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Wednesday, April 29, 2009 - 23:19:04
Just Ask
At work today, a patron asked me how to spell a couple of words. I always think it’s funny when someone asks me to do that because for someone with a master’s degree in English, I’m a pretty terrible speller. I managed both of today’s words without having to look anything up, which is a nice ego boost, but I’m still surprised when I’m called upon to do it. A few months back, there was a man who used to fairly regularly approach me and ask how to spell different things. One afternoon, he asked how to spell ‘lettuce’ and later ‘cabbage,’ but then things took a darker turn as he asked how to spell ‘alcohol,’ ‘marijuana,’ ‘intoxicated,’ ‘assault,’ and ‘angrify.’ We spelled that last one E-N-R-A-G-E-D. On the one hand, I found this fascinating, like a reverse sort of Mad Lib. I spent most of the afternoon trying to come up with a story that contained all of those words. On the other hand, it would never occur to me to ask a librarian how to spell something. I would ask how to get online so I could look it up, or I would ask where I could find a dictionary, but I wouldn’t take the direct route and just ask the thing I really wanted to know.
Working in a library is interesting because I discovered people call us to find out all kinds of things. When I first got the job, someone called to ask what sort of Easter activities were happening around town, which threw me because I’d just moved and wasn’t familiar with local traditions, but also because if I wanted to know that, I’d probably call any of the local churches, the most relevant city government office I could find in the phone book, or the local newspaper and poll my neighbors before I called the library. Someone recently wanted to know what time a local skating rink opened, which was a much trickier question than it should have been since the rink didn’t feel they should have either an answering machine or a website that gave their hours. A patron who overheard me on the phone actually gave me the answer, for which I’m truly grateful.
When I emailed some friends and mentioned the variety of questions I’d been researching, two of them anonymously called up to ask me: “What does it mean if it burns when I pee?” I stammered a bit, and basically told them what I wanted to tell the lady who brought in her art for us to appraise: Perhaps you should consult a professional. I don’t want to underestimate what I can do with a liberal arts education and the power of the internet, but…
Saturday, April 25, 2009 - 21:01:45
Ladies in Search of a Gimmick
My friend Sherry and I had a plan. Some people hope to make it rich by winning the lottery, but Sherry and I decided to write a series of mysteries. We both read them a lot, so we know the genre. For the type we're planning to write, the kind we've seen in dozens of incarnations all over the library, we need to have a few key things: a spunky heroine, a sassy sidekick (preferably a woman of color or an old lady although in a pinch a slutty friend will do. It helps if the friend in question is rich to finance the heroine's snooping.), at least one hunky love interest--although two is fairly common, and titles that are puns. But mostly, you gotta have a gimmick.
Sherry and I have talked about this quite a bit, especially after we've been shelving because that's usually when we come across books we'd never heard about before. There are quite a few cozy mysteries that are based around the main character's job or hobby. The quirkier the better. We've been keeping a list of unusual themes. So far, we've found the following: Nuns as sleuths, knitters as sleuths, Roman Empire mysteries, Rat Pack mysteries (with titles like Everybody Kills Somebody Sometime and Luck Be a Lady, Don't Die --see what I mean about the titles?), priest mysteries, art therapy mysteries, mystery shopper mysteries, fly fishing mysteries, stand up comedy mysteries, wine lover mysteries (the most recent of which is entitled Corked by Cabernet), and home renovation mysteries.
It's kind of mind blowing, and sometimes when Sherry comes across something unusual, like the book that somehow involves both murder and award winning preserves classified as "a home crafting mystery," she'll leave it on my desk for me to find. It's always quite a treat. The problem was if we were going to write our own series, it would be best to stake out our own unique niche that no one else has used yet. Sherry told me that she used to make false teeth for a living, and we thought there might be something there. But it turns out there is already a dentist themed series on the market. I do a little yoga, but there are a few of those out there as well.
There are some other possibilities we haven't researched fully. I used to work as a Sno-Fun girl making shaved ice treats in a gas station. Sherri used to work in customer service for Wal-Mart, and I'm sure there's a book or three in that, although I'm not sure any of them would be mysteries. Maybe the mystery of why someone thinks they have the right to return a phone they bought a year ago from an entirely different retail chain, but that's more of a character driven type story. Perhaps we could write some sort of travel mysteries, which would allow us to see the world in the name of "research," but something tells me that if we've already got Sudoku mysteries (and we do), then someone's probably already thought of that scam.
Still, we daydreamed about the project off and on until we made two recent discoveries:
(1) Sherry pulled a novel about an army brat family since she grew up in one of those. It was one of her last remaining ideas, and it's been taken.
(2) I read a review of a mystery that centers around a former dancer turned "cruise entertainment director."
At this point, I'm not sure there's any subject that hasn't already been mined. We may have to give up our dream. The good news is, soon we'll be able to buy lottery tickets.
Sunday, April 19, 2009 - 23:46:03
Best Seat in the House
I went to Pub or Perish last night. I thought I was there early enough, but I didn't see any seats available. After loitering around for a few minutes, I saw some guys get up and leave, so I casually wandered over to their table. I put my hand on the back of one of the chairs at about the same time that an older lady came up and did the same thing.
We smiled shyly at each other, and she asked, "Oh! Are you sitting here?"
I admitted that I'd been thinking about it, but the lady, whose name is Ann, agreed that since we'd both come alone, we'd just sit together. We chatted a bit, and when another lady sidled up to our table, Ann asked if she was looking for a place to sit. She offered our extra seat, adding, "We just met!" When she said it, the arrangement seemed like a such a lark.
Now, I knew that the other lady was Dorothy Allison, the author of Bastard Out of Carolina which has led to my mild 5 year obsession with the idea of people washing their hair in baby urine, but Ann didn't. Dorothy introduced herself and we shook hands all around. I didn't know what to say, really, but Ann talked about some of the panels she'd seen earlier and eventually we chatted pretty companionably. At some point, it came out that our newest tablemate was a writer who would be reading that night. Ann asked me if I'd known that, and I admitted that I'd read one of her books.
We ordered food. Lots of people came over to introduce themselves to Dorothy, and every time she introduced me and Ann. I found it both embarrassing and a little thrilling because I felt like a total fraud sitting there as if I knew or had some connection to Ms. Allison.
I spent about 20 minutes having an inner debate with myself, but I finally took a deep breath and asked the pee question.
Friday, April 17, 2009 - 18:21:13
Geeking Out
I love a festival, but a literary festival is particularly exciting for me because I studied creative writing in grad. school. And grad. school is kind of a funny place where you can immerse yourself in a community where the things you care about become very big and important. I actually love talking to people who study things outside my field and are as obsessed with their own subjects as I am with mine. I used to watch CSI with my roommate who was getting her Ph.D. in chemistry because I liked it when she geeked out on the science of the show. I adore it when people tell, like, math or philosophy jokes because it just hints at an entire culture I hadn't previously known about complete with its own language, its own conflicts, and its own celebrities. I find that fascinating.
But, obviously, I'm part of my own group of people for whom writers are basically rock stars and people laugh at jokes about post-modernism and Foucault because that's the kind of geek I am. When I heard Tobias Wolf read and hung around to get him to sign his book for me, I got really nervous and worried so much about not making an ass of myself that I actually just stood mutely until I had to tell him my name, which took me two tries to get right. So, I wasn't an ass, but I was a big weirdo, making that whole situation a push basically. Last year, I saw Brad Land at the Arkansas Literary Festival and considered yelling, "I love you!" That isn't really true, of course, because what I actually mean is: I loved your book, and your hair is really dreamy.
That might have been an acceptable thing to say, but I was manning a booth and didn't feel like I could chase him down to say that. Instead, I yelled--and this is true--"Nice sweater!" I did mean it. It was a vintage-looking maroon Izod cardigan that looked very nice on him. He smiled and said, "Thanks!" as he headed out of the tent. You guys, I'm totally lame.
Still, I'm very excited about the Arkansas Literary Festival this weekend. I'm working Saturday, so I'll be missing some good talks, which sucks. I did check out a panel this afternoon, and I'm looking forward to Pub or Perish tomorrow night. My friend Jay and I have a running debate about Dorothy Allison's Bastard Out of Carolina because for some reason I thought it was going to be a funny, lighthearted read, which made the actual story that much more devastating as I read about Bone's abusive upbringing. But Jay always points out the part in the book where they talk about washing a woman's hair in baby pee to make it shiny, saying, "Come on, that's hilarious!" I suppose it might also be a handy household hint, but I've never tried it. I'd like to hear her read, and maybe, if the opportunity presents itself, I'll ask the top five questions I have about the collection and usage of an infant's urine.
I'm also looking forward to Wells Tower because I read an article in Poets and Writers about how he was a carnie for a week and then ran away from the circus. Awesome. I hear his book is great, too, but he had me at "ex-carnie." In tenth grade, our journalism teacher sent us to the fair to conduct interviews. I talked to a guy who told me his name was One Ball, and while I had a lot of questions about that, none of them seemed fit for a high school newspaper. Plus, I was scared. The only good quote I got was from another student named Travis Blakeney, who proudly told me, "Yeah...I touched a goat." If the circus is anything like the fair, running away seems like a smart move.
If that angle didn't hook me, this quote from a NY Times article on Tower would: "[F]or subsequent pieces he immersed himself in the disparate worlds of New Orleans voodoo, interstate truckers, a Pentecostal preacher, professional miniature golf players, compulsive gamblers and Wal-Mart workers." You can read the entire piece here.
I'm looking forward to geeking out this weekend, and maybe I'll even manage to say something as witty and charming as "Nice sweater!"
Sunday, April 05, 2009 - 15:19:00
Milk and Mustaches
Reading a television blog, I found out the newest episode of the TBS comedy My Boys had a subplot that involved a mustache growing contest. Have you ever seen guys do this? I have. I met two guys at a party who were two weeks into just such a competition, and the results were fairly skeevy looking. Then again, if you’re the kind of guy who’s willing to competitively grow facial hair, I’m guessing you’re not terribly vain. I found the look distracting, but I talked to them both anyway because I found what they were doing completely fascinating.
This type of weird, perhaps slightly misplaced creativity is something I love about guys. I consider myself a creative person in some ways, but I’m stunned that someone came up with such an idea. Who? How? Why? Some ideas just strike me as something only a guy would come up with like my friends’ Rube Goldberg project in college or books like Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and How to Survive a Robot Uprising. There’s also a contest some guys I know call The Race to the Bottom, where one tries to say something so disgusting that everyone else is too busy trying to suppress their gag reflex to top it. When a young guy I know told me about a milk chugging contest, I was shocked because I don’t know any woman who would even imagine such a thing, let alone compete.
“That’s disgusting!” I told him. “Why would anyone do that?” Obviously, you’d do it to win, but the fact that I didn’t understand that is why I’d never orchestrated one. All I focused on were the unpleasant elements, and winning—not prize money mind you, but the satisfaction of beating someone else and the pride that comes from being awarded a made up title—meant less to me than the general pleasures of not throwing up.
I accidentally stumbled upon the contest as it was happening. I noticed a crowd and walked over to see what was going on. In the middle of a circle of guys, two dudes faced off, each holding a gallon of whole milk and a trash bag. The rules were simple: they had an hour to drink, and whoever drank the most in that time period or didn’t throw up first was the winner.
I sidled up to my friend. “I can’t believe this,” I said, but he shrugged it off. I stayed, checking out the scene for a few minutes. Then I thought: I can’t believe I’m even watching this. I should go. I should definitely go.
But I couldn’t. The concept was gross, but it was also compelling. At first glance, it’s not that exciting. It’s the psychology of it that kept me riveted. The guys sized each other up like in a Wild West shoot out. Each of them was trying to figure out how much the other guy’d had. Who was ahead? How much did he have to do to stay ahead without risking becoming sick? There were a lot of factors to balance, which made each gulp seem important. In the crowd, we analyzed their body language, looking for signs that one of them might be close to breaking.
I realized part of me was waiting for someone to throw up. I wasn’t comfortable with knowing that about myself, and I wanted to leave more than ever. But I’d managed to get sucked and now I felt the urge to see it through. I stayed for maybe fifteen minutes. I made a little idle conversation with the boys around me, hoping to mask my interest in the main event. Then, the competitor closest to me put his milk down and grabbed the trash bag with both hands. The second I saw his shoulders hunch, the whole thing lost its mesmerizing hold on me. I left quickly because even though I’d been waiting for it to happen, I didn’t want to watch.
There’s nothing particularly redeeming about such a contest. I’m pretty sure the winner is no better off for having participated in it, and I’m certainly not a better person for having witnessed it. But there’s something intriguing about the fact that someone even imagined such a thing. Maybe guys do this all the time, but it’s new to me. I generally have a higher tolerance and greater appreciation for ideas that don’t involve vomit, which is why experimenting with creative facial hair or inserting zombies into classic literature is preferable. Still, I love those moments when I’m hanging out with my guy friends, where I feel like I get a glimpse of how their minds work in ways mine never would. It’s amazing.
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