Category Archives: Horrible jokes

We Might Not Come Back. Drink Anyway.

I’m moving away, and I’d like to talk about The Tavern.

Scene: Adventurer’s tavern. Night. The bar is full, and the old friends, gather at the same table. Again.

*FELIMIR
Well twas long, long ago, back when the trees were talkin’

KNIGHT FERGUS
T’was only yesterday.

FELIMIR
Yes, yes, I’m getting to it, there’s a formula you know.
Where was I?
A long time ago, long ago, so long ago that no one can remember and no tree can remember and no rock can remember, a place so far away beyon’t that –

KNIGHT FERGUS
It was last night across the river. Now tell the fighty bits.

FELIMIR
Alright, if you’ll have all the heart taken out if it.

Moving is the most stressful thing a human can experience. It’s loss, change, and the elimination of all points of reference. It can also be incredibly rewarding. I’m moving from Oakland, CA to a red state, and true to form, I’m all set to inject drama into this situation where perhaps there was none.

When I left New York, there were parties, yes, but there was also crying, gnashing of teeth, and “don’t go!” conversations.

When I moved from Seattle to San Francisco, only two friends came over to help me load the U-haul. There was no pomp or circumstance. We chatted and taped boxes as though it were any other Saturday afternoon, and parted with a “see ya.”

The lack of drama surprised me a bit.

I don’t typically keep friends for longer than five years. A friend once told me that your friends aren’t people you share values with; they’re the people you do stuff with. That made me think that friendships end because interests change. Another told me that when we move, we create a self-shaped void in the lives of those we left behind — but our life becomes a giant mass of voids (where do I hang out? Where’s the grocery store, place to watch the sun rise? Dojo? Job? Hospital? Coffee shop? Diner?). We get stressed, while everyone else is fine. The world rolls on without us, and the place we left disappears.

The last time I visited familiar places in New York, it felt like wearing a sweater that was too small. License plates were a different color. People had grown physically and emotionally. Items from my childhood that should have been dear sparked nothing in me. I was so unmoored from the things that were supposed to be meaningful that I felt the foundation of my identity crumble.

Because of those experiences, I anticipate losing people as soon as I meet them. The impermanence of relationships looms large in my brain. This fear became self-fulfilling. I freaked out with my New York friends, and tried to keep everything the same with an obsessive fervor. You can guess how badly that ended.

Since that time, I’ve tried to accept that paths diverge. My interests change, so do others’. People drift apart, so that’s ok.

The problem is that I’ve applied the same obsessive fervor to ACCEPTING THAT PATHS DIVERGE so I pull out the scissors as quickly as I once pulled out needle and thread.

It’s not the drifting or the grasping that’s destructive; it’s the fervor. 

Leaving my core group in California will be hard, just like it was hard to leave my core group in New York. These relationships have been special and illuminating — supportive and challenging. They’re all very different people, with different specialties and perspectives I would never have had access to. I felt sad, not that I was going to leave them; but that I was going to lose them.

When I mentioned this to one of them, they responded with an eye-roll.

“I’ve always taken some issue with your idea about paths diverging and not diverging and all that.”

“In what way?”

“In every way. You’ve been asking if we’re about to diverge since the second time we met.”

Even in my writing, the opening paragraph is usually this is the story of how it all went wrong. I’m so scared of the ending that it colors the beginning.

My friend said, “I see us on different adventures, constantly meeting in the tavern between quests, and then setting off on new ones in the morning. You’re my brother forever and I’ve been fucking loving you across the current of you asking me if our paths were diverging for, like, seven years. Calm down.”

Which brings us back to the tavern. It’s got a million names. It’s The Winchester, The Bronze, Ten-Forward, The Hanged Man, Cafe Solstice, Cafe La Boheme. Facebook. Twitter.

“This may be the last time we drink together in this tavern,” Felimir gloomed into his tankard.

“Dude,” said Fergus, “you get like this every time. Drink your fucking mead, we’ll be back in two days. Chill.”

Tomorrow morning we all have to get up and fight dragons, my friend said. I get that we’re all nervous about it, and we all have our own way of coping. Maybe you’re right, and it won’t be the same. That doesn’t mean it’s over. For fuck’s sake, just drink.

Where do you gather with your friends? A living room? A cafe? A chat box, or a number on speed-dial?

Where’s your tavern?

*Excerpt from: The Sorrows, or Deirdre From The Legend Kills Herself In Every Version But That Doesn’t Mean You Always Have To, currently under development through Custom Made Theater’s Undiscovered Works Series.

Free Hugs!

If you’re not familiar with the Escape Artists family of print & podcasts, you should check them out immediately.

Podcastle
Pseudopod
Escape Pod
Cast of Wonders
Mothership Zeta

This fantastic group of human beings bring nothing but love to their work, their authors and narrators, and to listeners and readers. When I found out they also have t-shirts, I had to, um… decorate one. It was too good, and quite frankly, not that far off from what they’re all about. I would have made the letters much messier, but I didn’t want to obscure the logo.

How Editing is Like Hosting a Thanksgiving Dinner

I’m in the midst of preparing menus for two parties. First, an orphan thanksgiving for local friends, and then traveling to a family dinner.

Have you noticed that despite the fact you you celebrate Thanksgiving every year, it’s never the same as last time? Sometimes there’s a little change, like adding a new side dish to the turkey feast; but sometimes there are massive changes.  Maybe you can’t stand turkey anymore and went for Chinese.  The core ideas were the same — family, feasting, gratitude — but you went about it a totally different way.  It’s a lot like re-writing and revising. 

You know the basics of what’s going to happen.  Thanksgiving has traditions and a theme, and your story has traditions and a theme.  The more experience you have planning the party [or re-working the manuscript], the more your skills and confidence will improve.  Change is necessary, and it’s up to you to say what stays and what goes.

Start small.  Tweaking your dialogue is like tweaking a recipe.  Adding a scene is like inviting a new group of people over.  Then move on to the big stuff.  If your manuscript is too long, think of it like cutting your guest list.  You love your writing, like you love your friends and family—but if your friends and family don’t mesh, one of them can’t come to the party.  Don’t be afraid to hurt feelings, or cut things you’re really proud of.  They can always get their own party later.

You owe it to your guests [readers] to make it the most fun, the most touching, and the most memorable party [story] you can.  Now buckle down and do it.

The most difficult thing is the decision to act; the rest is merely tenacity…
— Amelia Earhart

TG

Urban Duck Hunting/Butchering

Things I learned about Ducks today:

1. They enjoy crackers.

2. They will hop out of the water to get to my crackers.

3. They will come within ten inches of me to have first priority with crackers.

4. When I wave my hand to shoo them, they will move their necks back, but not flinch.

5. I do not know how many pounds of pressure it will take to break their neck.

6. The average grip of a female human aged 16-19 is 25-30lbs. Or 57-66lbs.

6.5. The Internet is as reliable as town gossip.

7. The best way to kill the duck is by breaking the neck. This can be done if the bird is held properly. Hold the legs of the duck firmly by the fingers of the left hand. Extend the neck fully so there is no looseness or slack felt in the right hand. The fingers of the right hand are held around the head in such a way that the head can be bent backwards by fingers held under the bill. To kill the bird, the head is bent far back, all the looseness is taken up, and the neck is broken by a strong pull downwards. If this is done properly, you can feel the break in the neck bones.

8. Most articles about butchering fowl agree that you should get a good grip on the legs and the neck, pull the neck back toward the feet and slice the throat.

9. The most specific technique I have found for killing a duck is: “pick up the duck and hang him from a clothesline by the feet and jam a regular boning knife up under the neck towards the back of the head. The idea was to sever the spine and not actually kill the duck.”

10. Another description of note that I wouldn’t have anticipated is: “After decapitation is when I really had to hold on tight, because there was lots of wing flapping which didn’t let up for a minute or so.”

11. Consensus among chefs say that breaking a duck’s neck with your hands is really difficult.

I also learned about bio-mass concentration. If humans put pesticides on the lawn, then the bugs eat the grass, then the fish eat the bugs, then the ducks eat the fish. The ducks still have pesticides in their system that weakens them. Even though there is a skip in their step, a shimmer in their feather, and a wiggle in their butt, they might still have eggs that crack as soon as mama-duck sits on them. All that poison has already killed them from an evolutionary standpoint even though they behave normally.

I thought it would be neat to have captured and killed an aggressive duck all by myself. I would have liked to have held it’s curving neck in my hand like the top of a cane, while its limp body gently bounced against my leg. I would have liked to have people question, “What the hell is that?”

“A duck.”

“Why do you have a dead duck?”

“Because I’m going to eat it.”

Oh well. I’m terribly sorry, Aggressive-Starving-from-The-Fountain-at-the- University-Ducks, your link in the food chain has been erased with no help from me. Good luck to you.

duck