Jot This Down

I have this problem, although I don’t think of it as being a problem—others do. I buy cool notebooks. Most of them remain blank. It’s not that I don’t have anything to write in them; I’ve got plenty to say. It’s just that I want to make sure that if I write something in a specific notebook that my writing is worthy of being in that particular wonderful notebook. My cool notebooks include a slim, green hardbound notebook that measures about the size of small index card that I bought at a stationers shop somewhere in Ireland. I also have two similar-size notebooks from China that have lightweight brown paper pages but really interesting covers showing ancient Asian scenes and Chinese writing (which probably translates to “notebook”). Any of these smaller notebooks are ideal for making grocery lists or writing reminder notes to myself—but it seems sacrilegious to defile a notebook brought home thousands of miles from a distant land with something as mundane as butter, broccoli, apples, toilet paper, and pasta scrawled in it. I just can’t do it. There are countless other notebooks tucked among books on my bookshelves or stashed in drawers. They’re all blank. Untouched because of my phobia about misusing them. One cool notebook I own is made with the covers of an old hardbound book. I got it from Open Books—an online shop that creatively recycles “vintage books into modern day treasures. Each unique book contains 75+ blank OR lined sheets.” I couldn’t resist adding a notebook they made from a Mitchell Goodman book entitled, “The End of It.” I just couldn’t resist. And yes, it remains unfilled. On the other hand, I do have a notebook I use everyday. Purchased from a local office supply mega-store, my everyday notebook is where I write notes, poems, TO DO lists, short stories, phone numbers, ideas, directions to places, and odd words I want to learn. It has to be spiral bound with the spiral wide enough to accept a slim pen and look professional enough that I could carry it into a business meeting. The notebook has to be lined and the paper has to be heavy enough so there’s no bleed through when I use a rollerball or fountain pen. The ideal size is approximately 8- x 6-inches. For me this is the utilitarian, go-to notebook where I can collect the stuff of my life, much like the kitchen junk drawer. Unlike notebooks from high school or college days, my everyday notebook gets filled—cover to cover.

Word of the Hour

The word of current—right now—is: meritocracy. According to Merriam-Webster, it means:

1 : a system in which the talented are chosen and moved ahead on the basis of their achievement

2 : leadership selected on the basis of intellectual criteria

I’ve heard or read the word thrice in the past couple of weeks. Before that, I’m not sure I’ve encountered it at all. Apparently, the term was first used in Michael Young's 1958 book Rise of the Meritocracy, where it was intended to be pejorative. His book is set in a dreary, dismal future in which one's social place is determined by IQ plus effort.

Nouveau Pauvre

A new class in class-free America has emerged: The Nouveau Pauvre or New Poor. Unemployed, underemployed, those with rolled-back salaries, workers with forced, unpaid furlough days. The American Dream turns into the American Nightmare. Bedrock chipped away. Life savings diminish quickly. Personal net-worth is a joke with plummeted home values, decreased stock portfolios, personal property and collectibles at Craig’s List worth… even the bank passbook savings account yields are just slightly better than cash under the mattress. America’s New Poor are stuck, shafted, and trapped in a box. Very little wiggle room. Disenfranchised Nouveau Pauvre are everywhere… eyes down, shoulders rounded, wearing the same clothes, tapping into remnant 401k accounts to supplement weekly unemployment checks, and applying for the few jobs as collections agents, delinquent accounts reps, contract repo thieves, and clerical posts with bankruptcy law offices. Be proud all ye Nouveau Pauvre…your security, plans, and hope will continue to disappear, but your numbers will grow.

How to be Happy

Did you know there is a sizable bunch of comic strips you can follow online? O.K. maybe you knew that already, but I didn't until now. I guess I assumed that with the demise of newspapers that comic strips had... I don't know, sort of faded away. The nice thing about being online is that one can click back to previous strips if the story line is lost. That feature is good for the deep thinker, as well as those with attention spans of a gnat.

Show Me Kneck

Vampires. What’s the allure? Is the female neck that ignored that the thought of a guy – albeit a dead guy – staring longing at a woman’s neck become that much of a turn on? Could the regular breath-out-breath-in living push vampires off the I-get-tingles-just-thinking-about-it list if only they paid more attention to the female neck? Imagine men bypassing the sensual female curves and bee-lining it to the neck. Would you hear guys crudely yelling to women: “Hey baby, show me some neck?” Would turtleneck shirts take on a whole new level of modesty? Would parking and necking take on new meaning? I’m clearly not understanding something that’s visceral and fundamental to women with respect to this whole yearning to be seduced and bitten by a vampire. Could someone please wipe this thick-tongue, duh? look off my face by explaining what I don’t get.

Good Tunes

Your ears will thank you for Bean Hoy’s Get Lost: The Studio J Sessions. The music sounds like Mark Knopler of Dire Straits if he were dropped in the Caribbean with the mandate to record an album. What’s refreshing about the album are the song lyrics that are clever and learned. This is the third Bean Hoy CD and it features the current Milwaukee-based group lineup of bandleader Mike Starling with Jared Drake, Bob Mueller and Tom Plutshack. The first Bean Hoy CD is Boys Can't Be Trusted, features the La Crosse-based version of Bean Hoy and the second recording, Cool Music for a Big Dumb World, is mostly a Mike Starling solo effort. The Studio J in The Studio J Sessions refers to the band’s rehearsal space.

Beautiful Rain

ahhhhhhhh a wonderful rainy morn with just enough chill in the air. Woke this morning with a hankering for a raisin bran muffin. Slipped on pants -- commando -- and slipped on my slip-on shoes, sockless and Labowskied my way across the street to the lame-ass bakery with emo-girl who asked the same lame-ass question she always asks in her sullen voice: "Do you want anything?" Yep, I'd like a half-dozen Camus and a couple of those Paul Sartres. She looked at me confused and then as though I had expectorated over my Irv the Workingman's Friend t-shirt (Irv's south side shop filled with work clothes and guy sundries, all at reasonable prices, has long closed). I pointed to the one, lone brown muffin among the happy lemon puffs and blueberry explosions and said I'd take it before it's shellacked and becomes someone's paperweight. Another confused look from miss pierced face. Oh, that's right... there are no things as paperweights in her Facebook-text-messaging world. She drops the brown muffin into the brown bag and charges me $1.89. I shuffle back home to hot coffee and open the window enough to hear the comforting sound of traffic through rain-puddled water.