Mainstream Smut & the Future of Cooperation Between Legacy Publishers and E-Books

Bizarre, Book Reviews, Books, Business, News, Writing, , , , , , , , , , , ,

There’s a book story that’s been making the rounds lately. It’s a book called Fifty Shades of Grey by E.L. James (a pseudonym). It started out as an ebook and then went through a huge bidding war before it was bought by a major publishing house. It’s been compared to the Harry Potter series and the Hunger Games series, which is why the big bidding war took place. But the history of this book is a little, well, um, interesting.

You see, the book isn’t a young adult book. It’s an adult book. A very adult book. It’s basically a book about bondage and discipline, where a young woman gets drawn into a world where some dominant guy becomes her master. Most of the time, a book like this ends up being marginalized and sold as ebook smut. Such a book is very, very difficult to sell mainstream.

Yet, it happened. It became that “book” that adults bought (most often the demographic of housewives, which is another story itself) but didn’t really reveal they were reading. Now, the big publishing companies AND movie companies, see this as the next big thing and are looking to market it because of its success as an ebook.

Well, that’s going to be interesting, to say the least. You see, the book did really well because it was an ebook. Think about that for a second. When you buy an ebook, you can read it in public, and almost no one has a clue what you’re reading. But bring a book onto the train (an actual book) and everyone knows what you’re reading. That’s going to make it really difficult to get people to want to read this book in public. That’s going to kill a lot of chances of selling it to the mainstream public because it’s going to be the equivalent of reading erotica in public. Good luck on that one.

Yet, the publishing industry it’s got the next Twilight on its hands.

What this is actually showing me is that the Legacy Publishers (the ones who still print books and then ebooks as an afterthought) are starting to realize that ebooks are a viable market that might slowly overcome the old style market. Yet, I don’t think they understand the nuances involved in ebooks versus mainstream books.

I’ll let you in on a little secret: I also have an adult book out there somewhere being sold as an ebook. It’s written under a completely different name, mainly because I chose a long time ago to distance my writing name from that other stuff. It’s not that I’m not proud of the other novel, or even ashamed of it. I just realized that for simple, rational (and sometimes irrational) reasons, people are often more comfortable separating the two names for the types of books that are published under those names. Throughout history, mainstream writers have done this as a precaution to keep the two camps of readers apart.

An example: Some years back, there was a series of books written by John Norman (the pseudonym of John Frederick Lange, Jr.) about a mythical land called Gor. It was one of those series that had a huge following, basically taking a complete life of its own. The premise of it centered around a civilization of highly structured slavery. This series has spawned into a lifestyle culture of people who partake in the culture of living a Gorean lifestyle, which generally revolves around a strong master/slave society. Sometimes the genders are mixed (as in sometimes its female controlled, but most often it tends to gravitate towards a male dominant household). Anyway, because the ideas of his novels were so against the mainstream thought, Norman remained the header on all of these stories and Lange made every effort to keep his secret identity. During the 1970s, as the series was at its zenith, a woman I knew named Laura figured out who the author was, including where he was teaching and confronted him directly about it. For years, he protested his involvement but then eventually he gave in, realizing that secret was quickly catching up with him. Today, pretty much everyone who has ever read these books knows exactly who was the author. Fortunately for him, he was already so famous as a writer that it didn’t actually affect his teaching career.

The same kind of thing happened when vampire-story writer Anne Rice was revealed to be writing under a number of names that published books on male and female lifestyle slavery. Because she was already so famous as a novelist, these revelations didn’t hurt her career, and then soon after her identity was discovered, she started writing religious fiction, and her career has really never returned to the power career it once was.

What is interesting to note about all of these cases is that the stories themselves never really became mainstream. Even Rice’s book, Exit to Eden, which became a major motion picture some years ago starring Dan Ackroyd and Rosie Odonnell, never really became the hot seller as a mainstream novel. And the reason is simple: It was perceived by mainstream America as smut. Which is sad because it’s a brilliantly written novel (and a horrible movie adaptation that has absolutely nothing to do with the plot of the book).

So, as this “new” series moves into mainstream writing, I’m wondering how it is going to do in that realm. All attempts to bring S&M into mainstream have never succeeded. Madonna tried to do it for years, and every time she did, she continued to remain famous, but those attempts (including a picture book, several songs and videos and even a major motion picture) continue to remain obscure in her collection of mainstream releases. Recently, even Rihanna tried to present such material to a mass audience, and she was criticized for responding badly to her scandal of how she had been beaten by her boyfriend (which makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, as her adventures in that realm only served to be used as continued criticism…making some kind of weird connection to PTSD from being beaten by Chris Brown as her motivation behind why she’d do a move into S&M music video…yeah, the argument didn’t make a lot of sense to me either at the time).

The upshot of the whole thing is that no matter how hard people try, fringe sexual activity is rarely ever going to be seen as acceptable by sex-obsessed Americans who pretend to be shocked when they secretly covet all sorts of different sexual material. It’s like a politician who screams “sinner” at random strangers while having an affair with another woman to hide his predilection for having sex with children. America has never really made a lot of sense.

But expect to see a lot of shocked faces when people start to realize what they actually bought into now that everyone has jumped on the popularity of a bdsm book that publishers are convinced is ready for the mass public. I think they’re ready, but I’m pretty sure I’m wrong.

Has Been Viewed (since August 20, 2021): 882

Struggling to Find a Purpose

Memoirs, Writing, , , , , , , ,

Well, after the whole losing a crown on my tooth thing and the identity theft incident, I’m now back at work and moving forward into another day. It sucks that there are thieves out there who will steal you blind (just because they can), and it sucks that random health concerns can really mess with your day. But really, what can you do about it other than just get through it and move onto another day?

Which brings me to another day. And realizing that, I’m back to the same quandary in that I really don’t know what to do with my “other” day now that I’m there. My life still sucks. And I really don’t have anything to look forward to, other than more days of dealing with the fact that there are more sucky days after this one.

My life isn’t bad. Or horrible. I mean, I don’t live in an environment where evil, brutal masters are flogging me on a daily basis while I work in the salt mines. My biggest dilemma on a daily basis is deciding between paper and plastic, and I’ve sort of solved that by buying reusable Meiers bags that I bring to the supermarket with me. Basically, my day consists of figuring out whether a colon, a semi-colon or a gerund phrase are used correctly. And even then, who really cares?

The real dilemma is that I don’t have a purpose. Nothing I do really matters. No one cares. Oh sure, someone might throw a fit if a memo doesn’t go to the correct audience, or another person might somehow come unglued if the wrong font was used to explain an osteometric procedure. But in the grand scheme of things, it really doesn’t matter. No lives will be saved, made better or worse, or otherwise seriously inconvenienced.

And personally, besides not having a purpose, I don’t have really anything going on in my life. And I’m not under-exaggerating here. There’s NOTHING going on. My writing career is not a career. It’s not even a glorified hobby these days. I have no girlfriend, mistress, or flirting affair with the girl down the hall who thinks I’m somewhat okay but would rather date anyone but me. I don’t even have that. I don’t party. I don’t even have a drug problem, which ironically might be something to bide the time as people who do drugs at least have something to occupy their time.

I sometimes think I grew up during the wrong period in US history. The amount of technology we have today has made interaction with other people almost inconsistent or nonexistent. Sometimes, I think it would be really fascinating to just up and walk off, wandering the lands as a Kwei Chang Caine or Jack Kerouac, starting over at practically every “Welcome to….” city sign. It’s like there’s a whole world out there to experience, and I’m sitting at home playing Star Wars: The Old Republic.

Years back, I kept thinking I was going to be changing the world. Then I learned that’s not likely to happen. The world doesn’t want to change. And you know, I’m sort of fine with that. However, perhaps it’s time to change me, and being what I am really kind of sucks.

Whatever I’m doing right now certainly isn’t working.

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Why Don’t Banks Seem to Care When Their Customers Are Fraudulently Targeted?

Business, Economics, , , , , , , ,

I was a victim of a theft last night. I’d say it’s identity theft but this was more of an outside company that made an illegal charge on my checking account online in some mysterious way that I have yet to be able to figure out how it happened. This happened on a Friday night, so that meant that getting any customer service was extremely limited, and my bank put me through an endless process of “press 1 for happy thoughts” crap before I finally, after three runs around their system that got me to a person who then transferred me back to the beginning of the “press 1” tree crap again. After some time, and some very frustrating and infuriating moments, I finally got to a person whose only course of plan was to freeze my account and wish me good luck. The charge was “processing” which meant they couldn’t do anything about it until it’s charged.

Honestly, what kind of stupidity is that? Is it not possible to catch a bank robber until after he spends the money, even if you catch him in the bank and have surrounded him with cops?

The next day, I had to get a brand new check card, and no one can tell me why it happened, or even more important: How do I stop it from happening again? The guy on the phone last night was a dickwad who seemed to think it must have been me with my liberal spending ways on the Internet. This is coming from a bank company that advertises its desire to have me using its services online because their the ones who do it best. Anyway, the next day, I’m still out that money that was stolen from my checking account because the processing isn’t done, and ONLY AFTER IT’S DONE can I put in a claim to get my money back. So, I’ve lost access to a LOT of my own money because some unauthorized charge happened from France (or Russia for all I know), and the bank really doesn’t give a fuck.

I’m really lost here because I don’t know what to do now. I don’t know where this came from, what caused it, or even how to prevent it from ever happening again. I don’t use my credit card on risky sites or anything like that. I don’t do online gambling or any crap like that. I use it for normal things, which somehow appears to be more and more susceptible to fraud these days. Is my only recourse to close my banking accounts forever and start hiding money in my mattress again? I know it sounds like that’s some kind of reactive joke, but seriously, what are you supposed to do when you’re basically screwed no matter what you do? I really needed that money on Monday morning for a dental procedure I’m about to have to undergo (my crown fell out of my mouth a few days ago). Now, I’m totally screwed. I can’t even contact the bank until after Monday because the charge doesn’t get processed until Monday, which means I’m going to be in surgery, knowing that I have pretty much no way to pay for it because some criminals thought it would be really cool to fuck over a complete stranger.

And, as stated, nobody fucking cares.

Has Been Viewed (since August 20, 2021): 853

The Process of Writing That First Novel

Writing, , , , ,

Often, my many adoring fans have asked me what gave me the inspiration to write my first novel. Well, actually, I should probably mention that when I say “many adoring fans” I’m referring to my stuffed bean bag frog named Elmer who really doesn’t care why I started writing, but I figured that starting with that wouldn’t cause you to be all that interested in what I had to say later (note to editor who doesn’t exist: remove this last aside before allowing this blog to go to print). Anyway, years ago, when I was a very young adult, I decided that I was going to sit down and write my first novel. It wasn’t “officially” my “first” novel as I had written probably five before it, but it was the first serious novel that wasn’t designed to go right into a drawer to remain until the end of time.

The novel was Innocent Until Proven Guilty, which you may remember as the novel that fought in there up to the last round for the Pulitzer Prize, right before losing out to some novel about some guy who realized something at the end of the book that somehow seemed really significant. Okay, the Pulitzer people weren’t considering my novel for the prize, but they could have been. If they’d ever heard of it. Which they probably never have. But I’m digressing again, and I fear my medication may be wearing off soon.

So, as I was saying, early in my adulthood, right about the same time I was in the Army in Germany, I decided to write my first novel about corporate intrigue and murder, or it might have been about corporate murder and intrigue; I kind of forget. But anyway, it involved a corporation, a murder and intrigue. And not necessarily in that order. But considering that I had never worked for a corporation, had never murdered anyone (not that anyone can prove…although you cops sure tried but boy did I get over on that one…oh sorry, the meds again), and really didn’t know much about intrigue other than have an overly active imagination, I figured it would have been a pretty easy novel to write. And it was.

But one of the things they tell you when you first start writing is that you should write what you know. Well, we kind of went over that. Three strikes there, but I’m okay with that. They also say that a writer’s first novel is almost always about the killing of his or her parents (kind of a growing up kind of novel). But my parents died long before I started writing that novel, so that didn’t seem all that necessary. So this was basically a raw attempt to just show that I had an idea of what I was doing.

One of the interesting struggles of writing a first novel is to actually get through the process of finishing that first novel, which while it sounds kind of obvious, is one of the hardest things you’ll ever do. When I started writing it, I had a general idea of where it was going, but I’ll let you in on a little secret: There was a second shooter on the grassy knoll. No, wrong secret. I mean, I had no idea where I was going the entire time I wrote the novel and I sort of let the story tell itself. And it did. Wonderfully. Even after I finished it, I kept thinking that somehow I cheated because the damn thing practically wrote itself. The characters came to life and did their own thing, the plot developed all on its own, and everything sort of fell into place. For the longest time, I was convinced that I had written what is often referred to as “that one novel he had in him”, convinced I’d never be able to do it again.

There are a few authors out there who I often think of as an author who had one novel in him or her. Alice Sebold is an example. She wrote a brilliant novel (that was turned into an semi-okay movie) called The Lovely Bones. Since then, she’s written generic stuff that hasn’t resonated anywhere near as well as that one novel. And there’s a reason for it. The Lovely Bones was one of those novels that needed to be told. She just happened to be the one to tell it. But even as I read it, I kept thinking, wow, this is a great book, but I’m not sure I’d really want to read anything else she has to write, thinking this was definitely a one-hit wonder. And it was. Now I could be wrong and next year she may come out with the next War and Peace, but I don’t think that’s going to happen any sooner than James Frey is ever going to become best buddies with Oprah Winfrey again.

Anyway, so what I discovered was that after the book was finished, I was ready to start tackling my second novel, and I did. But as I wrote the second one, it took a lot longer, and I realized then why Innocent went so easily. I had already written the novel in my head before I sat down to write it. When I finally did write it down, it was like I had been one of those wandering minstrels telling the story of the Iliad before someone figured out how to invent actual writing. Then it was jus a matter of doing it.

Sometimes that happens. Most often it doesn’t. Most often, I’m plotting out the whole thing chapter by chapter, constantly struggling with where the book needs to go next. Other times, I sit down and a novel comes out. To be honest, I don’t think I’ve ever truly figured out the science behind it. But I do know that I love to sit down and write novels.

Right now, I’m working on a rewrite of a novel I wrote years ago (the third one) that takes place in 1991. Strangely enough, the first edition was written in the 1980s. It took the future happening before the novel actually found its time and place.

Writing is strange and can be that way. It’s why I love to write. It was either this or be a male prostitute because those were the only two skills I was good at: Writing and charging people money. What? Were you thinking of something else?

Has Been Viewed (since August 20, 2021): 672

The Energy to Post New Blog Content Just Isn’t There

Education, Memoirs, Relationships, Writing, ,

I haven’t posted anything in awhile, mainly because I rarely get any actual responses on my blog itself. A couple of my feeds move onto places like Open Salon and other such places, and they get a few responses there, but overall, my own web site sometimes feels like a graveyard.

Not really a lot going on these days. I’ve been voraciously trying to find a decent teaching job, but I’ve completely failed at almost every attempt. If lucky, I get a form letter rejection thanking me for applying. Otherwise, I get nothing. Not a damn thing. It’s not like I’m not qualified. It’s not like I’m not a damn good teacher either. I just get no response whatsoever. Or I’ll get a nibble, and then that nibble will run away, convinced that there is probably tastier bait out there somewhere else.

Lately, I’ve been working on a writing project with a former friend/romantic interest/really hard to define but always a positive attribution regardless. Our project is something that’s definitely up our alley, but our schedules don’t really seem to be all that copacetic, which means that I’m suspecting that as good of an idea as it is, it’s probably going to end up not working out in the long run. And that’s too bad. I’m slowly putting work back into energy towards one of my previous novels, mainly because I don’t feel right unless I’m working on something that’s moving forward. And I’ve been meaning to rewrite one of my old novels for many years now, especially now that I have the proper time and place for it.

I recently read Stephen King’s book on the JFK assassination, and I have to say that I was pleasantly surprised at how well he carried that book through its entire process. He sometimes has a habit of becoming too wordy and sometimes “too Stephen King”, but this was one of his rare wonders. I can say that I’m very happy I read it. I immediately recommended it to Rick, and he read it too, thinking pretty much the same thing I did. I haven’t read too many great novels recently, and I was glad this one came along.

Which got me thinking about my own writing again, because it’s always a continuous work in progress that never seems to go anywhere. Unlike other writers who want to be writers but never write, I’m one of those who wrote a lot but never got anything for doing it. And I still continue to write. My writing has probably evolved to a point where I’m pretty much at the top of my game right now, and it’s almost completely useless. It’s like pissing in a fan, for lack of a better (or graphic) metaphor.

Relationships are still a dead zone for me these days. I live in Grand Rapids, which seems to be the furthest place of finding anything I’m seeking. I’d move anywhere else, but I’m like some unemployable crazy guy that will never get another job no matter how hard he tries. So I’m kind of stuck here. And stuck is probably a very apt description.

Not much else going on. Another semester is almost over here at GRCC, and my students probably couldn’t care one way or another if I was teaching them. It’s not like they’re bad students; they’re fine. It’s just that I don’t seem to be making much of an impact or a difference these days. That’s generally the story of adjuncts everywhere.

Well, have to head to class for the night. What fun.

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The Ameriad moves to the Second Round of Amazon’s Breakthrough Novel Award for 2012

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I submitted my humorous novel, The Ameriad, to Amazon’s breakthrough novel award contest a few months ago. I was overjoyed today to discover that it made the cut into the second round. Granted, it made the cut with 1000 other authors, but that’s narrowed down from a much LARGER number. Last year I entered and didn’t make the cut.

So, the ride begins….

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Web Design: Keeping Customers on Your Page

Business, , , , , , ,

This morning, I was following an email I received from Eddie Bauer, the clothing company. It stated: “Extra 30% off clearance”. It took me to their site, as expected. Once on their site, it took me to an identical page to the coupon offer, then instructing me to “Shop Now” with another link. So I pressed that. It took me to another page that said: Choose Categories. I’d tell you what the next page said, but I gave up right about there. I figure if they’re going to take me through a maze of pages to actually get to the first item of clothing, I’ll pass and try some other company.

If you go to Amazon’s page, and you follow the link to clothing, it IMMEDIATELY starts showing you clothing that you can buy. You might have to tell it to limit your choices, but you’re the one driving it, not them. And when a customer feels pushed further and further through window after window, and NEVER finding an actual page with products on it, you’ve lost the sale.

This lesson has been apparent since the early days of web sites. You can have a lead page, but then you need to get them to the content. If you don’t have content right in, then you’re going to lose a customer who is going to figure that if you don’t know how to build a web site, you don’t know how to sell products either. Simple as that.

Eddie Bauer’s site is a failure in every way possible. But it does give us information about what not to do if you want to drive sales. Unfortunately, they may never learn.

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I think I’m going back to school

Education, Memoirs, , , , , , , ,

Well, I’ve been mulling this decision over for some time now, and I’ve finally come to a conclusion: I’m going to go back to school. Even though I have enough degrees as it is, this isn’t about getting a new degree, but it’s much more about trying to find a purpose in life. Unfortunately, my current trajectory is taking me in directions that are suck in mud, and it’s been driving me nuts lately.

Unfortunately, all of my graduate degrees in social science have led me to absolutely nothing. I can’t get a job. At all. I’m qualified to teach political science and communication, and no one hires. I mean, NO ONE HIRES. Currently, I”m working as an adjunct, and I’ve been offered other “adjunct” positions in both fields, but finding a full time teaching job is not even possible. Most of the time, I’m lucky to get a form letter rejection thanking me and informing me they’ll keep my application on file. This has convinced me that the only way to actually get a college teaching job is to know someone in the school already, and unfortunately, I don’t know anyone in the school already. This means, I’m doomed to a lifestyle of submitting applications that will be circular filed and nothing else.

So, I started spending some time analyzing what it is I actually want to do. My forte is mathematics and hard-based science. It’s something I actually enjoy. It causes me to think. Right now, I hardly think at all. There’s no need for it. Political science requires no thinking. You either know it, or you don’t. Communication doesn’t involve that much more, other than a need to read more material. But in the end, the same ideas that were espoused in the 1950s, are the ideas that are ground-breaking today. Daniel Goldman just reiterated Sarni’s work, while practically every identity scholar reinvents Black. I tried to develop something completely new, designing an additive theory linking both political science and communication to produce a brand new strategy of international negotations. Was I successful? I think so. The result: No one cares. Diplomats are only interested in doing what they’ve been doing since Napoleon discovered he had a short person complex. Social science is a path to obscurity and reinvention (with a new paint finish!).

So, I’ve decided to pursue the biological sciences. My immediate goal right now is something involving forensic science, possibly leading to medical school (but not being a practicing doctor but more of a research-type professional). It was a direction I was going before, so at least now I’ll try taking it seriously.

What I have discovered is that I’m doing absolutely nothing with my life. I have a job where I do not feel respected as a professional in any way whatsoever. I’m literally a glorified editor (without the glory). During the year, I’m told I’m doing an “adequate” job, but whenever it comes time for the yearly performance review, I’m “just not doing enough”. But the job isn’t designed to give the opportunity to do anything, which precludes the possibility of “enough” in all cases. I don’t think I’ve really stretched my brain more than two times that I’ve been here. There will never be opportunities for advancement, as I’m not a medical professional, so I’m going to be stuck in the same job, same pay grade just shy of achieving the yearly cost of living percentage increase.

Therefore, I have to create my own opportunities, and that’s what I’m going to be doing.

So my quandary, or struggle, right now is trying to figure out exactly how to do it. I really don’t want to spend years and years starting over with school when I’m sure I shouldn’t have to. I tried contacting Western Michigan University (as their close to local) to inquire about their biology program, and basically the “counselor” responded by throwing the ball back in my court, as administrative types tend to do a lot. I asked specific questions, and not a single one of them was actually answered. I got a “send us all of your transcripts and we’ll see where you stand” response. My question was: “Does the local campus for WMU actually offer biology courses?” Anway, you’d think by now I’d be used to these types of responses from people.

So, that’s where I am right now. My life isn’t working as planned, mainly because I haven’t realy planned it out that well. So I have to find something else.

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Another Birthday, and now it’s Monday

Memoirs, Relationships, Writing, , , , , ,

Yesterday was my birthday, or at least the anniversary of my birthday. I’m a year older. I forget the actual age but it’s somewhere between 18 and the age of the planet, which if you believe in science is billions of years old, and if you don’t, then it’s slightly shy of 4000. Either way, my age is somewhere in there.

I didn’t do anything for my birthday. I never do. I don’t have a family, a girlfriend, or friends who hang out with me, so my birthdays are mainly spent alone, doing alone things. Like playing a computer game, watching a movie on DVD, or reading a book. That’s pretty much the sum of my every day, so my birthday is rarely that much different.

I did take the day off of work. Well, actually, I took Friday off (as yesterday was Sunday). I like to take a day and “celebrate” my birthday, even if that celebration consists of doing nothing. But it means that one day out of the week when I should be at work, I’m not. So it sort of works itself out.

But I’m definitely realizing I’m getting older. My back hurts a bit these days, and I’m not as agile as I used to be. The other day, my foot hurt really something awful. I’m not sure why. I think it’s just one of those: “You’re getting older, duane” sort of things. Later on, it felt fine.

As I start to get older, I find myself with a bit more time to regret the things that didn’t work out in my life. I think about relationships that didn’t work out, and I kick myself a lot about those. I mean, I totally blew it with Marisha, and then turned around and destroyed a bizarre, yet somewhat productive relationship with Sally. Sure, Sally was nuts, but it kind of worked out. I just wasn’t ready for that relationship at the time, and then I sort of burned that bridge where it stood. I regret that a lot. Oh well.

I regret that my writing career has never taken off the way I hoped it would. I remember teachers telling me when I was a little kid that I had the “gift”, that I was going to go far with my writing. I soaked those comments up, too, and I really believed them. And when I received my first book deal, I was overjoyed. And then the publishing company tanked before the book was released. And then my agent got into an accident and disappeared, showing up years later and no longer remembering who I was (after her head injury). My second agent represented me for about six months and then kind of stopped answering all correspondences. Obtaining a third agent has been somewhat elusive. And then the Internet happened, and the Kindle, and then the industry changed to the point where I don’t think I’m ever going to have a writing career. Ever. I kind of regret that happened.

I regret my music career never started off. Back in my young days, I was a soloist, and my singing was pretty damn popular. I had a great voice…still do. But I never did anything with it. Instead, I joined the Army and put all of that behind me. I’m a bit too old for that sort of thing now, so it’s another one of those things I regret.

I sometimes kick myself that I dropped medicine as a college career and went into political science instead, and then communication. I’m a genius with mathematics, yet I’ve done nothing math or science-related with my life. I even developed a mathematical, game theoretic social model for compliance negotiations between nations. Never did anything with it. Gave up trying to convince people it was a better alternative than the current losing strategies we use with diplomacy today.

I regret that I haven’t dated in over a decade. And I don’t see that changing any time in the future. Everyone around me is married, unavailable or simply not interested. And there aren’t that many around me as it is.

Secretly, I keep telling myself I need to pick up and move across the country to some place I’ve never been before and start over there, but I’ve become somewhat of a coward these days. In my youth, I’d jump up and go anywhere, convinced I’d fall back on my feet. Today, I’m scared to death of making a move like that and finding myself unemployed, unable to find a job and then slowly becoming homeless and despondent. I’ve always managed to land on my feet in the past, but this last time was a lot more difficult than ever before, and I just don’t see myself desiring to go through that horror again. Yet, if I don’t find something, somewhere soon, I don’t think I’m going to be around much longer.

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Arbitrary Observations on a Thursday Afternoon

Education, Memoirs, Relationships, Social Networking, , , , , , ,

I was walking from one building where I work to another one, which involves a couple of doors that need to be opened. As there was a bit of pedestrian traffic in the area, at one point I found myself holding the door open for other people. At the time, I ended up holding the door open for four different people at different times (not one right after the other), and the one thing that struck me as odd was that each person reached for the wide open door I was holding, almost as if I was going to shut it in their face. If it would have happened once, it would have just been one of those things, but four different people all reached for the opened door, almost as if they had bad experiences with other people holding open the door for them. Kind of strange. At least they said thank you, even though they seemed to suspect I was going to rescind my offer to keep the door open for them.

Another observation: When teaching at a community college, I’ve discovered that the axiom once taught to me by Professor Ashlyn Kuerstin was that you should always explain on the first day of class that attendance is mandatory AND that the death of your grandmother doesn’t affect attendance. I forgot to give her spiel this time around. Two students have now reported ill or dead grandmothers. Kind of strange, but strangely enough, expected.

One of my colleagues was let go today by the company for not meeting expectations. I walked by her desk today and noticed her half filled (or half empty, depending on psychological disposition) cup of water is still on her desk, the straw in it, as if ready to continue drinking. I guess someone will eventually clean it up and throw it out. I often wonder what that person must think to himself as he or she cleans up after someone’s now empty desk. Probably just glad it was someone else. Or not. Who knows what people think?

I have tomorrow off from work. I have a doctor’s appointment in the afternoon, and I need to get to the Secretary of State’s office to renew my auto registration, which means I have to find my current insurance card (for some reason I never replaced my old one, even though I have the same insurance and the same policy number). I’ll probably have to sit in that place for a few hours because it’s always slow no matter when you go there. I guess that’s why I put off these sorts of things. I hate bureaucracy, almost as much as Kafka.

I kind of wish I had some kind of social life these day, but I don’t. I don’t even really have close friends anymore, other than a few close colleagues who I basically only ever get to see at work (one of whom I consider a friend, even though we don’t really spend any time together outside of work). I’m at that age where I don’t really feel comfortable going to bars (I don’t drink), especially alone, and I don’t really have any other options to meet people. E-dating never works, at least not for me. I sometimes suspect that the same people doing well at e-dating are the same people who do well at regular dating; they’re usually players who lie to women and get away with it. I’ve never been good at that sort of thing, and because of it, I’m probably never going to meet anyone. Women talk about liking nice guys and all that, but they lie, and everyone knows it. Eventually, they might settle for a nice guy after they’re done playing their own games, but by then, we’re off the market, playing World of Warcraft or Star Wars: The Old Republic, because at least there we have something that makes a bit of sense, even if it means no real social interaction.

Anyway, that’s my Thursday. I teach my class tonight at the college, and then I go grocery shopping before heading home to a house full of friendly stuffed animals. Well, mostly friendly. Some of them can get a bit roudy. But they mean well.

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