contagious. Six of today's initial eight matches were also draws.

What's worse is that Jimmy Floyd Hasselbaink's last-minute equalizer should probably have been disallowed. (He knocked it in with his arm.)

Wasted Day So Far

Everyone's obviously paranoid that Hurricane Charley is going to appear out of nowhere and crush us, because traffic in the bookshop and coffeeshop is deader than dead. It's barely raining here! One lousy customer in three hours. Why bother?

And with the English Premier League starting today, I'd far rather be at home, camped in front of Fox Sports World for the duration. At least I Tivo'd it, but that's not really the same. (It's hard avoiding the Internet news sites so I don't spoil any results, too.)

Olympic Ideal?

Is anyone else appalled that Allen Iverson represents the US as an Olympic athlete? Real classy, Allen; Chomp on that gum during the parade of athletes. Paid those thousands of dollars in parking tickets yet?

I'm trying real hard--between drug scandals, political corruption, and big money athletes--to remember why we should care about the Olympics any more.

Cool costumes on the Greeks, though.

Golden Girls?

Say it ain't so! My store is in a community dominated by retirees (I live about 15 miles away in yet another community dominated by retirees.) And one of our locals got the brilliant idea (stolen from the movie Calendar Girls) of putting together a quasi-risque calendar featuring local residents over the age of 60!

I like looking at flesh as much as the next guy, but spare me. Who wants to see that? I don't care if it is for charity. It's downright dis-gust-ing!

The Pic Just Ain't Right

I'm getting used to the look of this new Blogger template, but that profile picture just doesn't work. All this color and high-tech look to the site and I have a five-year-old black-and-white PR photo the Microsoft Network used on their site when I did a series of columns for them. I can't even remember the last time I had on a sport coat, and I wear different glasses now. Other than that, I guess I look basically the same. Maybe that's the problem ... I'd really like someone else's picture up there?

Fingers Crossed

Now is the time I get nervous all over again. I sent my revised book proposal to my agent this morning, so there's nothing to be done until I hear from him that he has further revision suggestions, or until he's able to secure a contract for me. There's no point actually working on the manuscript until the contract's settled, because editors often want to help shape the outline anyway, so for now I twiddle my thumbs expectantly.

For my previous books, it wasn't as nerve-wracking because I had other positions and my income from the books was just gravy. Now, with the bookstore paying bupkis, I'm going to need a healthy advance to live on for the next two years or so. Come on, Wes; do the magic thing you do!

Dismal Sales = Paperwork

What a dismal day. Yes, it's raining, courtesy of Tropical Storm Bonnie and Hurricane Charley, but it's not that bad here in North Carolina. But it's turning out to be a painfully slow day at the bookshop. So I finally got around to a lot of paperwork and web updating I've put off in recent days. How is it that dismal sales means I get to do more paperwork?

Of Busses and Book Geeks

The first day of school passed successfully and the bus snafu has been cleared up. (Yes, the bus driver fouled up the route; the kids were at the right corner.) So now we can begin to relax into the routine again.

In North Carolina there's been a controversy about the school calendar and I'm not convinced either side is even asking the correct questions. The traditional school year used to begin after Labor Day, but over the past decade, North Carolina has pushed the start of the year back toward early August to allow for more teacher development days during the school year. It's not a bad goal, to provide teachers with ongoing support and training, but having taught briefly in the public school system, most of the "development" opportunities were colossal wastes of time.

The group against the earlier calendar are tourist industry companies who are losing some of the peak season with the earlier return to school. Why should we make pedagogical decisions for the convenience and bottom line of theme parks? Priorities, people!

The question no one really seems to ask is what is the best calendar for the educational success of the students? And almost every study I've seen shows that the year-round schools provide the best educational programs for their students. Year-round schools are in session the same number of days as the traditional schools, but they take more frequent, but shorter vacations throughout the year. The students aren't idle for two or three months at a time and the teachers don't have to spend the first month of each year bringing the students back into "learning mode" and reviewing what they've forgotten over the lengthy summer break. Let's face it, America; we are no longer an agrarian society and the need to tie the school calendar to the farm calendar has long since disappeared. Let's bring our educational systems into the modern age.

on another note ...

Last night I attended the MeetUp for Raleigh-Durham BookCrossers. This is a tough group to generalize about, despite our joint interest in books. But what I'm constantly amazed by is the spirit of generosity most BookCrossers exhibit. The idea of people giving their own books away to total strangers seems to go against the grain of this self-involved society of ours. It's a nice counter balance to the daily bombardment of incivility we're all subject to. And even though we're probably all just book geeks, that's good enough for me.

Middle School Angst

My son started middle school today. I imagine he's feeling a bit of anxiety, even though he knows a lot of his classmates (and met his new teachers Monday evening). New school, new procedures, being at the low end of the age totem-pole again. All of that's natural, though, and I'm sure he'll adapt well--better than I will adapt to the idea of his being in middle school, I'm sure.

It didn't help any this morning when the bus failed to show up, however. We met the driver at back-to-school night and he said to just stay on our street corner, even though it's not an official stop. With three kids on our cul-du-sac, he said he'll stop there anyway. Un-uh!

At least two busses blew right by (probably the elementary school and high school busses?), but the other bus we saw turned about two blocks short of our street and never re-appeared. So my wife drove my son and the two neighbors, but now I'm worried they won't have any idea what bus to get on to come home. And even if they do find the right bus, where should they get off since what he told us obviously isn't the case? Too much stress for the first day at a new school ... for us and the kids.

Newcastle sign Stephen Carr

After a preseason that showed just how porous the Magpies defense can be, Newcastle is trying to shore up the back with the signing of Stephen Carr from Tottenham Hotspurs. Carr joins three other well-received transfers to Tyneside: Patrick Kluivert, James Milner, and Nicky Butt.

Now if the folks at Newcastle can just stop bickering among themselves and clear the eye-infection virus out of the clubhouse, we might see a good season from them. Their opening game is being carried live on Fox Sports World Saturday (thank goodness for Tivo since I'll be at the shop). But I don't expect Middlesbrough to be a pushover. Besides Newcastle's weak road performance last year to go by, Middlesbrough have also signed some top players for this season, including Hasselbaink from Chelsea and Viduka from Leeds. Middlesbrough could well be a sleeper team competing for one of the four Champions League spots by next May.

Wanderlust

Ever since my wife and son gave me a set of travel DVDs for Father's Day, I've had the bug to travel again. Growing up in a military family, I guess moving every few years is so ingrained that it affects me even now. Even during my ten years in Lubbock, TX, I moved to different parts of town every few years.

The travel videos are from Rudy Maxa's Smart Travels series that covers most of Europe. My son and I watched a few of the episodes on regular television and my wife realized how much I enjoyed them. (She's much more creative about gift-giving than I am.) The problem with watching these shows is that it makes me even more dissatisfied with my own life. The history, the architecture, the cultures, and the different cultures all seem so appealing to me, it makes me want to sell all of my possessions and just travel.

On our recent vacation to Virginia, we decided to forego the interstate highway on the way home and take US-1, which extends along the entire East Coast. But after being in stop-and-go traffic for hours and realizing we had only traveled 80 or 90 miles, we gave up and hopped back on I-95.

The real depressing aspect of our trek down US-1 is that every 15 miles brought us to another dismal, identical town. The same gas stations, the same fast food joints, the same Wal-Mart. The chains have taken over to such an extent that American towns have completely lost whatever character they may have had. That bleak consumer greying of America isn't helping me with the whole wanderlust feeling either.

No Touch Monkey!

I'm about halfway through this book, and I'm amazed the author lived long enough to tell her tales. Traveling throughout the world with virtually no money, Halliday managed to work her way into scrape after scrape: nearly mauled by a pack of feral dogs in Bali, suffering a dislocated knee in Bukittinggi, contracting malaria in Tanzania, barely escaping an enraged madam in the red light district of Amsterdam, and witnessing a lip enhancement procedure in Paris.

She writes with humor, insight, and candor, and the first half has been a journey worth reading. I wonder if I would have survived it in person?

A Fresh Start

After trying LiveJournal out for a while, I prefer Blogger, so I'm moving back.

Who | What | Where

Who

I can't decide if it's that I can't keep a job, or I just haven't found my niche yet, but I've led a checkered life. My youth was spent playing the euphonium, but when it became clear in my junior year of college that my career options were either a military band or directing a high school band—in other words, either poverty or cultural annihilation—I changed majors and followed an oh-so-inspiring path: marketing.

Before I even finished my business degree I knew that I’d die in that suit, so I opted to stay in school, apparently forever. I took a second degree in English, then a Master’s, then flogged away another four years towards a PhD before getting thoroughly disgusted by the shameless and petty politics that drive higher education in the humanities. Oh yeah, and the job market sucked. So, one chapter from finishing my dissertation, I walked away when I was offered a job with The Motley Fool.

I worked as an editor and columnist for The Fool for a few years, publishing two books along the way. Then, because I can be a money whore, I started managing portfolios for private clients. The money was good, the hours were good, I worked from home, but I couldn’t take the pressure every day that at any moment, some pissed off client was likely to sue my ass if any of my trades went south. I was losing sleep and decided it wasn’t worth it.

Now I own a bookstore (that I’m trying to sell) and am working to resurrect my writing career. My agent is trying to sell my next project now, so for the next year I’ll be working on that manuscript and trying to plan future projects. I want to break away from writing financial books, though. They've paid the bills for me in recent years, but it’s no longer what I want to do. (I want to be Bill Bryson.)

What

Where does between the covers come from? When I wrote my first book, I sent the draft to my editor, expecting lots of revision suggestions and several more drafts. Instead, I got galleys. I learned quickly that a lot of publishers care a great deal about the title, the dust jacket, and the marketing angle. What goes “between the covers,” not so much. This site is my white space to think about where I want to go with my life/career, a place to think about what goes between the covers.

Where

Born in San Francisco, the son of an army officer, I moved a lot. I went to at least three different elementary schools and three different high schools. I’ve spent more of my life in Texas than anywhere else, although now I live in North Carolina. I feel like I’m in a cultural wasteland and want to be in (or at least within an hour of) a real city. It doesn’t seem likely—at least for now.

My 100 Things

I'll get to 100 eventually.

1. I'm 44 years old. My mind feels 27, my body 72.

2. I was an army brat, so I have no roots. That's made me both restless and very adaptable.

3. I live in North Carolina, and I'm restless, but as I don't live alone, moving isn't solely my decision.

4. I have 3 brothers. I'm the 2nd of the 4. I have 1 son, 1 nephew, and 2 nieces.

5. Like Twain, or whoever said it, "I love humanity; it's people I can't stand."

6. I own a small bookshop. It's for sale because it keeps me from writing and it doesn't pay.

7. I've written two books, and as soon as my agent secures a contract for it, I'll be writing a third. (The Unemotional Investor and Money for Life)

8. I want this book to be my last on investing. Personal finance books pay well, but they aren't what I want to write.

9. I have taught writing and literature at Texas Tech University, Penn State University, University of Kentucky, and Georgetown College. I also spent one year teaching 4th-grade math at an at-risk school.

10. Over the last year I have become a soccer junkie. Thank you, Fox Sports World. Howay the Toon!

11. I prefer tea, but often drink coffee because it's already brewed.

12. I used to be an accomplished classical musician. Now my euphonium mocks me from the closet.

13. I am a terminal ABD. I was writing the final chapter of my dissertation when I left academe.

14. I left to work for these guys.

15. I have a black belt in Karate.

16. Which is why I no longer have an ACL in my right knee.

17. I have a pathological hatred of being late.

18. I love movies.

19. I hate seeing them in the theater because people won't shut the hell up!

20. I jump into romantic relationships too quickly.

21. I've done this on more than one occasion.

22. I've never tried illegal drugs, nor have I ever smoked. Never saw the appeal.

23. And yes, I was an Eagle Scout. But I got over it when I hit puberty.

24. I scored an 800 on the analytical section of the GRE (grad school exam).

25. I played two seasons of college lacrosse before coming to my senses.

26. I have a shiny new digital camera, which I only vaguly know how to use.

27. I've spent most of my adult life devoted to literature, but I find myself watching movies more and more.

28. I don't love to write; I love to have written.

29. I alternate between wanting to get rid of my television altogether and overdosing on it.

30. After I watch too much, I always feel dirty and guilty, as if I had spent that time downloading porn.

31. The TV's on right now, in fact.

32. But it's news, so it's ok, right?

33. Well, ok, it's sports news.

34. Hardly manly, I know, but I love the smell of good soap.

35. And bubblebaths.

36. Back when I was young I made the 1,500-mile drive from West Texas to Pittsburgh by myself, non-stop, slept for most of the next two days, then did it again on the way back.

37. Now I need a nap after driving 90 minutes to Raleigh.

to be continued ...