The Finch at the Feeder

For the past month or so (maybe more) I've been celebrating the end of my college career by misbehaving. While the experts, with their academic offices and ever-wagging forefingers, would tell me I should be searching for a job, polishing my resume, thinking about the future and getting my affairs in order (that's what they tell the dying to do!), I've decided to go a slightly different route. That is, the class-skipping, late-paper-turning-in, overspending, Jameson-and-orange-juice-drinking, illegal-cigar-smoking, oversleeping, assignment-ignoring, good-TV-watching, trip-taking, concert-going, excuse-making route. The fun route, as it's also called.

What has come over me? A readiness for the future, I think. It doesn't help that I'm in limbo about so much of my future because I'm waiting to hear whether or not I'll be getting a certain job through Ball State for next year. The answer will determine so much of my future (whether or not I'll be in grad school, where I will live, how much I'll be making, when I can start a new job, whether or not I'll be eating in The Retreat every day...) that, without an answer, the future is pretty darn intangible. Until I hear, I'm more or less stuck floating around eating Cheez-Its and browsing Uncrate.

(In case someone in my family, or a potential employee, has come across this blog, it isn't half as bad as I make it sound. Exaggeration is an all-too-acceptable {and quite belove'd} literary technique.)

Still, though. I'm not quite the go-getter I feel like I should be.


What's keeping me off the mark? Lots of things!

1) My new bike, for instance. Stevi and I both got bikes, actually, and we've been riding them quite a bit ever since we purchased. Tonight, we even rode to Buffalo Wild Wings for dinner, which is just about 4 miles. That's a more serious workout than I've done in quite a while.

2) Online shopping. Thanks to my huge tax refund, I've had some money free up, even though I just bought the Sentra. Over the past week or two, I've purchased online from J.Crew, Express, Topman, SkinID, and McSweeney's. That's just what I can name off the top of my head. I also bought a sweet new backpack at target and I'm seriously considering ordering four of these for Stevi and I.

3) (I'm embarrassed to say) television. I've never really been a TV watcher (I've always been faithful to about two shows at a time, but otherwise went for movies or books instead), but lately it's crazy. I faithfully watch LOST, Important Things with Demetri Martin, Scrubs, Big Love, Breaking Bad, Flight of the Conchords, Entourage, Curb Your Enthusiasm, and (though I've taken a break recently) The Sopranos. WTF. That's too much. Thankfully, a couple of these shows just had their final episode. Here, my workload breathes a sigh of relief.

4) Books! Ever since AWP I've been working on probably 4 or 5 books at a time, switching back and forth like a fickle lover, perusing, browsing, and only occasionally hunkering down. While this is definitely the thing I feel least guilty about, it is no less time-consuming than any of the others. Who discerns between a good and a bad addiction?

5) Food. Geez, I love eating. I eat Stevi's cooking, I go out, I cook, I snack, I masticate whatever is in front of me and nourish myself into oblivion. Seriously, with my appetite, I'm amazed I get anything done.

6) I've been sleeping like a proverbial mo'fo lately. Probably from all the late hours spent doing everything above.

7-?) Working, going to various concerts, socializing, sexual exploits, cuddling, re-organizing, lazing about, pontificating, bar-going, etc.


This seems like I'm unhappy, but I'm really not. Quite the opposite, actually. I know my days of relative freedom are finite and fast approaching their demise. I may as well live it up. Until summer, when I'll be going barf-crazy trying to learn German in like 6 weeks, I'm toeing the line and cozying up to the bare minimum. How many more chances will I get?




(I feel like the guys who did this instead of getting out of the car to move the stick.)

The Charm Of 5:30


It's too nice a day to read a novel set in England.

We're within inches of the perfect distance from the sun,
the sky is blueberries and cream,
and the wind is as warm as air from a tire.
Even the headstones in the graveyard
Seem to stand up and say "Hello! My name is..."

It's enough to be sitting here on my porch,
thinking about Kermit Roosevelt,
following the course of an ant,
or walking out into the yard with a cordless phone
to find out she is going to be there tonight

On a day like today, what looks like bad news in the distance
turns out to be something on my contact, carports and white
courtesy phones are spontaneously reappreciated
and random "okay"s ring through the backyards.

This morning I discovered the red tints in cola
when I held a glass of it up to the light
and found an expensive flashlight in the pocket of a winter coat
I was packing away for summer.

It all reminds me of that moment when you take off your sunglasses
after a long drive and realize it's earlier
and lighter out than you had accounted for.

You know what I'm talking about,

and that's the kind of fellowship that's taking place in town, out in
the public spaces. You won't overhear anyone using the words
"dramaturgy" or "state inspection today. We're too busy getting along.

It occurs to me that the laws are in the regions and the regions are
in the laws, and it feels good to say this, something that I'm almost
sure is true, outside under the sun.

Then to say it again, around friends, in the resonant voice of a
nineteenth-century senator, just for a lark.

There's a shy looking fellow on the courthouse steps, holding up a
placard that says "But, I kinda liked Reagan." His head turns slowly
as a beautiful girl walks by, holding a refrigerated bottle up against
her flushed cheek.

She smiles at me and I allow myself to imagine her walking into
town to buy lotion at a brick pharmacy.
When she gets home she'll apply it with great lingering care before
moving into her parlor to play 78 records and drink gin-and-tonics
beside her homemade altar to James Madison.

In a town of this size, it's certainly possible that I'll be invited over
one night.

In fact I'll bet you something.

Somewhere in the future I am remembering today. I'll bet you
I'm remembering how I walked into the park at five thirty,
my favorite time of day, and how I found two cold pitchers
of just poured beer, sitting there on the bench.

I am remembering how my friend Chip showed up
with a catcher's mask hanging from his belt and how I said

great to see you, sit down, have a beer, how are you,
and how he turned to me with the sunset reflecting off his contacts
and said, wonderful, how are you.

Hey, jerks.

Not you guys, the freaking people who go to the grocery and leave their carts right next to their cars. It makes me want to blitz. There are probably 10 cart corrals in every parking lot, and one is never more than a few feet away. There is nothing worse (in the world, and life) than trying to pull into a good parking spot only to discover some pockmark has left their cart in the middle of it. It makes me want to grow a flamethrower arm and burn something innocent.

I found this picture while I was pissed, and it barely makes it any better.







OK. I should tell a nice story now, since I told a mean one. I like my car more every day. I hope this does not change when I have to make the first payment. Also, Stevi is cleaning the whole apartment as I write this. That rules.

I'm hungry, and I don't even want the Chinese food that I have.

Here's something great: I've had no hot water for three days. Today is the worst, because they had to take the water heater completely out of the apartment. I hate being dirty. This is how I feel:



(But more adult. Dammit.)

Just sat down to write my Top 11 Albums #7 about Make the Clocks Move by Kevin Devine, and decided against it. It has been far too long since I've made an actual post. Plus, everyone who is good should already know how much I love that album. Maybe tomorrow.

Today Stevi and I returned from a long visit at Nana's. Staying there is like active meditation. It clears my mind, nourishes my body (delicious, delicious food for the duration) and lets my soul breathe. I feel connected to something while I'm there, though I couldn't say what. My best self, maybe. Or my simplest self. Or the Earth. Or my past. Or God. The universal consciousness. Country livin'. My ancestry. So on, etc.

I bought a new car. It was pretty intense, test-driving, sitting there in the dealership, talking the salesfellow down, filling out forms, credit-checking, signing papers, negotiating further, extended-warrantying, stacks of paperworks like pancakes, like pancakes for an eating contest, figuring amounts, fussing over particulars, chewing at my cheek (the inside), ignoring my growling stomach, being amazed that four hours went by.

The hardest part, of course, was saying trading in The Black Plague. (NOTE: car pictured is not The Black Plague.) The sad fact was, though, that TBP was ready to go at any moment. I had a choice between watching it die a slow death and sending it to a place where I won't have to look at it or think about it while it suffers and eventually expires. Like many people who put their parents in nursing homes, I chose the latter. It was a fantastic run. That car and I (and various fantastic passengers) have crossed well over a dozen state lines, been accosted by quite a few police officers, gone airborne, narrowly avoided total annihilation on more than one occasion, slid over sheet upon sheet of ice, ignored countless tollbooths and traffic laws, and gone down more one way streets and through more red lights than I'd like to mention. It was a hell of a go, and it wasn't easy saying goodbye.

Car-purchasing left me feeling pretty adult. I signed up for mint.com, a pretty spiffy money-management site started by a family friend. It has since won various of prestigious awards, and the FF even got to sit on a panel with our president and discuss the current financial situation. I'm obviously jealous, and therefore full of hate. I guess that promoting his business on my blog (as well as patronizing it myself) is contrary to this intense emotional feeling, but hey, shut up. Anyway, now my iPhone bugs me if I spend too much going out to eat or shopping, and reminds me that I'm in debt and don't make that much money. It's what getting older is all about!

Looking forward to a pretty good tax refund this year. And if we get another stimulus package, I'm going to buy something frivolous.

Amazon just accepted my submission to The Crystal Gavel, one of the literary world's hottest up-and-coming mags. You may have to sort through a little bit to find my piece (they still haven't worked out the table of contents), but you can enjoy the work of other talented writers while you look.

Anyway. The whole time I've been writing this, I've been working at Motinis. I've not had any customers, but now I do.

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1594743347/ref=nosim/uncrate-20