Old dog poem

Last fall, I took a creative writing class at Tarrant County College -- I suppose because I wanted to have more challenges than just writing the reacting-to-reality stuff that I post here, and because in the back of my mind I'm never giving up on getting a graduate degree in English, regardless of the number of decades it'll take.

Our teacher recommended I turn in a few bits I wrote to the TCC literary mag. This included a couple of poems and a short story. Since the short story was much more important to me, it was, of course, not published.

Meanwhile, both of poems made it in, which is funny to me, considering the amount of scorn I place on modern popular poetry. (I.E., I don't get how any medium so dead can attract that much pretentiousness.)

Anyway, I didn't try to do anything fancy with what I wrote, just do something I feel strongly about and keep things in a concrete world.

Hence, in one poem I wrote about a dog and Hico. I feel slightly bashful about posting it here, but not bashful enough to not make a little movie out of it. Click on it if you wish.

A new, one-scene play entitled, "Stupid freakin' bookstore"

Me: Plop 1,200-page precalculus tome on counter. Look expectantly at clerk.

Clerk: Looks at book. Scans bar code. "Hmmm ..."

Me: Monologue to audience. "@?&%&!$&!!"

Clerk: Scans bar code again. Looks at computer again. "They're coming out with a new edition in the fall. I can't buy this back."

Me: "So I get nothing on a book I had to pay full price* for. Y'all weren't selling used versions six weeks ago."

Clerk: "I'm sorry."

Me: Monologue to heaven. "But it's precalculus! Exactly what do they have to update? They haven't come up with anything new since the 1800s! I lose everything because they want to put in more pictures of Yoda? Why!"

Sigh.

Walking off, mumbling. "This "A" was dearly bought."

*$189

How the West was writ'

Imagine the odd dramatic license and melodrama of Ivanhoe, combine it with the overwrought emotional focus of The Scarlet Letter, and set the whole thing in late 19th century Utah. Actually, just imagine an old silent movie that takes itself very, very seriously.

I just finished reading Riders of the Purple Sage, by Zane Grey. To say that it was a "hoot" would probably be all the description just about anyone needs, because no one is ever going to read it.

But I've been curious about Grey. Zane Grey wrote westerns between 1910 and 1930, and during that time was one of the most popular and richest authors in America. If you don't read westerns, then you probably haven't heard of him. But he's considered one of the two founders of the genre.

So when I stumbled upon Sage -- considered his most important work -- at the library, I checked it out, read it, and spent a lot of time trying not to snigger.

Some of the book's more amusing touches:

• Chapter 6 begins with, perhaps for the first time in history, "Meantime, at the ranch, ..."
• Poor attempts at writing dialects, such as "I been nicked, but I'm some wet an' the hoss's has been throwin' lather, so all this ain't blood."
• Of course, it's better that the bad English is answered with dialogue like: "Oh, you fierce-blooded, savage youth! Can't I teach you forbearance, mercy?"
• A woman is able to pass for a man simply by wearing a Lone Ranger mask.
• The story has an odd streak of anti-Mormonism. They're treated like some kind of exotic tribe out of New Guinea.

Still, after I put the book down I had to admit it was a pretty good story -- fun characters, good villains, not completely far-fetched.

Everything has to be translated a bit through the filter of its time, and Grey wrote sexist melodrama that belied a simple pride in being able to read and write when so many people of the time could not.

I often think that people who look back at our time will be laughing at us -- the most spoiled and pampered generation ever -- and the gritty grit-like grittiness that permeates most of our creative work.

Capitalism is awesome (burp)

The Star-Telegram bidness section had a story today on the town's Rahr Brewery, which is selling its beer faster than it can be made. They are literally taking beer directly from the production line to the trucks to ship out -- with no time in storage.

It's a good thing. I first heard about Rahr when the company opened. The staff consisted of the owner and a group of volunteers who liked beer. I remember the first golden lager I had. It was the first time I've done a double take with a beer, as in:

Drink.

Look at beer.

"My, that's tasty."

Drink.

Since then I've been recommending the beer to friends, and spreading the word along with six packs on the few occasions when I drink beer, which happens rarely if ever nowadays.

They just added more brewing capacity, and if you're in Texas, you'll probably be able to get some soon. That reminds me that I need to tour their brewery sometime.

Anyway, their success reminds me of this documentary Reason put out a few months back on the history of American brewing and the development of microbreweries. Don't worry, it's not political.

GuMo

(Guadalupe Mountains National Park)


I think that I've figured out the golden rule for backpacking, at least for me:

Overambitious and out of shape does not make for a happy camper.

I kept it in mind while planning and hiking last weekend, and things went about as well or better on a trip as they ever have for me. That doesn't give me a lot of stories to tell (I.E., no near heat stroke, no hiding in a bathroom to avoid the cold), but I can say it went well and we did what we set out to do. That's a rare enough thing.

Plus, Todd took some good pictures of the experience, so here's what happened, in brief.


What happened:
After grousing here that I was getting restless to take a trip, college buddy Todd, who sends me stuff to link about all the time, said he'd be willing to try this hiking thing.

Two weeks later -- last Friday -- we set off for Van Horn. It's a nice little town in Far West Texas. Apparently John Madden stops there often for the Mexican food. We got our hotel room and settled in.

About 10 p.m., we heard people banging on the roof of the building. I went outside to find out that the noise was actually from a fireworks display. It went on for 45 minutes. I still have no idea what people were celebrating.

The next morning, after a bacon-free "hot" breakfast at the hotel, we drove the remaining hour to Guadalupe Mountains National Park.

I've taken three trips there before. It's a great place to get yourself beat up, badly, by nature. It's basically a mountain range surrounded by desert. It's also home to the highest peak in Texas, which is not saying much, but still.


The peak stands at the end of a four-mile trail. Easy eh? Neh. The trail isn't four straight miles. It's four miles of up. You climb up one hill by going in switchbacks up its face. Once on top, you begin climbing another hill, with more switchbacks.

This is a lot of up.

I should add that there are a lot of rocks.

And to explain the next few pictures: We climbed a bit, checked out the scenery, rested a lot, and otherwise wore out various parts of our feet. Todd had a GPS that gave us our altitude along the way. I'm not a fan of tech-stuff on the trail, but it was kinda cool to hear that, after the last bit, we had climbed another 50 feet up.

It took us longer than we thought. At one point, sunset was about 45 minutes away and we still had half a mile to go. Finally ...

To those who are curious, the marker on top is a memorial to those brave people who deliver your mail by plane.

We signed the log the Park Service keeps up there, and Todd recorded the moment with his GPS. (The altitude was off a bit, by the way. Needed to be re-zeroed or something.)

Standing on Guadalupe Peak at sunset.

We made it down before it got dark. I tried out my new backpacking shower. Mainly, it didn't get me wet enough, and then it didn't rinse off the soap. I was also attempting to wash in a mountain breeze. I'm still glad I did, though. Climbing all day will give you an unholy stink.

The weather was perfect. The wind didn't blow much, and it never got hot. Resting in my sleeping bag, I looked up and saw around 20 shooting stars and a few satellites drifting by. And had only one skunk visit that I know of.

The peak, next morning, before we took off.

People think the desert is ugly. Feel free to leave more of it for me.

At the Fort Worth ISD job fair

Standing in the lobby at the Will Rogers Center in the Fort Worth Stockyards, I killed a few minutes by counting the listed jobs and the number of people applying for them.

Number of Math teaching positions: About 30
Number of applicants in the lobby: About 500, give or take a couple hundred

I realized that with no experience and with so many other people applying, I'd have to transform into the Sham Wow guy to make any sort of impression. And I don't do the Sham Wow guy.

(Actually, I have never seen the Sham Wow commercial, but I can make a fairly strong guess as to what it's like.)

Ah well, nothing to do now but wait and hope. And maybe expand the area of prospective job locations. Maybe they have spots in Kansas. I get the feeling I'd like Kansas. At least the non-Kansas City parts.


Speaking of commercials
The digital change has come and gone, leaving us in the lurch. We have no cable, satellite, and we didn't bother buying a box.

Why? We love the Netflix, but just don't care about TV enough to keep up with it. Also, laziness.

The only thing the house TV is getting now is a broadcast of extremely earnest man telling us not to worry, it'll be OK. We can get this box thing and get our TMZ back, plus we'll have all these new channels.

Does anyone doubt the new channels will put the "r" on the end of "lame?"


Lights on, lights off
It's been an exhausting few days.

The electricity went off. Then on. Then off. Then on. Then off. Then I screamed and demanded to leave the house. (About an hour after which, it came on and stayed.)

We blew through way too much money for eating out, transportation and ice. On the other hand, we have a really nice new cooler, and that should come in handy.


Tooth brush
This picture was harder to set up than I thought, and I'm still not happy with it. What's with the giant door knob?

Still, good enough for a Monday after a disaster.

A post in honor of Oncor energy providers

You people -- bite me.
The lights and A/C are out?
Let's visit in-laws.

This haiku inspired by Todd. Who has lower back pain.

My lower back hurts
been this way for three days now
hoping it stops soon.