A “Writer’s” Dialog

Call:

I had a day today o f near complete freedom--son at "LEGO Camp" all day, daughter at a friend's house all day, no job-related work to do--and of course much of the day was given over to a growing feeling of paralysis. Oh, I mowed some of the lawn, I bought chicken feed. But there is so much else I could have done with that luxurious time. The writing, the accordion (the picking up the cleaning the calling of gutter contractors). And this evening as I listen to D. Shields on some podcast or other I think back to grad school and the increasing distaste for the contrivances of fiction, and of course a fair amount of what he says resonates (though his assumption that art should reflect the current condition is itself kinda quaint, if you ask me). And I think: maybe what he advocates could be the un-paralysis-ing agent that I need. But I fear there is so much more to it for me than the chucking of contrivances. I want to be liberated, but not merely from the bonds of 18th-century fictional structures, but from whatever it is that keeps me from playing the accordion as much as picking up a pen. I'm nearly 50; this is such a tired old tale. (it's the condescending editorial voice that gets the last word).

Response:

...who or what will do the liberating, I wonder? You sound like me. Waiting for something to come along and blow everything apart. I am not coming to terms well with my passivity, my true and daily desire for a miracle.
I can't remember the name of that type of depression in which one cannot fully engage in the ordinary; there is the perpetual need to hold back. Anyway.
Me. But we were talking about you.
The way you talk to yourself by writing to other people is...very good. Write one of these ruminative mini essays each day for one year. Your photo of the day? Ach. But there's your book.

 

Call Again:

Good idea, the daily talk with self/other. I don't think I'm waiting (anymore) to be liberated deux ex machina style. But I spend most of my time avoiding the sense that I am in bonds at all--by working, mowing, Facebooking, parenting. When confronted with "free time" and I remember that I wanted to spend some of the summer writing and playing the accordion, then I start getting that bound-up feeling and I start thinking there must be a way out of this, of liberation, but it's a mechanism I can't seem to unlock, except by avoiding it altogether. I guess that's not unlocking. But I--at least sometimes--try to engage it, to understand or even just plow through it. I mean, I certainly have my passivities, but as far as I can tell there is no real difference between internal and external liberation in this instance. I grapple with it, when I can, but ultimately I grapple in pain and self-recrimination.

My Night at the Grammys, 2011

My night at the Grammys started a few hours before the broadcast, when I saw a picture posted on Twitter by John Linnell and John Flansburgh of the band They Might be Giants. They were there early, apparently because they were up for for a children’s music Grammy (they lost to Pete Seeger), and the picture showed them in a bland, conference center mileu. I have friends on Facebook who like They Might be Giants, so I shared it there, with the words, “The Two Johns, Behind the Scenes at the Grammys.” No big deal.

· In Seattle, my friend La Sander said: “Rob, will you please get me the Avett Brothers autographs?”

· I said: Linnell is looki”ng old.” (that's him on the left)

· Then I said, “La Sander, Avett Brothers I can do. Other requests I can fill on a case by case basis.”

At this point I started to shift gears a little without really realizing it, and though I was still on Facebook, I would be switching back to the relative anonymity of Twitter very soon. Keep in mind that this started at about 5PM. I made dinner for the family, did the dishes, got the kids ready for bed, all the usual parental stuff while this was going on. This reads like a constant stream of comments, but they were intermittent, and spread over 6 hours. It’s also worth noting that when I started the Grammy broadcast wasn’t on TV yet, so I could pretty much make up whatever I liked, and it took place in a fake-context of pre-broadcast Grammys. The hard thing was, once some people started to believe I was really there, I felt obligated not to burst any bubbles. So I had to stick things out for most of the broadcast (which I haven’t watched in years) and find some excuse to “leave the theater” early. I didn’t get out of there until 11pm. But I guess I still beat most of the traffic.

· On FB I said, “I will not go near Dylan. He's wearing the eyeliner again. And he tore into the girl from craft services about something I didn't understand. Flansburgh snickered. But Zimmerman scares me.”

· Several minutes later I said, “(Spoiler) TMBG lost to some octogenarian named Seeger. Flans drinking heavily. Linnell doing that thing where he seethes quietly and stares up through his hair with loathing at every passersby. Even Dylan shied away.”

· And then, “Contractually obligated to tweet the rest of the evening. If you need autographs, dm (“direct-message”) me there @baseballpajamas. It's not going well.”

(Here’s where I switched to Twitter)

	Flans drunk. Linnell doing that thing where he seethes quietly and stares up through his hair with loathing at every passersby
	I want to go back in to the Grammys. But The Johns are bereft. What do I do? They invited me, but this is a once in a lifetime thing.
	Mulling my options while eating a canape.
	Ugh, there's John Mayer with that actress. I can't stand that guy. I'm going back in just to avoid him.
	Can't find my seat. WTF.
	Oh fuck, Mick Fleetwood is sitting right in front of me now. I won't be able to see a thing. And he is so...unctuous.
	Mick Fleetwood Sighting (RT @baseballpajamas: Oh fuck, Mick Fleetwood is sitting right in front of me now. I won't be able to see.)	@Nickslive (FLEETWOOD MAC NEWS)
	Oh wait, I can just move over. Maybe Flans will be too drunk to make it back.
	To: @Nickslive: .He is very tall, met him once at a Stevie Nicks & Sheryl Crow Concert! To: @baseballpajamas>Have Fun!	@desertnative (cecile ruiz)
	Warmup act playing "Pinafore Days" (Stackridge!) but I can't hear it because Mick Fleetwood is chewing out his mum on the phone.
	What ?! Who is the warm up act ? This is amazing news ! Difficult to believe . ( I manage Stackridge, by the way !)	@LummyDays (Michael Tobin)
	His head is massive, I should point out. And he is completely lacking in class--shirt ruffles or no.
	Anyone know if @aimeemann is coming? I've been carrying around this book of hers forever. I don't actually care who John Galt is.
	Shit. I think I left a chicken in the oven. @JamesUrbaniak can you go over and check? I think the house is open.
	Is it the way I'm dressed? The ushers are giving me the eye. I gotta get a drink. Funny if I ran into Usher just now, huh?
	Something's wrong with my twitter application; Ron Weasley can't be trending, right? Or did he cut an record?
	From Echovalleyfarm to me (on Facebook, where I have fessed up to what I’m doing), “You’re a nutbar.”	@Echovalleyfarm (Shawnee)
	Much better. Scotch neat and a nutbar from craft services. Now where the hell are The Johns? They better not have ditched.
	Jeez. Haven't heard from Urbaniak. I hope that chicken is not in the oven. I just can't remember. I should stop the valerian.
	To @desertnative: anything you want me to ask Mick? (assuming a quiet moment when I can get up my nerve)
	yes! If he's ever gonna play @TheShow at Agua Caliente Casino his Roumors Island Band! Soooo , loved that band!
	excited , hahaha! Like I'm gonna talk to him! Been a fan since the 70's! Your so Lucky!
	ok , that was probably a bit much , hahaha! Just tell him sending some Native Love from Palm Springs!? Valentine!
	To @LummyDays: indeed, difficult to believe.
	to @LummyDays: it was Mick Fleetwood who said it was a Stackridge cover; I'm not actually sure. He seems a little tipsy.
	I am stunned ( but flattered ) that Mick Fleetwood would recognise a Stackridge song. Are you actually at The Grammys ?
	Shit, the broadcast is starting. I found Flansburgh, but he's bailing after I don't know how many Moscow Mules. I'm going back in.
	Cripes. Both Johns still here. I've been in the wrong seats this whole time. Got to make my way over to them.
	Pidgeon in here.
	To @desertnative: (quickly) sorry, had to move seats. :-(
	awe! Bummer! Oh , well...yeaaaaah! Your at The Grammys behind Mick Fleetwood! Take a pic!
	I have to say I don't like this kid (about Justin Bieber)
	To @Nickslive and @baseballpajamas: well ya can take pics of his hair mate LoL sitting in the lap of luxery waiting to (cont) http://tl.gd/8qe73i	@jackdigiacomo (Jack giacomo)
	Linnell has that smile of his that says he is not amused, and these lights are giving me a headache.
	Flans is not impressed. What the hell is that bloke saying?
	Maybe it's because Flansburgh crashed and burned early, but the Grammys is not actually that fun in person.
	Gaga swear. Gaga swear.
	Avetts tearing it up. (to be honest, I typed this during Mumford & Sons—oops)
	Flansburgh seems to be sobering up, thanks to the Avett Brothers.
	I told you Bob was wearing the eyeliner.
	Isn't playing the Grammys kind of like working on Maggies Farm?
	cynic.
	I mean, almost by definition?
	You know it's only dinner time here, right? Man. I need to hit craft services again. Hold on. Linnells coming so he can make a call
	I saw Michael, so he can give "Atlas Shrugged" back to Aimee. He rolled his eyes, but he loves her.
	I won't be carrying that book on Maggies Farm no more. Oh wait, there's Fleetwood. Hold on.
	Guys, I gotta tell you, Linnell is about done. I'm going to go get Flansburgh.
	Lost Fleetwood in crowd near the loo. Strange night. Really, too much valerian?
	(while Kris Kristofferson was on stage) I peed next to Kristofferson once, no lie. He is not a tall man.
	Flans wants to listen to Barbra (Streisand). Then we're going to get out of here.
	Oh christ, Linnell left his accordion with one of these coat check things. Why does he do this?
	Oh man, just met Leon Redbone in the the bathroom queue. I thought it was Rick Rubin! But Flans clued me in with a charades thing.
	Gotta get back to the hotel to watch this thing on TV! Thanks, for the invite, Johns!
	you are going to Awesome Hell for this. Kudos to you.	@briandart (brian dart)