“But when Champagne arrived, we pulled our heads off each others’ shoulders, same height we were, and her mouth was upon me, a black hole approaching. Our teeth clicked at each other, and she breathed into me. There was so much moisture! I found myself flying quickly around her mouth, a bat scanning the walls. As food stuck between molars makes explorers of tongues, the tongue becoming topographer and ever canker sore a ridge of saw-toothed mountains, so did my tongue become the mapmaking conquistador of Mary-Kate’s dark wet mouth. I knew its crevices, its stalactites and stalagmites, the smooth runs of the tops of her flat back teeth. I fought for dominion wit her tongue, which probed my mouth while guarding her own. After thirty seconds, having explored her mouth’s offered worlds, I want farther and soon could feel the extremities of her brain, could tickle its smooth underside. I scuttled around the back of her skull, was pinballing between cartilage and capillary, then up again, devouring and searching, her eyes like marbles in my mouth. That reminded me: I opened my lids to see if hers were open too but they were not, they were closed but just barely, lips resting softly atop mine, and so I closed my lids too and went farther into her, into her center, and there, finally, I found her landscape. It was dark where she was and I could see almost nothing, doubted what I knew, but I did make out her winding river, a thin and clear one, warm from the day’s sun, and then her cluster of a dozen or so small hills, and at their base was her tall white home, clean and fair in the spotlight of a three-quarter moon, illuminated within by a hundred tall thin candles.”—Dave Eggers, You Shall Know Our Velocity
I’ve been fairly tight-lipped on this topic recently, and it’s because I wanted to make sure I told people first before mass-announcing.
The Change Companies, a publisher in Carson City, Nevada, offered me a position with them as a writer/designer this week. They flew me out for an interview, and so I spent parts of Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday interacting with them.
I’m taking the job. I start in the first half of November, so that means I’ll be moving to Nevada within the next few weeks.
It’s a big change, and I’m still kind of in shock about the whole thing, but I’m also really excited. Wish me luck!
It’s either going to be an iPhone or a Palm Pre. What I want to know is - well, which one is better for what I’m going to be using it?
Right now it’s like the decision I went through at age 12 - do I buy a Playstation, because it’s been around and has a lot more games, or do I get an N64 because the hardware has more capabilities?
The Pre is the N64. Not that the graphics are better, but there is a full keyboard and a lot of the same functionality is there. Trouble is, iPhone has all the apps and it’s guaranteed to survive. I might not be able to do a lot of writing on-the-go, but I might get more out of it in the long run.
I went to go see Where the Wild Things Are today at 1:45 at my local theater.
I’m not a WTWTA fanboy, and though my mom tells me I loved the book, when I was growing up I remember appreciating the story for what it was and not much more. When I was a kid, I didn’t relate to rebelliousness. I wasn’t starved for attention. The character of Max wasn’t really my kind of protagonist. And while it was cool that a forest grew in a kid’s room and he sails to a distant land (in and out of days) where he finds this group of things roaring and gnashing their teeth, I felt like there could have been more than just three or four pages of the things engaged in various activities until Max sends them off to bed without supper and decides he wants to go home. For all the ruckus about the wild things, I thought, when it comes down to it they’re really rather boring and not a satisfying escape at all. Even as a little kid I was critiquing stories.
The movie changes all that. The film, rather, written by Spike Jonze and Dave Eggers, turns that part of the story, the escape - into a meaty world and gives these previously unnamed and uncharacterized “wild things” names and personalities. The foremost of these is Carol (a dude), who is the largest and roundest of them all, as well as the most temperamental. Carol acts as a reflection of Max’s more base emotions, and it’s through this lens that we start to see all of the other wild things as children themselves.
The creatures are believable - not believable looking, but believable. The relationships are real. The conflicts are ongoing and lifelike. And it seems we, as viewers, are always given some reason to fear for Max. These creatures aren’t always so friendly, and even friendships aren’t sacred. There’s an ominous undercurrent throughout the whole film, especially regarding these beasts and their island. Yet you, as Max does, start to love them unconditionally.
I really enjoyed this film. I cried at the end. Twice. I think you become aware of how much a thing touches you when someone else is dissimilarly effected. For example:
Walking out of the theater a young couple with two little girls were ahead of me.
"It was really good," the little girl said.
"It was better when it was over," the father said. He hurried outside to make a phone call.
Also, I’m enjoying Bored to Death, which stars Jason Schwartzman in a role he’s actually fit for. He plays the writer Jonathan Ames, who lists himself as a private detective on Craig’s List. Well-written and smart. Also, Zach Galifianakis is amazing as Schwartzman’s neurotic best friend. Sort of the Jeff to Larry’s character on Curb.
First time in history an ad on Craig’s List (in particular) was the linchpin of an entire television series. Gotta be.
This is my 6 word autobiography. I think it does a pretty good job of explaining myself. I’ve heard some pretty good ones from others, would love to hear some more. Explain yourself in 6 words exactly. hoorah!
Here’s one. Mine sucks. I will continue until I have found the perfect six words.
Long drive, no music. Should have bought headphones at CVS. Where are your last headphones? Left them in Michigan. What good are they doing you there? Quiet down, we don’t have any. No music. That’s okay, silence breeds creativity. Rush Limbaugh, get your voice out of my head. Stop with the trying to find music, we’re in Mississippi and this is not the place for your kind of jam. Besides. Book titles. Let’s think of book titles, because that’s the most important thing right now, right? Kind of. I mean, we’re getting close to finishing part one of five of the book, right? Yeah pretty close. Minus about two weeks of rewriting and editing not to mention you wanted to finish the second and third parts before the first part goes to press, didn’t you? Yeah. Also you’re going to have to lay it out while you’re doing that, and while you’re trying to get a job and do logos and do all your other kind of stuff, right? Yeah. And you’re living with your parents again, right? Stop it. Okay, okay. Close your eyes and imagine…Imagine this picture by James Roper. You’ll see it later on today when you get online hit that Stumble button. After the flat tire, before the sleep.
Whoa.Okay, book titles. Book titles book titles book titles…Blood Rising. No. Bloodflight, all one word. No. There’s a book called that about pigeon racing or something. Planet of Blood. No - horror movie from 1966. Try using words from other parts of the book. Yeah, okay. But Garn sounds stupid. Am I really going to name the planet Garn? I don’t know man. I don’t like half of the words I make up to describe stuff. Klar. That could be something. This isn’t helping. Blood Reaping? A fantasy, man - not a horror book. Oh no no no. You’re going to get all the way there and it’s still just going to be Untitled Bruce and Adam Holwerda Novel Project, isn’t it, even on the cover, in some heavy comic type display font? And each of the five books has to have a subtitle, too, doesn’t it? Yeah. Oh man. Go to sleep. No, you.
“Moments later a man’s giant head pokes into the cylinder. It is like some deep sea creature. A jellyfish, or an octopus. Some of it is glowing. Its eyes (does it have eyes?) are dark and bulging, and veins all over it are standing out. I think it might pop.”—Oh hey I just finished writing this really weird story.
“I went on to describe what I call “Dimensional Plagiarism.” Here is the premise: Were we to accept what we accepted earlier, that every universe is simply one possible iteration of an infinite amount of parallelisms, it stands to reason that every writer, composing a work of seeming originality, is simply a fraud. The works of Shakespeare were written by someone else in some other universe before our version of the man was born. Every possible combination of words, every story, poem, novel that could ever exist - has already been created in some other world. Dickens, Joyce, Hemingway. All hacks, plagiarizing from the aether. By this count even I am a fraud.”—Gordon Brick, a writer I imagined.
“As for myself: I had come to the conclusion that there was nothing sacred about myself or about any human being, that we were all machines, doomed to collide and collide and collide. For want of anything better to do, we became fans of collisions. Sometimes I wrote well about collisions, which meant I was a writing machine in good repair. Sometimes I wrote badly, which meant I was a writing machine in bad repair. I no more harbored sacredness than did a Pontiac, a mousetrap, or a South Bend Lathe.”—Vonnegut, Breakfast of Champions. Page 224.
Here's what I dreamed just now. I cut my right middle finger off at the knuckle and replaced it with my left index finger, which I also cut off at the knuckle. The middle finger I put on backwards.
It could bend back and forward, and my whole hand started doing that. Then somehow I discovered a new way to type, in which a certain hand position and location would make a certain letter - I just had to learn which was which.
Also, Optimus Prime crash-landed into the movie theater where I was trying to watch some movie.
I hope it wasn’t Transformers 2, because I’d be ashamed if even my dream self thought that was worth paying money for.