On Not Buying Books

"When I get a little money, I buy books. When I get a little more money, I buy food." These words were penned by Deseridius* Erasmus several hundred years ago, and lived by me recently. Friday night I had to cut myself off from buying books. I did this not for monetary reasons, but as a realistic consideration of space and the pragmatics of a (hopefully near) future move.

I did make one exception: for weeks I've been looking at a book called Gourmet Vegetarian Slow Cooker, which I'm allowing myself to buy. As Border's is having their going out of business sale, I decided I would buy the book when cookbooks got down to 50% off. Unfortunately, someone else apparently made this decision about 40% off.

Obviously, it is available on Amazon. Everything is**. Further, it costs less than it did with Border's 40% markdown. The downside is that I would have to spend $12 more to get free shipping. Spending $12 extra to get something cheap defeats the purpose.

Yesterday I happened to be walking past Half Price Books. It can't hurt to check. After all, they also have a great selection (less so than Amazon) at great prices (often better than Amazon). I walk in and start looking for the cookbook section. As I wander around, I see several things I want: Immanuel Kant, CS Lewis, Kurt Vonnegut, Billy Collins, Dungeons and Dragons...no, no, NO - focus man. I don't see it. Cookbooks must be upstairs.

I head toward the stairs, a trip that takes me past the dollar paperbacks. Out of the corner of my eye, I see The Magician's Nephew; behind it, Prince Caspian, then The Final Battle. They're all here - all seven Chronicles of Narnia books. Best of all, even though they were on the dollar rack, they were actually only $.50 each.

The cookbook wasn't there, but I spent $3.83 ($3.50 plus 9.5% sales tax) on these seven books. I'm still officially cut off, but they're doing an additional 20% off the first five days of September, and I'm not one to turn down a bargain. I have 1 September off work, so I'll see you there.

*He changed his first name. I don't know what it originally was, but Desedirius is Latin for "the desirable one." Pretentious much?
**Seriously, everything. I recently purchased an orthopedic pillow there. One click shopping for that many different things is dangerous.

"When I get a little money, I buy books. When I get a little more money, I buy food." These words were penned by Deseridius* Erasmus several hundred years ago, and lived by me recently. Friday night I had to cut myself off from buying books. I did this not for monetary reasons, but as a realistic consideration of space and the pragmatics of a (hopefully near) future move.

I did make one exception: for weeks I've been looking at a book called Gourmet Vegetarian Slow Cooker, which I'm allowing myself to buy. As Border's is having their going out of business sale, I decided I would buy the book when cookbooks got down to 50% off. Unfortunately, someone else apparently made this decision about 40% off.

Obviously, it is available on Amazon. Everything is**. Further, it costs less than it did with Border's 40% markdown. The downside is that I would have to spend $12 more to get free shipping. Spending $12 extra to get something cheap defeats the purpose.

Yesterday I happened to be walking past Half Price Books. It can't hurt to check. After all, they also have a great selection (less so than Amazon) at great prices (often better than Amazon). I walk in and start looking for the cookbook section. As I wander around, I see several things I want: Immanuel Kant, CS Lewis, Kurt Vonnegut, Billy Collins, Dungeons and Dragons...no, no, NO - focus man. I don't see it. Cookbooks must be upstairs.

I head toward the stairs, a trip that takes me past the dollar paperbacks. Out of the corner of my eye, I see The Magician's Nephew; behind it, Prince Caspian, then The Final Battle. They're all here - all seven Chronicles of Narnia books. Best of all, even though they were on the dollar rack, they were actually only $.50 each.

The cookbook wasn't there, but I spent $3.83 ($3.50 plus 9.5% sales tax) on these seven books. I'm still officially cut off, but they're doing an additional 20% off the first five days of September, and I'm not one to turn down a bargain. I have 1 September off work, so I'll see you there.

*He changed his first name. I don't know what it originally was, but Desedirius is Latin for "the desirable one." Pretentious much?
**Seriously, everything. I recently purchased an orthopedic pillow there. One click shopping for that many different things is dangerous.

On Not Buying Books

There Is No Think

"Do or do not do. There is no try." Master Yoda famously said these words to Luke as he tried to lift a rock. I say this over and over again to myself. Even more often I say, "Do or do not do. There is no think."

Written on my arms, over my Washington state tattoo right now is "just paint. don't think. just paint." I did. It had been too long. It was a matter of getting out of the thought process into the doing process. So is this. It's been a very frustrating week, with work and my grandfather dying (don't worry - I'm fine, though my family could use prayer, if you pray) and being mildly sick, and I've been unable to figure out how to express it artistically, so I just didn't.

I don't have a draft, or even much of a point. I'm just writing*. Sometimes that's all you can do. I'm learning that there is a time to sit back and rest, but sometimes you just have to do something. If you fail, you know how not to do it.

There is a story about Thomas Edison, which may or may not be true. He was asked why he did not get discouraged in his repeated failures in his approximately 1000 attempts to invent the light bulb. Edison, according to the story, responded, "I never failed to invent the light bulb: I learned 1000 ways not to make a light bulb."

Do or do not do. There is no think.

*Between some poor typing and autocorrect, I initially said, "I'm just gritty."

"Do or do not do. There is no try." Master Yoda famously said these words to Luke as he tried to lift a rock. I say this over and over again to myself. Even more often I say, "Do or do not do. There is no think."

Written on my arms, over my Washington state tattoo right now is "just paint. don't think. just paint." I did. It had been too long. It was a matter of getting out of the thought process into the doing process. So is this. It's been a very frustrating week, with work and my grandfather dying (don't worry - I'm fine, though my family could use prayer, if you pray) and being mildly sick, and I've been unable to figure out how to express it artistically, so I just didn't.

I don't have a draft, or even much of a point. I'm just writing*. Sometimes that's all you can do. I'm learning that there is a time to sit back and rest, but sometimes you just have to do something. If you fail, you know how not to do it.

There is a story about Thomas Edison, which may or may not be true. He was asked why he did not get discouraged in his repeated failures in his approximately 1000 attempts to invent the light bulb. Edison, according to the story, responded, "I never failed to invent the light bulb: I learned 1000 ways not to make a light bulb."

Do or do not do. There is no think.

*Between some poor typing and autocorrect, I initially said, "I'm just gritty."

There Is No Think

With apologies...

Due to a very uncreative week, I'm afraid there will only be one post this week, as opposed to my normal two. This is that post.
Just kidding. But seriously, I'm going to post something this weekend, but that will be the only post, barring the unforseen.

Due to a very uncreative week, I'm afraid there will only be one post this week, as opposed to my normal two. This is that post.
Just kidding. But seriously, I'm going to post something this weekend, but that will be the only post, barring the unforseen.

With apologies...

Social Media for Writers

Social media (a term which I hate, though that is irrelevant to the discussion at hand) has affected me in a number of interesting ways. For example, the vast majority of my non-face-to-face communication takes place via social media. It’s a great source of news, especially for gaining a viewpoint that differs from your own (so long as you have friends with different viewpoints). It opens a number of interesting doors for artistic ventures, running the gambit from exhibition to collaboration. Recently though, I’ve been thinking about how social media has affected me as a writer. There are three specific social media outlets (all of which fall primarily under the subcategory of social networking) that have done this in large and specific ways.

Does anyone remember Xanga? I certainly do. It was the very first blogging website that I ever used. When I first started, I posted a lot. By a lot, I mean three to ten times a day. Most of my post would range from a few words to three sentences. People would read and comment, for some reason caring about what I had for dinner or the odd conversation I had in a hallway.

Fast forward a few weeks. I’m sitting outside a building talking to two friends, both of whom also use Xanga and all three of us currently wearing ripped jeans. Dr. Paul Fink*, on the north side of seventy-years-old, walks past us, referring to us as the “council of the ungodly,” a reference to Psalm 1. Each of the three of us would go back home (whether that be dorm or apartment) to write about this experience, with that night bringing us to reading all three tales of the encounter. My mind was blown by the sheer differences in the details – three entirely different stories of the same encounter, each one true in every way. Mind_blown: perspectives! People see things differently! Everyone brings different details and says things differently. Sometimes there is not a right and a wrong way to say something.

And then there was Twitter. I use Twitter a lot less than I used to. I simply found that I was spending too much time reading tweets and not enough time reading books. I stopped for a while, and have now resumed in moderation. Occasionally I search Twitter for writing related topics and tweet @people. I don’t know if anyone has ever encountered my blog because of this. I always post links to every post. I assume this is how Chris first ended up at my blog.

But this is mere authorial promotion. I’m talking about writing. And I often write rather verbosely. I had a teacher in college who said, “I can’t write my name in less than 20 pages.” I’m finding myself moving more and more toward that. Twitter, however, limits me. I have 140 characters. How can I express this thought in 140 characters? Throughout my time on Twitter I’ve had to learn to make this work – these days, 140 characters is plenty.

Finally we have the relative newcomer at the party: Google+. Google already owns every other aspect of my internet usage, so why not? G+ is interesting in that connection does not require mutual approval like a Facebook friendship. Resultantly, connections are only one-way. If I share something publicly on G+, it appears in the stream of anyone who has put me in a circle, whether I know they are looking or not. However, I place people in circles, and then I can share with only that circle. Every time that I post I have to ask, “To whom do I want this to be shown?” Perhaps it’s public. Perhaps not. I have a circle for coworkers, a circle for church friends, a circle for family, a circle for a core group of dudes (called “Dudebros”), and so on. Though this has been an option before, G+ is the first place to make this work.

Every time I write, I now ask myself the same question: to whom is this directed? I address a five-year-old differently than I address my doctor. Writing should be no different. Audience changes everything.

Social media has its share of detractors. It also has its problems. This being said, we must never forget that it also has a great deal of value.

*How does Dr. Fink not have a Wikipedia page?

Social media (a term which I hate, though that is irrelevant to the discussion at hand) has affected me in a number of interesting ways. For example, the vast majority of my non-face-to-face communication takes place via social media. It’s a great source of news, especially for gaining a viewpoint that differs from your own (so long as you have friends with different viewpoints). It opens a number of interesting doors for artistic ventures, running the gambit from exhibition to collaboration. Recently though, I’ve been thinking about how social media has affected me as a writer. There are three specific social media outlets (all of which fall primarily under the subcategory of social networking) that have done this in large and specific ways.

Does anyone remember Xanga? I certainly do. It was the very first blogging website that I ever used. When I first started, I posted a lot. By a lot, I mean three to ten times a day. Most of my post would range from a few words to three sentences. People would read and comment, for some reason caring about what I had for dinner or the odd conversation I had in a hallway.

Fast forward a few weeks. I’m sitting outside a building talking to two friends, both of whom also use Xanga and all three of us currently wearing ripped jeans. Dr. Paul Fink*, on the north side of seventy-years-old, walks past us, referring to us as the “council of the ungodly,” a reference to Psalm 1. Each of the three of us would go back home (whether that be dorm or apartment) to write about this experience, with that night bringing us to reading all three tales of the encounter. My mind was blown by the sheer differences in the details – three entirely different stories of the same encounter, each one true in every way. Mind_blown: perspectives! People see things differently! Everyone brings different details and says things differently. Sometimes there is not a right and a wrong way to say something.

And then there was Twitter. I use Twitter a lot less than I used to. I simply found that I was spending too much time reading tweets and not enough time reading books. I stopped for a while, and have now resumed in moderation. Occasionally I search Twitter for writing related topics and tweet @people. I don’t know if anyone has ever encountered my blog because of this. I always post links to every post. I assume this is how Chris first ended up at my blog.

But this is mere authorial promotion. I’m talking about writing. And I often write rather verbosely. I had a teacher in college who said, “I can’t write my name in less than 20 pages.” I’m finding myself moving more and more toward that. Twitter, however, limits me. I have 140 characters. How can I express this thought in 140 characters? Throughout my time on Twitter I’ve had to learn to make this work – these days, 140 characters is plenty.

Finally we have the relative newcomer at the party: Google+. Google already owns every other aspect of my internet usage, so why not? G+ is interesting in that connection does not require mutual approval like a Facebook friendship. Resultantly, connections are only one-way. If I share something publicly on G+, it appears in the stream of anyone who has put me in a circle, whether I know they are looking or not. However, I place people in circles, and then I can share with only that circle. Every time that I post I have to ask, “To whom do I want this to be shown?” Perhaps it’s public. Perhaps not. I have a circle for coworkers, a circle for church friends, a circle for family, a circle for a core group of dudes (called “Dudebros”), and so on. Though this has been an option before, G+ is the first place to make this work.

Every time I write, I now ask myself the same question: to whom is this directed? I address a five-year-old differently than I address my doctor. Writing should be no different. Audience changes everything.

Social media has its share of detractors. It also has its problems. This being said, we must never forget that it also has a great deal of value.

*How does Dr. Fink not have a Wikipedia page?

Social Media for Writers

Forget New York - I Love Seattle, or Grass, And the Greenness Thereof

They say the grass is always greener on the other side. As for the dividing line between sides, there is some debate. However, for those of us in the tourism industry(1), the line can be clearly defined as a counter, whether literal or metaphorical. The next question is a matter of logical progression: on which side is the grass truly greener? 

The green aspects of my side are fairly easy to identify. Let us begin with the fact that they pay me. There are certainly much higher paying jobs, but also much lower. Add to this the fact that I get free coffee, probably worth more than my paycheck somedays. Let's not forget benefits such as health insurance and 401(k), as well as being a stock holder with further options. In addition to the tangible benefits, I work with people whom I love, as well as daily making dozens of friends in the form of customers. In case you couldn't tell, I really do like my job. Few people can honestly say that. 

This all being said, the other side of the counter is also fabulous. Seattle is an excellent spot to vacation, with attractions such as Pike Place Market, the Fremont troll, and, if you're willing to travel outside the city a bit, the graves of Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Cobain. Many tourists are about to leave for or just returning from a beautiful Alaskan cruise. Our art museum is stunning, and our aquarium is doubtless the best I've ever been to(2). You can hear better musicians busking in Seattle than you can pay to see in a lot of other cities(3). Seattle is known more than anything for outstanding restaurants, coffee shops, and bars, and it lives up to that reputation. Tourists en masse take in the best we have to offer, while locals generally avoid the crowds. 

The key word here is "generally." Today I had a friend in from out of town. We went to the space needle and various other tourist spots. We rode the monorail, though we skipped out on the S.L.U.T.(4) 

Seattle is an amazing city. As a tourist, I tend to forget this. I bet you do the same thing in your city. This weekend, drop your camera in your fanny pack and go exploring. After all, there is no fence. The grass is all your grass. Get out and discover just how green it really is. 



(1) I speak of the tourism industry in the first person, despite the fact that there is actually some debate as to whether or not the food and beverage industry belongs in this category. Seeing as the preponderance of my customers are tourists, I number myself among this group. 
(2) Seriously, you can pet a starfish. It's amazing. 
(3) For a brief taste, search YouTube for Emery Carl, Greg Paul, or Raw Corn. I'm sure there are many videos by them all. 
(4) South Lake Union Trolley. What were you thinking? In my 3+ years of living here I've yet to ride it, but know that when I do I will purchase one of the ever-popular "I Rode the S.L.U.T." t-shirts. 

They say the grass is always greener on the other side. As for the dividing line between sides, there is some debate. However, for those of us in the tourism industry(1), the line can be clearly defined as a counter, whether literal or metaphorical. The next question is a matter of logical progression: on which side is the grass truly greener? 

The green aspects of my side are fairly easy to identify. Let us begin with the fact that they pay me. There are certainly much higher paying jobs, but also much lower. Add to this the fact that I get free coffee, probably worth more than my paycheck somedays. Let's not forget benefits such as health insurance and 401(k), as well as being a stock holder with further options. In addition to the tangible benefits, I work with people whom I love, as well as daily making dozens of friends in the form of customers. In case you couldn't tell, I really do like my job. Few people can honestly say that. 

This all being said, the other side of the counter is also fabulous. Seattle is an excellent spot to vacation, with attractions such as Pike Place Market, the Fremont troll, and, if you're willing to travel outside the city a bit, the graves of Jimi Hendrix and Kurt Cobain. Many tourists are about to leave for or just returning from a beautiful Alaskan cruise. Our art museum is stunning, and our aquarium is doubtless the best I've ever been to(2). You can hear better musicians busking in Seattle than you can pay to see in a lot of other cities(3). Seattle is known more than anything for outstanding restaurants, coffee shops, and bars, and it lives up to that reputation. Tourists en masse take in the best we have to offer, while locals generally avoid the crowds. 

The key word here is "generally." Today I had a friend in from out of town. We went to the space needle and various other tourist spots. We rode the monorail, though we skipped out on the S.L.U.T.(4) 

Seattle is an amazing city. As a tourist, I tend to forget this. I bet you do the same thing in your city. This weekend, drop your camera in your fanny pack and go exploring. After all, there is no fence. The grass is all your grass. Get out and discover just how green it really is. 



(1) I speak of the tourism industry in the first person, despite the fact that there is actually some debate as to whether or not the food and beverage industry belongs in this category. Seeing as the preponderance of my customers are tourists, I number myself among this group. 
(2) Seriously, you can pet a starfish. It's amazing. 
(3) For a brief taste, search YouTube for Emery Carl, Greg Paul, or Raw Corn. I'm sure there are many videos by them all. 
(4) South Lake Union Trolley. What were you thinking? In my 3+ years of living here I've yet to ride it, but know that when I do I will purchase one of the ever-popular "I Rode the S.L.U.T." t-shirts. 

Forget New York - I Love Seattle, or Grass, And the Greenness Thereof

Belated Birthday

Today is the internet's belated birthday, or perhaps more aptly stated anniversary: twenty years ago yesterday the internet was made public. Prior to that, the internet was only available to universities and the like. Now anyone can use it. What an adventurous twenty years it's been.

I remember fifteen or so years ago my grandmother told me she didn't think I should ever use it. Apparently she had heard a television pastor describe all the evils available on the internet. Indeed, the internet, like everything, has its share of problems. That being said, in the words of Lisa Simpson, "The internet is more than a global pornography hub."

The internet has changed nearly every aspect of our life. Commerce, communication, information - where would all these things be if it weren't for the internet? It's made the world a little bit smaller. If I want to buy something from a gentleman who lives in Florida or find out the weather in Zimbabwe*, I can do that. The days of having to search through stacks of books are over!

It's not entirely happy: I do miss letters, and nothing can compare to a real face-to-face conversation. With the rapid evolution that has been occurring, there are a lot of questions about the future of customer service, publishing, and the like. But new things necessarily change (though hopefully don't eradicate) the old.

Ultimately, age doesn't matter. I mean, next year the internet can haz beerz, but otherwise nothing changes. It's just another day, where you are sitting somewhere far or near, nigh magically reading the words I write at far more than a juvenile 56kbps.

*All four of the places currently reporting to Weather Underground are at 57 degrees.

Today is the internet's belated birthday, or perhaps more aptly stated anniversary: twenty years ago yesterday the internet was made public. Prior to that, the internet was only available to universities and the like. Now anyone can use it. What an adventurous twenty years it's been.

I remember fifteen or so years ago my grandmother told me she didn't think I should ever use it. Apparently she had heard a television pastor describe all the evils available on the internet. Indeed, the internet, like everything, has its share of problems. That being said, in the words of Lisa Simpson, "The internet is more than a global pornography hub."

The internet has changed nearly every aspect of our life. Commerce, communication, information - where would all these things be if it weren't for the internet? It's made the world a little bit smaller. If I want to buy something from a gentleman who lives in Florida or find out the weather in Zimbabwe*, I can do that. The days of having to search through stacks of books are over!

It's not entirely happy: I do miss letters, and nothing can compare to a real face-to-face conversation. With the rapid evolution that has been occurring, there are a lot of questions about the future of customer service, publishing, and the like. But new things necessarily change (though hopefully don't eradicate) the old.

Ultimately, age doesn't matter. I mean, next year the internet can haz beerz, but otherwise nothing changes. It's just another day, where you are sitting somewhere far or near, nigh magically reading the words I write at far more than a juvenile 56kbps.

*All four of the places currently reporting to Weather Underground are at 57 degrees.

Belated Birthday

Back in Blackberry

Growing up in Pennsylvania, yards, fields, and other open spaces were overrun by dandelions and a large broad-leafed plant which we called "doc." In Seattle, we have far fewer dandelions. We have the equisetum, the always pernicious English ivy, and blackberries. Blackberries, unlike any of the others, are a great problem to have.

This year has been unseasonably cold. I mean, we've broken 80 a few times, but only for a matter of hours total throughout the summer. Personally I don't mind at all, though it has slowed the ripening of the blackberries. They hang green in large clusters, teasing the patient pickers.

On Friday of last week I was making a trip to Lowe's. I live at the top of the hill, and Lowe's is at the bottom, so I opted for walking over my beloved public transit. I've been keeping a list of blackberry spots and checking their progress. A Lowe's trip has me walking past two of my documented locations.

As I walk past the one, I notice the residents have trimmed the bushes back. They're there, but many berries died. Though it was the responsible thing to do, it makes me sad. At the second spot, dozens of bushes growing on and hanging from trees creates a large green wall, as lush as any rain forest but well within Seattle city limits. A few berries have pink cheeks, an encouraging sign of development. Suddenly something catches my eye - could it be?

The world around me collapses, as I see a deep, nigh-black berry. It's that irresistible shade of purple. Yes, it's there. The first of the season. I can hardly keep from whimpering in my excitement.

I reach out and take hold of the berry. A bit firm still, but it's early (for this year). I need only give it a small tug to release it from it's faunal shackles, at which point it is immediately sentenced to death by mastication, followed shortly by a guttural burial.

Oh delicious berry. Being early, it was not overwhelmingly sweet, but the flavor was still remarkable. It made me want to eat more, even if that meant eating what was green. Fortunately I resisted. The berry, ironically enough, reminded me more of the blackberry tones I would expect from a Pinot Noir than an actual blackberry, which is a beautiful thing.

Yesterday, on my way to the laundromat, I again passed the blackberry barricade, which this time contained far more ripe berries. Some were spectacular, while others were merely delicious. I caught myself on a few thorns, but ultimately that was worth it.

Growing up in Pennsylvania, yards, fields, and other open spaces were overrun by dandelions and a large broad-leafed plant which we called "doc." In Seattle, we have far fewer dandelions. We have the equisetum, the always pernicious English ivy, and blackberries. Blackberries, unlike any of the others, are a great problem to have.

This year has been unseasonably cold. I mean, we've broken 80 a few times, but only for a matter of hours total throughout the summer. Personally I don't mind at all, though it has slowed the ripening of the blackberries. They hang green in large clusters, teasing the patient pickers.

On Friday of last week I was making a trip to Lowe's. I live at the top of the hill, and Lowe's is at the bottom, so I opted for walking over my beloved public transit. I've been keeping a list of blackberry spots and checking their progress. A Lowe's trip has me walking past two of my documented locations.

As I walk past the one, I notice the residents have trimmed the bushes back. They're there, but many berries died. Though it was the responsible thing to do, it makes me sad. At the second spot, dozens of bushes growing on and hanging from trees creates a large green wall, as lush as any rain forest but well within Seattle city limits. A few berries have pink cheeks, an encouraging sign of development. Suddenly something catches my eye - could it be?

The world around me collapses, as I see a deep, nigh-black berry. It's that irresistible shade of purple. Yes, it's there. The first of the season. I can hardly keep from whimpering in my excitement.

I reach out and take hold of the berry. A bit firm still, but it's early (for this year). I need only give it a small tug to release it from it's faunal shackles, at which point it is immediately sentenced to death by mastication, followed shortly by a guttural burial.

Oh delicious berry. Being early, it was not overwhelmingly sweet, but the flavor was still remarkable. It made me want to eat more, even if that meant eating what was green. Fortunately I resisted. The berry, ironically enough, reminded me more of the blackberry tones I would expect from a Pinot Noir than an actual blackberry, which is a beautiful thing.

Yesterday, on my way to the laundromat, I again passed the blackberry barricade, which this time contained far more ripe berries. Some were spectacular, while others were merely delicious. I caught myself on a few thorns, but ultimately that was worth it.

Back in Blackberry