Mr. Greebee may have been found, because I got a cryptic, threatening message. So i decided this may not be the best place for my blog, so i created a new one: it's here at www.aaronzimmerman.net. Check it out!
  ¶ 9:04 AM

  It's new year's day, and I am thinking a lot about Davey, a little boy who died this fall, the night the Red Sox won the world series. He would have been 4 by the end of 2004.

My relationship to Davey is second or third-hand or so; I never actually met him, but he was my nephew of sorts, by adoption, through much more complicated circumstances than I want to explain. He was adopted by loving people who gave him a life much better than he would have otherwise had. The story wasn't supposed to end this way, with him dying of leukemia so soon; the only comfort is knowing how much love and care he receieved.

This is what I want to say about Davey. In his brief life, he lived hard and fully. He knew who he was completely. He loved trucks, construction, real rough and tumble guy things; one time, when he was about 2, he saw a highway worker digging up the road, and looked up and said, "I'm a shovel guy!" His make-a-wish foundation wish was a trip to the sand and gravel pit, where he talked on a walkie-talkie and gave directions to the huge diggers and machinery, and they did what he said. I don't know why that gets to me so much; I love the fact that most kids probably pick things like Disneyland or meeting a celebrity, but Davey wanted to be in a real construction site. I think it men that worked there really amazed to know what they do for a living was somebody's dream of a life.

He was truly loved, but that doesn't make up for the fact that he is gone, and now I am really sorry I didn't take the chance to meet him when I could. Knowing he was terminally ill, I think I thought that it would make it all too sad when he died if I had seen him in person, but the reality is, it's still all too sad. Not meeting him in person doesn't make it less sad. I don't believe in new year's resolutions, they seem so artificial, but maybe a goal of mine will be to stop attempting to guard myself from difficult feelinsg that are going to come anyway. I think then I miss out on the good things that come along with the hard stuff, like watching Davey hold a sparkler and singing the "Davey song," things I saw on video instead of in person. but I do still cherish my role in his life, which was to find truck related items to send to him in the mail as presents; the great find i had was an odd little pillow that had some sort of construction vehicle imprinted into it. I saw it at Weber's, sent it to him, and apparently he loved that pillow dearly. I am happy for the little bit of joy, in the form of a pillow, I could contribute to his life.

Anyway, Davey will be missed, but never forgotten by those that loved him, even those of us that never even met him. Here's his picture:


  ¶ 1:02 PM

  Here's a picture of the non-rodent chasing Chester.


  ¶ 2:51 PM

  Last night, I was sitting in my home office, playing poker online (for a change) and I heard a weird squeaking noise that I didn't think much of. A few moments later, my girlfriend called out that there was something in our oven: "a mouse or a rat," she said. I just have to hear about a rodent anywhere on earth and I am standing on a chair with my skirt in my hands, yelling, "Eek!" We were both too horrified to look in the oven, and I went to bed carrying a 7 foot long wooden pole that we were planning to hang curtains from. Now I plan to roam the house like Obi Wan with big stick to protect me from the monsters.

I thought beagles were supposed to be hunters. Chester once in a while makes a halfhearted run at a squirrel, but when I had mice at my old place, one day he saw one, slowly hauled his ass off the couch, sniffed where it had been and went back to sleep. Plus, he is allergic to cats, so we can't get one. He'd probably eat poop out of the litter box anyway.

I am already looking on Craig's List at new apartments, in case it is a rat (but telling myself it has to be just a mouse).

  ¶ 2:00 PM

  I don't know about this whole blogging idea. One day into it and I am already ready to give it up. That's pretty typical. I sometimes feel ready to give up everything I do, writing, working, umm, what else do I do? Pretty short list, no wonder I am ready to quit.

I feel like I am always waaaaaaay behind everyone else. For example, why didn't anyone tell me that Baywatch was actually a great show? I mean, it was the highest watched show on the whole planet for like 30 years, but I had never seen it until TV Land had a 48 hour marathon a month or so ago. Does everyone else already know that Mitch Buchanan (aka David Hasselhoff) is a former Navy Seal? That's so cool. Plus, apparently lifeguards legally have the right to investigate all sorts of crimes, plus they are not restrained by things like the need for search warrants. Toss in at least one slow motion montage per episode of a playmate on a horse, set to a David Hasselhoff song, yet another near death on that beach and someone getting married or divorced or helping an abused child, or doing all at once, that's some really excellent TV watching.

I am slow to catch on I guess, about a lot of things. Like, I am trying to figure out what can be done with this whole blogging thing. I know linking to other sites is a big part of it, so here's one for ya: www.perry-tales.com, sent to me by my friend Ann -- I'm not sure where she heard of it. I won't say anything about it, I'll let you discover it on your own, it's more fun that way. Well, I will say this: make sure to read all 4 chapters of "Lovin Touchin Squeezin", I actually found it to be very sad and moving. I need to get out more.

I can't believe I have blogged for two days in a row and haven't mentioned my beagle, Chester, yet. Something to look forward to.

  ¶ 10:35 AM

  As many of you may have heard, Mr. Greebee has been missing for months, and I have assumed total control of his operations. Some say he was sighted in Phuket last month, although I don't think those rumors are true.

I've been reading a lot of blogs lately, inspired by making the incredibly great BoingBoing my home page, so I am going to try to revive this blog, somehow. It occurs to me that writing a Blog, I guess like all writing, requires a massive leap of faith that someone out there might read it. I have no idea who my audience might be, but what the fuck, might as well post things here and see what comes of it.

I've started a new writing regimen. I am saying that I am getting up early to write, but that feels like a lie. I get up at 8 AM (though this week I have only done it once). That's later than most people wake up for work, and I am doing this routine with my friend Randy, who lives in California, so he is getting up at 5 AM. It's hard for me to call his cell phone upon waking and complain about being so tired, when he is hauling himself out of bed pre-dawn, on his way to his full-time job that he drives more than an hour to. Did I mention that he also has two kids, is a jazz musician and just bought a new house? He also did this website. Compared to him, I feel like I have very little to do. Yet, 8 AM is not a great time for me.

This is a total non-sequitor, but it's hard to even grasp the magnitude of the destruction from the Tsunami. My only point of reference is 9/11, something we in NYC are still struggling with. I lead a writing workshop for survivors of the attack on the WTC, and I am amazed at what they face in their daily lives: basically, people don't want to hear about it anymore. For example, many companies that were located in the WTC won't disseminate info to their employees about 9/11 related services, like counseling, if they are sent to them. I think corporation almost want to pretend it didn't happen, as if the people that ran for their lives and lost co-workers would forget. Now more than 50,000 are dead in Asia, with the figures to rise. It is already nearly 20 times the death from 9/11. I fear that we will pretend it never happened, here in the US at least. I already find myself wanting to pretend that, becuase it is so awful. Boing Boing has been posting a lot about it, including ways to help. It gave me the idea to sell things on ebay and donate the money, so I will post that soon, as soon as I get my act together to do it. I sent some money to Architecture to Humanity, but it all feels so remote. How much money was raised here after 9/11? Many billions; but how much will be raised for this? I don't want to compare, tragedy is tragedy, but in America it's only tragedy if it affects the US. Of course, that's not true, there are lots of compassionate individuals here, who are doing amazing things around the world, but in my anger about the direction of this country, it's so easy to lose faith in human nature.

I'm not sure I can really go on with writing about my attempts to have a creative life, which is what I thought I would blog about (at least sometimes), so maybe that's it for now.
  ¶ 2:28 PM

  I read last week as part of a Happy Hour reading at the Bowery Poetry Club. I've been holed up so much preparing to move and generally self-absorbed that it felt like a chore to drag myself out of the house and down to the Lower East Side to read. Also reading were 3 other writers published by Spuyten Duyvil. Hearing them made my evening more than worthwhile. All 3 writers, Nava Renek, Harriet Sohmers Zwirling and Tsipi Keller read beautifully written pieces.

I was especially moved by Harriet's work; it was an excerpt from her book, Notes of A Nude Model: (http://www.spuytenduyvil.net/fiction/notesnudemodel.htm), which she introduced as being about when her 89 year old husband went into a nursing home. The descriptions of life in the home, the way the long-term residents had adapted, and how her husband was slipping away before her, were painful and yet also had great beauty to them. I am putting this book next on my reading list.

Then I got to hang out at the bar and drink red wine and gab with the one friend of mine who showed up (Thanks Mel!) and her very smart and funny and cool friends, and listening beautifully sad Persian music. I was glad I left the house.   ¶ 12:36 PM

  I feel like the Dennis Kucinich (who, btw, spell check suggests I replace with the word "juiciness") of literary readings. I read in front of 5 people at the Prospect Park Y the other day. The reading was small, but seemed to be appreciated by the small band of supporters. One was the lovely organizer of the event, one was her friend, two were a retired couple that live in my apartment building and the other person lives at the apartments in the Y and is in a writing workshop there. I bet Toni Morrison couldn't tell you a little bit about every person who attended her last reading.

The rooftop room has a sweeping view of South Brooklyn and Manhattan, and I wanted to just stand and stare out forever. I read a short piece, and Burnley Duke Dame, the event organizer, asked me to read another section of the book. I flipped to another section, and started to read. I got lost in it, and it seemed like I would never reach the end of the section I wanted to read. Pages and pages went by, my mouth got more dry, but onward I read.
I finally stopped, a little sooner than where I wanted to, but it was fine.

Then, I got peppered with questions. It was more like a discussion group, us sitting around in a circle of chairs, me sitting too, and talking about writing. It was nice. I imagined Dennis Kucinich, at a gathering of 5 supporters, talking about the issues that brought them together. He won't be President, but he seems to be having a good time of it. Even though I feel like I am dwelling in complete obscurity (like Dennis K.) as a writer, it still was nice to get paid attention to, and to chat with friendly people. If I did a reading like that every night of the year, then 1,825 people would have heard me read, and I will have sold 365 more books (one per reading, I'll do the math for you, as Mr. Greebee would prefer, I assume).   ¶ 11:28 PM