25 January 2010
A few days ago, an agent wrote to me saying that she had read my entire manuscript (she had previously requested I send her the whole thing). She had some very nice things to say about the manuscript, though she said the first half dragged a bit. Halfway through her email, she told me she regretfully could not take me on as one of her clients. She cited the economy as a reason.
Today, I wrote back to her sympathizing with the current economic climate. I told her of my plan to have the book professionally edited, even asking her if she would be willing to specify what she feels would be an ideal length for the first half. A couple of hours later, she responded by saying something like: “James, I was being honest when I said I couldn’t take you on as a client right now. Ask me again in two years.”
This seemed odd to me, as I was unsure how she could’ve mistaken my words as an indictment of her honesty. (Shouldn’t reading comprehension be one of her strong suits?) Weird.
This seems to be something of a theme in my life: I go to college after moving out on my own and getting married, I buy a townhome when the price of housing is skyrocketing, then buy a house when the market is even worse. When I got hired at Lenscrafters, it was an employer’s market, and I was chronically underpaid for the first five years I worked there. Now I’m shopping a book around when no one is buying books.
My timing is all wrong.
Maybe I should invest in a newspaper business right now. Or buy stock in a VCR company.

26 January 2010
Speaking of timing…
My wife and I are about six months away from having our second child. Yes, that’s right, I have once again infected my wife with that sexually transmitted disease known as “life.”
We had an ultrasound a couple of weeks ago, and they checked to make sure everything looked normal. (Looks can be deceiving though: I guarantee that little fetus has OCD.) That’s about the only sort of ‘medical’ thing we’re going to do, though. I think of having a baby as just another thing a body does… it’s natural and there’s no need to interfere. I mean, of course, things can and do go wrong, so I’m grateful to live in a country that has outstanding (if unaffordable) medical care.
Today we interviewed our fourth and final midwife. The idea of a midwife is to come to your home when you’re about to give birth and provide any support that you need. Notice: this is different than the doctors, nurses, and midwifes at hospitals, who are there to provide any support they possibly can. Ideally, I wouldn’t even want a midwife there, but I suppose they’re kind of like a car mechanic. Yeah, that’s right, I said a car mechanic. Let’s say I plan to drive across country – I can do it. I know I can do it. Sure, there’s bound to be some necessary maintenance, such as refueling and checking the air in the tires. And there is the remote chance that something will go very wrong. So I’ll hire a mechanic to sit in the backseat and ride with me. He’s not going to interfere unless he really has to. And I mean REALLY has to; if there’s just a flat tire, or if I need my battery jumped, I can handle that. He’s just there for the very unlikely stuff.
I hope that makes the idea of a home midwife understandable to the men who are reading this.
At any rate, at the ultrasound we asked not to be told the gender (which probably was nearly impossible to tell this early anyways). So who knows? A boy? A girl? We don’t know. This means we have twice the work: we have to pick out two names. The upshot is that we have twice the number of names we can immediately cross off: James AND Jennifer.

22 January 2010
This evening, we ate at Panera. I had a gift card, so it was a rather inexpensive meal. I learned that Panera isn’t such a great place for vegetarians; nearly every soup, salad and sandwich has some kind of meat (almost always chicken) in it. There are a couple of salads without meat, but they’re just plain, boring salads, which I could buy at any restaurant. The only non-meat soup is a French Onion concoction, which I tried last time I was at Panera, and it tasted like snot. Or, rather, it tastes like what I imagine snot would taste like.
I was weak today and ordered the potato soup, which has chicken in it. I’m not sure why they had to throw chicken in there, but they did. I ordered it in a bread bowl, which my wife lovingly pointed out is a waste of money since it:
A. Costs $1.00 more,
B. Doesn’t have as much soup as a regular bowl, and
C. GIve a person way more bread than they actually want to consume.

23 January 2010
Today was a stay-at-home day. My wife decided she was going to make a big batch of really tasty soup. She used a bunch of fresh ingredients, including whole peppers that she chopped up. She even sent me to the store to purchase some cumin. This was the only time all day that I left home. I drove four blocks. Yes, I know, it’s kind of pathetic to drive four blocks. But, come on, the sidewalks are buried under mounds of snow, and it was raining. So I drove to Mississippi market and bought some bulk cumin.
I took the first spoonful of soup and immediately began coughing. The vapors alone were spicy enough to irritate my respiratory system. Owen declared it was too spicy and didn’t take a second spoonful. Jennifer concurred. I finished the bowl of soup (it was tasty, after all), though it required me to get up twice: once to refill my glass of water and once to blow my nose. I actually used the soup more as a kind of salsa, dipping lime flavored chips into the soup to scoop up just the smallest amount. Jennifer plans to buy some more broth to dilute it. Oh well…

24 January 2010
Today, while the rest of the state spent the evening with their best friend (football), Owen and I went and played board games with a meet-up group.
I don’t want to say I don’t care about football, but by comparison to nearly everyone else, I really don’t. My parents are the same way, and so I guess I inherited such non-caring from them. The thing is, I don’t really get the whole attraction to the local team – or any local team, for that matter. What’s the appeal of the one particular team that happens to play closer to my home than any other? I mean, I understand why a person would support their local high school, or even college team: they maybe went to that school, their kids go to that school, or maybe it’s just because all the kids from that school are the local neighborhood kids. But not so pro-sports. Players are traded back and forth across the country and no thought is given to where the team resides. If I’m a Vikings fan, what does that mean? Did I love the Vikings team that existed in 1998? If so, is it just coincidence that I am a fan of the 2009 team? Because they’re two totally different teams, made up of people who were raised and schooled from various other states and who maybe spent the bulk of their pro careers playing for other teams.
Maybe people like the local teams because, hey, they play in a conveniently located place. I could understand this with baseball, where the home team plays nearly a hundred home games each year. But football? How attached can you get to a team that plays in town ten times at most? And considering the going rate for seats at a football game, how many home games does a person even attend? Most fans just watch it on TV, thereby negating the benefit of having them play nearby. I guess, in this way, I am more capable of understanding one’s love of a particular athlete, regardless of the team they’ve partnered with this year. I am much more sympathetic to people’s attraction towards Muhammad Ali, Tiger Woods, or Michael Jordan than to, say, the Timberwolves.
And isn’t it odd that we don’t apply this proximity rule to anything else? Should I prefer the music of Bob Dylan or Prince, or that old classic Surfin’ Bird due to their Minnesotan roots? Does Jingle All the Way, or anything by the Coen brothers automatically get two thumbs up?
I am also intrigued by the emotional investment given such teams. WIthin minutes of today’s loss, my Facebook page was flooded with angry, upset, and otherwise depressed friends – some who I didn’t even know cared for football. I have a few favorite films from the past year – and if they do not take home some Oscar gold next month, I am going to be mighty pissed off.

20 January 2010
Today I declined an offer from an agent. A few agents have been responding to me lately. Two of them said no. Another said something like, “There’s no way I would represent something like that.” Another agent said she wasn’t taking new clients at this time, and another turned me down due a family crisis that suddenly put a moratorium on her work.
But, among others, I received an email from one agent who said she loved the sample chapters I sent her. She said my story needs to be told – it needs to be “out on the shelves” to use her words. She then began to detail all the work my book need, from an editing standpoint. I’m fine with this, because I know the book isn’t perfect; I know it’s too long. But then she said that it needs to be edited and that we will need to do this before sending it out to publishers. Oddly, she next tried to preempt any objections I would have to this. Then she said that she also works as an editor (isn’t this my lucky day?) and that she’d be willing to edit my book. She asked me to let her know if this sounded good to me and, if so, she would respond with her fees.
So I thought about this for several days. To me, this sounds like a conflict of interest. If she makes money off of her clients by editing their books, where’s the incentive for her to make money marketing the book?
Today I replied by saying (in part):
“I am reluctant to hire an agent as my editor. Many sources warn of agents who make their living editing their clients’ books. It seems that in generating income in this manner, agents are less aggressive in seeking a publisher for their clients. … I will pass on your offer to edit for the time being.”
For several hours after writing this email, I fretted that I’d done the wrong thing. “Maybe I just shot myself in the foot,” I said to myself (I use clichés when I talk to myself). When I got home this evening, however, there was an email waiting for me. In its entirety, it read: “okay; thanks for getting back to me.”
Yep, that was the whole message, complete with a non-capitalized ‘o’. When I read this email, I knew I’d made the right decision.

21 January 2010
Owen was very interested in the new calendars we hung up at the beginning of the year. He made me pick him up and answer all sorts of questions about the calendar, like: “What does that say?” (He asked that in reference to “New Year’s Day,” written on January 1). He asked why there was nothing written on the 21st, and I just shrugged my shoulders and said: “I don’t know, there’s just nothing special going on that day.” He asked if we were going to do anything, and I said: “Well, I’ll probably go to work, and you’ll go to preschool.” He then announced: “We are going to IKEA that day.”
“Oh really?” I asked.
“Yes. Write it on the calendar, okay?”
So I did.
Then he asked me to write down that we were going to go at 5:30.
So I did.
And that’s what we did today.
Well, pretty close, at least. We showed up at IKEA at about 5:10, so we were a little early, but we stayed past 5:30, so I’m sure he was fine with it.
We ate dinner in the IKEA restaurant. We explored the toy section, and then looked for a bigger bed for Owen. Then we went downstairs and bought him an ice cream.
That is all for today.

18 January 2010
I can’t really complain that I had a paid holiday today, but I guess that’s what I’m goin to do…
Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against the great Dr. King, but I’m just not sure what I’m supposed to do on this day off. I would much prefer having Election Day or even Halloween off, because at least on those days there’s something to do (something relating to the holiday, at least). And unlike Memorial Day and Labor Day, most of my friends and family don’t have the day off, so it’s not like I can hook up with any of them. But, like I said, maybe it’s a bit ungrateful to complain about this.
At any rate, the day was pretty great. We had a leisurely morning, followed by some errands-running. We played Uno in the evening (Owen makes us play Uno nearly every day) and I whipped up another five gallons of homebrew. There are now ten gallons of home-brewed beer in my home. Yee-hah!

19 January 2010
Last night, I watched the first half of the film Chaplin. Today, I watched the second half. It’s kind of funny to me that I had never watched this film before.
I am a big fan of Chaplin. I was first intorduce to him in a high school film class, where we watched The Gold Rush. Curious to see more, I rented more of his films. I’ve seen most of his ~70 short films, and I’ve seen seven of his ten feature films, even seeing Modern Times at the theater. I love his timing in comedy, which is endlessly copied now. He’s a bit sentimental in some of his films, which doesn’t play well with modern sensibilities, but at times, it still works powerfully (such as in The Kid and City Lights). Chaplin’s films took on many issues, a rarity of the time – in fact, he even released The Great Dictator, a film ciritcal of Hitler, in 1940 – well before such criticism became accepted in ‘neutral’ America. I also think it’s amazing that Chaplin managed to successfully remain in silent films for some 12 years after everyone else had gone to sound.
Anyway, when my interest in Chaplin was first rising, the aforementioned biopic was released. I couldn’t go see it at the theaters because it ws rated R (and that’s a no-no for Witnesses), but I did buy a t-shirt that said “Chaplin” and showed his silhouette. I wore the shirt to a party one day, prompting one girl to come over to me and say “I’m surprised you have the nerve to wear that shirt.” I told her I was wearing the shirt to honor the man – not the rated R movie.
I finally put the movie on my Netflix queue, but it wasn’t available until recently. It languished near the bottom of our queue for some time, but last night, I was looking for something to watch, and Jennifer said she had no interest in it. So I watched it alone.
I’m glad I saw it. I didn’t like the dialogue-heavy scenes with his editor that bracket the flashbacks (seems a tragedy to tell the story of Chaplin – someone so gifted at using visuals – by using poor dialogue transitions). But the lengthy flashbacks themselves were great. Robert Downey, Jr. does an impeccable impersonation. The film drops hints of how Chaplin came up with some of his film ideas, and traces his path from the Keystone Cops days (Dan Akyroyd plays a hilraious Mack Sennett) to his later films. The film’s style often paid homage to the silent-film era, such as iris transitions and sped-up chase scenes, though I wish the film would’ve shown more.
The best part of the film is the final segment in which an aging Chaplin is invited to America (after being banished for over 20 years) to accept a lifetime achievement award from the Academy. As old Charlie is wheeled out onto the stage, we see everyone, even stagehands, rushing to the sides to see the film montage. Walter Matthau offers a tribute to Charlie and then a long reel of his old films begins. In the days before Netflix or even VCRs, being treated to 10 minutes of old Chaplin films must’ve been a real treat for the audience. The film Chaplin shows the exact footage that was shown to the Academy on that day, nearly 40 years ago. I laughed along with the audience, and it nearly brought a tear to my eye to see such wonderful, poignant footage. All the while, Downey’s character is on the sidelines watching, and he cries, too. From reading about this event, I know that after the montage, Chaplin was given the longest standing ovation is Oscar history, and I was excited to see this moment in the film. However, as soon as the montage concluded, the words “The End” came on screen, and Chaplin was over. In retrospect, that was the perfect ending. Without a word, there ws nothing else to say. Chaplin was a good film about a great man who made beautiful films.

15 January 2010
I was late to work today and, while driving in, I received a call from my supervisor wondering where I was. I had emailed her two hours earlier explaining why I would be late but, as luck would have it, she didn’t get the email. I’m not sure why; on my home computer it shows that I emailed her, yet she showed my her email file at work, and she clearly didn’t receive anything. She didn’t mind, which was cool of her, she was just concerned that I wasn’t showing up at work.
Why does that sort of thing always seem to happen? I can send out the most asinine emails, and they arrive at their intended destination with no problem, but important stuff too often gets lost in cyberspace. Weird.
Speaking of emails, one of my co-workers sent this to me the other day, and I think it’s probably the funniest thing I read all week. If you read it, make sure you read the whole thing (come on, it’s not that long) and don’t read the final paragraph until you get there: CLICK THIS.

16 January 2010
Today we went to the Children’s Museum. It was a last-minute decision. At about 11:00 this morning, Jennifer said I should try and find something for us to do. I opened up my laptop, and I had left the internet open to the Minnesota Atheists Meet-up page. There was a meet-up scheduled for noon at the Children’s Museum, so we got ready quickly and drove there.
There were about 20 people in attendance from our group, and we all met in this little cafeteria area and ate lunch first. I liked the idea of being there with a group of people, though sometimes it was tough to stay together as a group. Not that it mattered too much, Owen doesn’t really play with the other kids.
The thing he likes to play with best is this assembly-line-type deal (yeah, I don’t know how else to describe it). There’s a conveyor belt that kids put these grey cubes onto. The belt lifts the cubes up to the second floor where they fall onto tracks that drop them onto another conveyor belt. Then the kids can drop them down a hole where they land back on the first floor and the whole process can start again. I guess it’s one of those things you have to see to understand. Anyway, Owen thinks it’s the best exhibit at the Museum and I think he would spend all day intensely moving useless cubes from point A to point B and back to point A again.

17 January 2010
Today I went to hear Representative Phyllis Khan speak about how to lobby your State Legislator. The presentation was sponsored by Minnesota Atheists. Though it’s always interesting to meet up with someone in government, she didn’t actually speak on her topic. She just kind of talked about some things going on at the state-level right now and answered several questions from the audience. One woman, who admitted her question was was off topic, began by saying that she is an optician and she wants to know how to get a law passed requiring licensing for opticians in Minnesota. This was a subject I knew about all too well a decade ago when I was in the optical industry. Basically, here’s the problem: in nearly every other state, persons must pass a state test to become opticians. In Minnesota, though, anyone can go in and get hired at, say America’s Best Eyewear, and wear a name tag that says “optician” on it. The woman specifically called out Lenscrafters for their attempts to block such legislation, which is true, but I think it’s a bit unnecessary. First of all, if you go into Lenscrafters or any other eyeglass store, just ask to be assisted by a certified optician. A certified optician is someone who has taken & passed the American Board of Opticianry examination. When I was employed at Lenscrafters, I started as just a regular salesperson. After quite a bit of in-house training (including written tests), I was promoted to Apprentice Optician. I was an Apprentice Optician for nearly three years, during which time I garnered even more experience, and took a college class on opticianry. Finally, I took the A.B.O.’s test, passed it, and then – only then – was I given a new name tag showing that I was an optician. Hanging on the wall in the store for all customers to see was my certificate.