A photo + a quote = a post

Above all, do not lose your desire to walk: every day I walk myself into a state of well-being and away from every illness; I have walked myself into my best thoughts, and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it… – Søren Kierkegaard

So this is why these are called the “dog days”…

…because you feel like the laziest dog on earth!

If you want to move, better do it early in the morning or just before the sun goes down, or else it will be too Hot! Hot! Hot! (which is only fun in a pop song).

You won’t feel like doing the things you need to do (like write a new blog post to maintain your monthly quota), and you won’t feel like doing the things you want to do, either (like go to the café for an afternoon croissant and Chardonnay).

You want to spend all day in an eggshell filled with water.

You question why summer is your favorite season.

You will miss this time when the next chilly, rainy day comes along.

You will stop writing this to watch the sun set.

Fear not profanity

This is the essay about "strong language" that I promised in the last post. I originally wrote it for the This I Believe program on NPR – which is why there is no actual profanity within.

* * *

I believe that it’s long past time for people to get over their squeamishness over words. Especially the words I can’t write in this newspaper.

A writer should not be afraid to use all of the words in the vocabulary toolbox – and that includes profanity, when appropriate for the character, setting, genre, and market. Sometimes, words like “nonsense,” “jerk,” “harridan,” and “make whoopee” don’t pack the needed punch. Try using these instead of the profane words and listen to the difference.

One of the canards that I despise is “if a writer has enough imagination, he shouldn’t have to resort to profanity.” That is such a can of succotash on so many levels.

First, it’s the character who’s doing the swearing, not the writer. I rarely curse in my real life, but I happily let some of my characters let rip. Do you think that, say, Dean Koontz is a homicidal maniac?

People who say that profanity and imagination don’t mix are only putting a guilt trip on writers because of their own discomfort with certain words. It’s easier to point the finger at the writer – “How dare you use those words!” – instead of yourself: “I just don’t like seeing those words in print.” But when you conclude, “I don’t think anyone else should see those words in print, either,” you have crossed a line that makes me stand up to fight, because your rights end where my pages begin.

One of the most wildly imaginative writers I’ve ever read is Harlan Ellison. In both his fiction and non-fiction, he takes the reader to unearthly worlds of terror, absurdity, and delight, his words spinning dizzily in a fractal explosion. And he’s not afraid of the judicious use of profanity. On the flip side, you can go to any bookstore in the country and find prose as flat as a can of Pepsi left opened on the dock from sunup to sundown -- but it’s A-OK to some of you out there, because it’s free of that awful profanity.

For those who say that profanity is the proof of a dull mind, I give you Quentin Tarantino and his screenplay Pulp Fiction, in which the profanity adds flavor to the prose like Lawry’s seasoned salt does with white rice. For those who believe that cursing just sounds ugly, open your mind and taste the tart hard candies that shoot from Steve Buscemi’s mouth in Fargo.

“But what about the kids?” you ask. What about them? The material mentioned above isn’t meant for them. And if your kids are eight years old or over, it’s too late anyway. They’ve already learned all the profanity they need to know in the schoolyard. Or at home.

And these are only words. Words that float in the air and feel like nothing. They are not fists. Not guns. Not bombs. Do you really think that a rapped profanity drifting out of a driver’s car window is going to scar your children for life?

Grow up. Please.

Does my vocabulary suck?

The difference between the words I use when I talk and the words I use when I think is similar to the difference between a genteel talk show airing early in the morning on PBS and a reality show in which the grand prize is dating a Z-level celebrity on VH1.

While I give the words in my mouth a security check before I let them out of my mouth, my mind is far more spontaneous. For example, if I hear something as obvious as the I.Q. of someone who would wear a hat with teabags dangling from the brim (aside: what a waste of tea bags!), I think: No shit, Sherlock! I don’t think a day goes by without my synapses going, NS, S! – but I have never said it out loud. (I think.)

I also have the same relationship with the word sucks, as in something being notably subpar (not something engaged in the act of suction). The words That sucks! pop into my head like toaster pastries whenever I am in stuck in glue-speed traffic, listening to a stultifying lecture, or gazing down at a flat iron-less meat section at Ralphs. (If you live in California, Ralphs sells a great flat iron steak.)

I have to admit that I sometimes feel shame for my thoughts. Why? Because as an English major and a (for now) semi-professional writer, I should be able to form thoughts without the use of, um, “strong language”. At this point, my rational side will stand up and scold me for taking the cursing-is-a-sign-of-an-unimaginative-mind canard seriously. (I wrote an essay about cursing a few years ago – maybe that will be my next post.)

Just what is wrong in thinking, or even saying, the word sucks if it fits? As the T-shirt from the 80s said, poverty sucks. So does war, fundamentalist religion, abuse, and rotting shellfish. What is wrong in thinking or saying No shit, Sherlock! if someone on the radio says, “Consumers lack confidence due to uncertainty over the economy,” or, “Fried Twinkies are a uniquely American treat.”

If the word fits, use it!

Look for inspiration, not mere information

Alexandra Stoddard , one of my most-trusted wisdom brokers, wrote this in her book You Are Your Choices (Chapter 5, “Information Is Not Inspiration”):

“One hundred years ago no one could imagine the flood of information that would be available today. You could drown in it if you’re not careful. The Information Age first dawned in the 1970s. An abundant amount of publications were available, along with manipulation of information. Through the use of computers and the Internet, we can learn about anything we choose to know. We can collect facts and data in an endless stream. The Internet is limitless; it is overwhelming. . . .

Bob O’Brien, a prize-winning journalist and writer, advised me when I first began to write not to read the newspaper before I began my work. The human mind has limits to how much it can absorb. We can know everything, but not know anything about how to live. We have to be careful not to clog our minds with bad news that cannot inspire.”

The Huffington Post is at the top of my news bookmarks. I pay a visit nearly every day. But recently, I do not stay as long as I used to, mainly because (with few exceptions) it is filled with “bad news that cannot inspire”, celebrity “news” that cannot inform, and trivia that does nothing but take time away from the inspiration that I really need. I still admire Arianna Huffington for her political courage and good works, but I must be honest about the site. I do not leave the Huffington Post feeling better about myself and my world.

Sometimes mere information is helpful – such as knowing if the library is open on Sunday, or mapping out the location of a coffee shop that you’ve wanted to try. Other times it is not helpful, or even worse – when you turn on your local news to learn about the weather, you hear about a murder case that darkens the rest of your day.

The answer may be to ask yourself, before you open a web link:

Is this something I really need to know?

Will I be more inspired, more energized, more hopeful after reading this?

Is this the best use of my precious time?

Don’t get tangled in the briar patch of information – reach for the sweet, healthy fruit of inspiration.

Things I used to think were glamorous

Calgon bath salts
Hollywood (the idea)


Charlie’s Angels
Rhinestones
Perrier
Marina del Rey
Frederick’s of Hollywood
Little guest soaps shaped like roses
Holiday Inn


Shrimp cocktails
Makeup kits with lots of colors
Barbie (and Dawn) in fancy gowns
Beauty pageants
Gigantic mansions
Rodeo Drive
Designer jeans


Shopping malls
André sparkling wine
Mirrored walls
Star sapphire rings
Camay soap
Cosmopolitan magazine


Sizzler restaurant
Day-of-the-week panties
Bubble bath in ersatz champagne bottles
Poodles


Discos
Gold lamé
Glitter
“Beautiful people”
Piaget
Los Angeles magazine
Foreign flags used as decoration (as in the International House of Pancakes)
Air travel


Jockey underwear
Newsstands
Entertainment Tonight
Pat Booth novels
Judith Krantz novels
Being a rock groupie
The Jolly Roger restaurant
VIP rooms
Robinsons-May
Surf and turf


Cookies the size of teacup plates
Long acrylic fingernails
Being a trophy wife
Shoes with pointy toes and heels
White zinfandel


Rembrandt toothpaste
The Hungry Tiger restaurant
Esquire magazine
Sequins
Nightlife
Strawberry daiquiris
Eyeshadow
Tight clothing
Going to Lakers, Kings, and Ducks games
Marrying a professional athlete


Teased hair
Wearing a suit to work every day
Satin shirts worn with high-waisted black pants
Sitting at the bar with “the girls” and gossiping about other people
Ultra-shiny lip gloss
Letting other people tell me what is glamorous
Thinking that good things are out there, far away, and will come someday

Farewell to an old friend – for good

The first Borders bookstore in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Alas, I never got to go there.

Earlier this year, I lamented the loss of two local Borders stores. This week, the shoe has fallen off the other foot.

Borders Stores was unable to find a new investor, and so it will liquidate its assets and go out of business altogether by September 30th.

No more the joy of finding Rewards coupons in my e-mail: 20, 33, or even 40% off regular prices. (Those coupons were why I was able to afford new books, including hardcovers, relatively often.) No more the excitement of dropping by non-local Borders in Mission Valley and Santa Barbara and Westwood and Las Vegas, it was the cherry on top of the sundae called travel. No more the search at the kiosk for my new favorite book. (It’s not always easy to go up to an employee and ask for directions.) How many of the books in my collection were purchased at Borders? I remember every one.

When a small independent bookstore goes out of business, it’s like the fall of a single tree in the forest – a loss to be sure, but the other trees keep the forest strong. Now, a mighty chain – once 1200+ stores strong – is going to disappear. This says something about how we’re reading now.

Last year for my birthday, I received an Amazon Kindle. It has changed my attitude towards books. I have to say that unless a book has color pages (an exception that might go away when I get my iPad), or is unavailable on Kindle, I will probably be spending many more of my book dollars on e-books – perhaps the majority of them. When the independent stores went away, it forced readers to the chains; when the chains go away, more people will choose e-books.

I will never stop reading, of course. The loss of Borders, however, closes the door to a gateway to the magic world of books. That is worth mourning.