Buy, buy, buy!!

We are in that season that no longer stands for anything, other than rampant consumerism. No longer are people content to savor the sentimental moments that at one time made the holidays a much more enjoyable time. Now it’s shop, shop, shop! With consumer debt headed for the stratosphere, why stop now? Max out the plastic and pay the piper later.

About five or six years ago, my wife and I just decided to downsize our Christmas. As a result, one aspect of our lives has never been better (or saner). Obviously, we are in a very small minority; a trip to the general vicinity of a shopping mall over the next three weeks will validate our status as fringe dwellers.

I ran across this quote, while doing some reading over at Jim Kunstler’s blog on Peak Oil. For me, it succinctly sums up the mentality of the pack that I am seeing: I’ll just stand back and let this person, who posts under the moniker, Mewsician, have the podium:

"Americans have digressed to the point of utter soullessness, a condition in which the only thing they know to do is buy things in an effort to make themselves feel good and to carve out some kind of (albeit shallow and pitiful) identity. I buy, therefore I am.

Remember that watershed moment when, incredibly, George Bush stood amidst the Twin Towers rubble and told people to "go shopping." IMO, that was truly a profound and riveting reflection of what this country has become—it didn't get NEAR the examination and discussion it deserved in the national discourse. A nation traumatized by violent assault, and our "leader" tells us to go out and buy cheap Chinese crap to make ourselves feel better. THAT was his recipe for healing, his idea of a balm for a shaken national psyche. I still can't get over it.

For me, that was THE defining George Bush moment—even ahead of the flight suit debacle and all the rest. But it's what is at the core of all that ails us—we cannot be a society that knows or values nothing except the monetary and what we can buy and take back to our cave.

This.....unchecked, we will continue our downward spiral into ever-more-meaningless lives of quiet emotional desperation. And when the coming energy nightmare truly arrives—and the Walmart trucks can't deliver the shiny baubles to the stores for the magpies to paw over and take back to their trashy nest—it will be just that much more tragic a set of circumstances."

If interested in leaving the consumer merry-go-round this Christmas, here are a couple of sites worth checking out; and yes, I know, this shit freaks people out!

Buy Nothing

Rev. Billy

Why no website?

It always amazes me how many Maine-based writers don’t have websites or blogs. Obviously, I should be careful in lobbing any criticism their way, if in fact that’s what I am doing (I am not); they could always come back at me by saying that their success stems from not “wasting time” with the blogging platform, or other web-based endeavors. Instead, their energy is focused on their latest book project and getting it to market.

Actually, one Maine-based writer, wildly successful and prolific beyond imagination, Tess Gerritsen, has both. I don’t feel so bad now pointing out that other writers have fallen short on promoting their work. If it’s good for Gerritsen, it’s obviously good for me, right?

Granted, Gerritsen is a totally different animal than I am, or aspire to be. She’s a writer who labors in the fiction camp. Her first novel, Call After Midnight, was a romantic thriller. She followed that up with eight more that belong to the same genre. In 1996, she detoured from romantic thrillers and penned her first medical thriller, Harvest, which was her first trip to the New York Times Best Seller List. Since then, she’s routinely made appearances on the coveted yardstick of a writer’s success. Her books have been made into movies and she commands attention wherever she goes. I enjoyed reading her blog, as it gives readers a mirror into her world, and shows a human side that other writers seem to lack.

Another Maine-based writer, who has an interesting website and mines the non-fiction realm, is Hannah Holmes. Holmes’ book, The Secret Life of Dust has received several awards and has been featured on Terri Gross’s Fresh Air program, as well as C-Span’s Book TV.

While not a Maine-based writer, Po Bronson’s books have found their way onto my reading list on several occasions. He also has a website worth looking over, including a fairly extensive reading list.

I’m in the process of having my own website revamped, as I am of the mind that a writer should have a website. I’m aware that writing success requires more than having a presence on the web, and/or a blog, but both certainly can’t hurt. I’m at a loss as to why more writers don’t their own site, especially some very well-known and critically acclaimed authors.

Kill, kill, kill!!

The name, Davy Rothbart, has flashed across my radar screen several times over the past few months. The originator of the truly unique Found Magazine, Rothbart is a member of a new breed of writers.

In its most basic form, Found is a collection of snippets—love letters, notes, birthday cards, to-do lists, doodles—that give Rothbart and crew license to come up with stories based upon these random pieces that they’ve gathered.

The “kill list” that I’ve put up is from Rothbart’s site for the magazine. This note was found on NYC’s 6 train, during Fleet week. Obviously, the person who created it has some strong feelings about who and what needs to be eliminated to re-order his/her world.

Not only does Rothbart collect random scraps of everyday detritus—he is also a talented writer and has a collection of short stories out. The Lone Surfer of Montana, Kansas (Touchstone, 2005) consists of eight short stories, five of which were originally self-published by Rothbart. His talent has been recognized by Simon and Schuster, who have re-issued Rothbart’s book as one of their trade paperbacks.

I read Lone Surfer during my recent flight to Florida, in early November. Rothbart has an edgy style that pulls you in and makes you care about his characters. I found myself wishing that the book had many more stories, which is always a good sign for any book.

Rothbart and his DIY ways have been on my mind this weekend because my son is home from college. He has taken on his own project—a self-published zine that he’s been hawking himself around the Wheaton campus—ala Rothbart and other similar Gen X entrepreneurs. Mark’s project, GMBO, is beyond my ability to describe in the limited space I’ll allow in this post. Let’s just say it’s unique, and as such, has brought with it fresh controversy on the Wheaton campus and from selected regions of the Ivory Tower.

Interestingly, when I was reading Rothbart’s book in the airport in Portsmouth, waiting for my plane, I found myself thinking of my son, Mark. I realized that for most of my life, I’ve pushed him to succeed at athletics and have often viewed him first as an athlete and then secondly, as a unique individual, with original thoughts, ideas, etc. Since this fall, when he first started writing, only to see his work spat upon by the third-rate campus newspaper, I’ve started to see my son in a different light. I can’t tell you how much I’ve been enjoying reading his material, especially his zine, GMBO. It’s really made me appreciate the creative process even more and try to be as supportive as I can of what he’s doing, and to provide encouragement for his writing, something that I never received at his age.

If you are looking for an interesting read, something worth turning off the TV for, during November and December’s interminably long bouts of darkness, check out Rothbart’s book, The Lone Surfer of Montana, Kansas. It will entertain you and better yet, probably make you think about life’s paradoxes, ranging from random strangeness and tragedy, to epiphanies tinged with unsurpassed beauty.

Giving thanks in the land of plenty

When you no longer buy into the mythology of American exceptionalism, the holidays suddenly take on a less celebratory nation. Since leaving behind God and country a number of years back, one of the first things I noticed is how much our holidays—Thanksgiving, Christmas, Easter, Superbowl Sunday—are wrapped in the same trappings and lies as everything else about our nation. At least Christmas has carols, Charlie Brown and Jimmy Stewart to soften realities sucker punch to the sternum. Thanksgiving, unfortunately doesn’t lend itself so easily to delusion.

For the past several Thanksgivings, gathered around the turkey and trimmings, I’ve naively attempted discussions with family members and others, attempting to inject a bit of reality into the revelry. This unceremonious attempt revealed the depth of indoctrination that permeates our daily existence as Americans. The entire Indian/Pilgrim myth is one such lie that refuses to go away. Yes, there are those who do their best to demythologize the day and bring some veracity to the proceedings. But these folks are usually afforded the same level of respect and honor as the participants at a UFO convention.

In searching for writings about the day, it was instructive that so much sounded just like this;

“Most people know better than to view Thanksgiving as merely a day off from work and an opportunity to load up on turkey, stuffing and pumpkin pie.

In a greater sense, Thanksgiving asks people to hearken back to this country's 17th century settlers, the obstacles they overcame during their first year in America and the friendships they developed with American Indians.

Those stories are introduced early in every child's life: the pilgrims, the fish used to fertilize corn, the wild turkeys with multicolored feathers and the chilly spray of the Atlantic Ocean on Plymouth Rock.

They are great romantic tales, and they may or may not be entirely true. But regardless of how valid the details are, the legends are instructive nonetheless. Thanksgiving, like most other holidays, can offer a chance for introspection, self-understanding and enlightened behavior.”

With serious issues about the historical authentication of the myth, I do at least give this writer some credit for directing readers towards, “introspection, self-understanding and enlightened behavior (whatever the fuck that means)”. If my yearly cycle of gathering with family and gouging ourselves on food is like most others (I would guess that it is), I don’t recall much of anything bordering on introspection or self-understanding.

Knowing that for many in our nation and other places, there isn’t a lot to be thankful for this turkey day, I offer the following things that aren’t worth giving thanks for. Maybe our nation’s affluenza makes it impossible for an American to be thankful and feel blessed for any of the abundance that they’ve acquired.

Without any further ado, here is a list 2005’s things to be unthankful for—think of it as the anti-Thanksgiving, 2005: Not intended to be an exhaustive listing, it offers an opportunity for reflection for those few hearty souls who care to add that to their turkey and fixings, as well as pumpkin pie.

• Bombs falling on your head and killing your family (My nod to celebrations in other lands, such as Iraq)
• The families of soldiers who won’t be returning for another Thanksgiving meal
• The 30,000 GM carmakers who will be losing their jobs and their generous benefits
• The millions of other Americans, the nation’s working poor, who will find it difficult to celebrate Thanksgiving, or any other holiday, on sub-living wage pay and no benefits
• The countless Americans being squeezed by an administration bent on extending and making tax cuts permanent to their wealthy friends and benefactors—if any group should be thankful, it should be these bastards—instead, they’ll think of their gilded position as their right and not a privilege.
• The many members of America’s working and exploited classes, forced to labor on a day that traditionally meant that commerce shut down for the day; instead, in a consumer nation where the corporate machine whirs 24/7/365, there is no such thing as a holiday.

Happy Thanksgiving!

A stand to remember

The mill town of Lisbon Falls, my hometown, informs much of what I write and care about. It is there that my working class lens through which I view much of my world was formed and nurtured. Many of us are products of where we were born, or spent important periods of our development, especially if you spent most of your formative years in one place. For good or bad, Lisbon High School had a lot to do with the person I am today. I mean, if it was good enough for Stephen King for god sake, then it was good enough for me! If you’ve read When Towns Had Teams, the threads of town team baseball, small town life and my alma mater intertwine.

I had the good fortune of being at Fitzpatrick Stadium, in Portland, for the Class C state championship football game on Saturday night. I went out for dinner and drinks with my former high school and town team battery mate, Mike Sawyer, of whom you read about at the end of my book. Mike is the one high school mate that I’ve kept in touch with over the years. Looking back, it’s interesting, as he and I weren’t terribly close in school, other than being teammates in baseball and basketball. But our post-high school paths have crossed due to baseball and I’ve found Mike on the receiving end of my pitches for over 20 years, with numerous breaks in between. I also found out the Mike was an extra in the romantic comedy starring Drew Barrymore and Jimmy Fallon, Fever Pitch. He told me he spent a week this summer, at Fenway Park, waiting around from 5pm, until 5am, for his brief flirtation as a celluloid hero. His bit part was minor; a cameo during Barrymore’s run across the field; he also is seen briefly in a Yankee uniform (damn him to hell!). I’ll have to re-watch the flick to catch his brief appearances, now that I know about them.

The football game, played on a chilly night in proximity to Casco Bay, was a classic. Both Lisbon and their opponent, Foxcroft Academy, had a history coming into the game. It was Foxcroft Academy who derailed Lisbon’s quest for their 10th state football title two years ago. Both of these teams had hooked up in the late November, 1997 tilt that Lisbon won on the legendary 80 yard touchdown drive, on a frozen field, with the clock winding down, known ever since as just, “the drive”. Saturday night will go down in Lisbon football folklore in the same breath as that game.

With two evenly matched teams with varying styles going at one another for four quarters, this was entertaining football. Foxcroft, with their wide open, run and shoot-style offense and stellar passing attack; Lisbon with their in-your-face, run you over style of football, providing an obvious contrast.

With Lisbon’s defense being unscored on for 5 consecutive weeks and Foxcroft’s penchant for putting points on the scoreboard, it was a clash of the titans type of affair. While Foxcroft was able to reel off some big plays, pushing Lisbon’s backs to the wall much of the first half, the only scoring for Foxcroft’s Ponies was an 87 yard punt return just before the half. This allowed Foxcroft to go to the locker room with a 7-6 lead.

Lisbon answered early in the third by uncharacteristically putting the ball in the air. A 31-yard scoring strike and a failed conversion had the Greyhounds up, 12-7. Both teams were unable to mount much of a threat after that, until Foxcroft’s final possession of the game and their season.

With the clock winding down on the 2005 season, the Ponies drove the length of the field, completing clutch passes on third down several times. With less than a minute left, it appeared that the Ponies would find the end zone, with insufficient time left for the run-oriented Greyhounds to counter. With a roughing the passer call on fourth down putting Foxcroft, first and goal from the 2-yard line, things didn’t look real hopeful for the Lisbon faithful. However, longtime coach, Dick Mynahan, called a time-out and obviously had something to say to his defense. The first play from scrimmage saw a run with no gain. The next play in the series saw the Foxcroft running back stuffed for a two-yard loss. A running play to the left saw the Ponies regain their original spot and it all came down to the last play. The elusive QB for the ponies, a southpaw, launched a pass attempt towards the far sideline of the endzone and it was batted away by the Greyhound defender and bedlam broke out on the Lisbon side of the stadium. One of the most improbable finishes had allowed the prototypical, hard-nosed Lisbon High team, another state football title.

Being there, Saturday night was special. From the people I ran into, some, former high school teammates that I hadn’t seen for 20-odd years, to the improbable and dramatic finish, it was a memorable evening. Another event in a line of many that cements my affection and affinity for my former hometown of Lisbon Falls, and another wild football ending, which will now be known as “the stand”.