I grab myself by the ear and drag my own sorry ass to the ‘place’ where I’m supposed to be writing something significant on a daily basis–a small, shady library room in the front of our 1890s Victorian house in Chicago. I look around and consider my resources: Mission style writing desk and leather straight back chair; Laptop, printer, copier; A collection of books by the greatest writers who have ever lived (and died); Google, Dictionary.com, iPhone; Sleeping dog, indifferent cat, supportive third wife; Eight years of The New Yorker stacked on every available dusty surface; Picture window; Bucolic setting; Liberal arts degree from a Pennsylvania state college.
Lamps, photographs, framed art. Unlimited coffee less than 20 feet away…
Viscerally speaking, I have only one excuse–nothing is funny to me these days. I’m just not feeling it. I stare at the New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest every week and no juice. Nada. Zilcho. I hate Seinfeld anymore. Larry David, too. What a schmuck.
“Have you written anything today?” she asks from the other room. The television room across the hall where fallen stars dance and more desperate housewives than mine (I would hope) plot their own nefarious outcomes.
“Yes. The electric bill,” I say. “I wrote a check for the electric bill.” Ha ha funny.
“What about the mortgage?” On a different subject now. Diversion from the creative to the financial. Not very funny. (What she really means is ‘have you sold any real estate lately?’)
Good question. What about the mortgage? We’re being triple escrowed by our lender because the Cook County Tax Assessor’s office incorrectly recorded our deed while in a land far, far away called Reality, the whole banking industry is in a wind sheared tailspin. I look at the Due Notice.
“Too many digits,” I say, really wanting to run it through the shredder. “I’ll do that tomorrow before I work on my book. We have until the 15th.” Like something magical is going to happen between now and the ides of procrastination. An economic recovery package perhaps. Not even Ha ha. Barely LOL.
“How is the book coming?” she asks. Rachael Ray is giggling in the background, taking her side. Relentless. (What she really means is ‘what are you doing all day long in those same wrinkled clothes you put on everyday?’)
What book? Oh, you mean that book I promised you, myself and the universe I’d write in that perfect library in the perfect house we bought 18 months before the whole real estate business took a dump in Chicago? Back when I found humor in everything and business was so furious that I had to replace my phone every 8 months due to wear and tear? That book?
“Fine. Great. Moving right along. Characters developing. Plot unwinding. You know…regular book writing stuff. The usual”
“I bought you some razors from Costco,” she says. What she really means is…
They say, ‘What one has not done by age 30, one is not likely to ever do. And what one has done by age 30, one will likely continue to do forever.’ For me, at age 52, this means the chances of actually completing and publishing a noteworthy piece of literature with a big house like Random or Simon & Schuster are slim while the chances of me having to continue to sell real estate for a living into the distant future are great. I calculate the chances of retaining my sense of humor by retirement age and conclude the odds fall somewhere in the 50/50 range. I pull up my bank statements again and re-calculate my retirement age to be somewhere around age 96, using the Rule of 72. Now that’s pretty funny.
“Great. I meant to ask you to pick up a couple hundred extra razor blades. I only have 50 or so left from three years ago. Did you get me the 15 pairs of socks I wrote down on the list?”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I pour another cup of coffee and Google my own name. Again. Still not famous. Rich either, unless you count all the things I should be grateful for–not the least of which is finding something funny to write about at least once a month and a forum like this in which to say it.
Christy Quick, Phoenix says:
I’m a regular reader of Bloodhound and have found myself in a little bit of an emotional slump lately myself. Nothing seems to “grab me” — but that’s when I put my head down, work harder and the feeling that I’ve somehow become a boring person goes away (or at least just gets swept under the rug nice and tidily). However, I read an email on Monday — I get an email every Monday morning from a Mom’s group — yep, don’t roll your eyes yet because you just don’t know where this is going. In any case, I lauged out loud when I read it because it just reminded me of what daily life is really all about — or at least what it should be about. And it actually made me laugh. Here it is for your viewing pleasure. Maybe you’ll hate it — maybe it will make you laugh — maybe you’ll say “nice try lady in Phoenix, but I’m still not even cracking a smile.” Here goes anyway! Thankyoueversomuch … Christy Quick in Phoenix
Mr. and Mrs. … or Not?
My husband, Zane, and I feel it’s important to raise polite children. As parents of three boys this has been challenging to say the least.
When they were young we were trying to decide how they should address adults. Should we teach them to say Mr. and Mrs.? Or is it okay to use first names? We decided we would go the more formal route and speak to adults using titles such as Mr. and Mrs., until the Wieners moved in next door.
When the boys first heard their last name, after fits of laughter, our middle son, Jordan, asked, “Do we have to call them Mr. and Mrs. Wiener, or can we please just call them Dan and Nancy?” Again, uncontrolled giggles erupted from all the boys, including Zane.
This was a tough one. Do we break our rule on how to address adults or do we force our boys to try to keep a straight face every time they say “hello” to our new neighbors? This, by the way, would be practically impossible.
We decided we could bend the rules on this one. It would be fine to call them Dan and Nancy. In fact, we determined it would be more polite to call them by their first names rather than stifle a laugh every time our boys encountered them.
Teaching children manners is an important aspect of life, but teaching children to behave in a way that is most respectful to those they encounter is what really matters and is what we hope to instill in our boys.
September 23, 2008 — 9:38 am
Jean Louis R says:
Hey Geno, love the end of your post! During difficult time, and believe me I had more than one in my life, I found that optimism is always the key! Good luck… and coninue posting!
September 23, 2008 — 1:59 pm
Eric Blackwell says:
Geno-
Thank you. I can so totally appreciate where you are.
I have saved a couple of $20 bills to buy that book. So get writing (grin). No offense to anyone else writing on this blog or others, but you are by far the best read.
Thanks for making me smile.
Eric
September 23, 2008 — 2:12 pm
Teri Lussier says:
Geno-
Perhaps nothing is funny to you, but you have no idea how much your readers, me, appreciate every single word.
I agree with Eric “No offense to anyone else writing on this blog or others, but you are by far the best read.”
>I stare at the New Yorker Cartoon Caption Contest every week and no juice. Nada. Zilcho. I hate Seinfeld anymore. Larry David, too. What a schmuck.
Yes. That really *was* funny. 🙂
September 23, 2008 — 4:56 pm
Brian Brady says:
Ignore the odds; keep working on the book. Home boy, ya got skillz
September 23, 2008 — 5:09 pm
Ken brand says:
A Gem. Like your others.
Get on that book.
Thanks.
September 23, 2008 — 6:49 pm
Bob says:
Funny can be over rated. Hitting that spot with your readers where they nod in agreement or sigh with relief because you expressed their feelings better than they can themselves – that is a rare gift.
Not sure what other book you are writing, but the pages of the book you share with us are golden.
October 5, 2008 — 12:35 pm