A momentous day for me

I got paid to write something. I was asked to write a short piece on an upcoming play for Seven Days. It's just 400 words, and edited by others, and I really didn't think I would get paid for it. But today I was given a surprise check.

I am a paid writer. I never thought it would happen.

Also, I'm hungover today. I guess it just goes with the territory.

Another author leaves us

R.I.P. J. G. Ballard

We were just kids

running through the jocular rain,
climbing a slow and creeping vine,
songs against my ears
eager and witty with hilarity
off-the-wall neon voice,
moving, making, massive
or in a place unknown.
space and time raging within
yawning, yearning, there for me
a present yearning of my soul,
a passing or a promise,
angles and lines are beautiful to me,
no dumbing, just funning,
escape--easy or true, i'm with you.

Blog Love

benchly'sword is a fellow blogger currently in Vermont who was kind enough to link to my site. Any reference to the Algonquin Round Table is always appreciated.

Jon Stewart at UVM

I won't post everything here that I write for Blurt over at Seven Days, but I'm particularly proud of this one, only because I truly love Jon Stewart so much and am so happy that I got to see him the other night.

I kept v. detailed notes from the engagement, so if anyone's ever interested, let me know, and I'll pass them along.

My non-paying gig

That ironically is actually sort of in my area of expertise. I'm now an intern at Seven Days in Burlington. I've written a couple of blog posts for them, but mostly I'll be behind the scenes.

More from the sister

I know I've been quoting her a lot--she might as well be a co-author of the blog at this point--but this is something she said to me a few years ago, and it keeps popping up in my head lately:

Our conveniences aren't conveniences; they're fucking burdens and constraints. When did man sacrifice depth of consciousness for processed, pre-sliced cheese?

You're not a writer

Last night I was chatted up in a bar by some dude. Yes, I appreciate socializing, but this person was just lame. After he found out I majored in English, he started talking about characters and writing and how he'd like to write something someday. Two sentences later he also used the line, 'I'm a student of life.'

Do I even have to comment that this was a horrible conversation? Let me begin with the most important point: Wake up, people. Not everyone is a writer; not everyone can do it; it's not as easy as you think. Let it go, do what you are actually good at, and leave the writing to those who even have a modicum of understanding of the medium and who strive and sweat and laugh and cry over the art-form.

And a 'student of life'? Come on. What are you, a 60-year-old hippie? Who, by the way would have way more cause to used that hack cliche than a clueless 20-something. Gain some actual attributes and the proper adjectives to describe them. Not for me, or those who have to talk to you. For yourself, really.

My sister, comedic genius

Me: Josh Lyman on The West Wing is rumored to be based on Rahm Emmanuel.
Sister: Really? Cool.
Me: And his brother Ariel Emmanuel is the inspiration for Ari Gold, Jeremy Piven's character on Entourage.
Sister: And they say Jews don't run the world.

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Me: [at the end of a long rant about Republicans] Why have any government at all? Then there would never be any taxes or spending! Problem solved!
Sister: You have to have the government to stop people from having abortions.

The Other Sunday

The phone never rings on
Sunday, silence and it's
all around, only the radio
playing, and all quiet
above the whispers
and the screams, and on the
refrigerator sits a message.