8th Street breakdown

The inimitable Kinko’s dancers enjoy the Fall weather during our neighborhood’s little festival over the weekend. We’re, like, movin’ on up and stuff …
Searching for one brief hour of Madness & Joy
{ Monthly Archives }

The inimitable Kinko’s dancers enjoy the Fall weather during our neighborhood’s little festival over the weekend. We’re, like, movin’ on up and stuff …
Bill had an interesting quickie about how to refer to Roy Horn in headlines. Nobody knows who “Horn” is, and I don’t know if just “Roy” would cut it, either, with the majority of readers. I ran into the problem last night, and decided to re-write a headline so I could use “illusionist.”
Later last night, as we were working on our Page 1 overbar, I realized that one of the (very) few good things about Bush is his short-ass name. Even one-column heads can handle him. The same goes for Calif. Gov. Gray Davis, as well, and I envision every copy editor in California voting “no” on the recall. “Schwarzenegger” is a headline nightmare, and “Bustamante” isn’t much of a relief. “Flynt” is copy-editor friendly, however.
So I guess if we voted purely with the thought of making our jobs easier, we easily could pare down the presidential candidates. Lieberman, Kucinich, Sharpton, Graham and Gephardt are out. Dean, Kerry, Clark and Braun (acceptable second-reference for Carol Moseley Braun) get to stay. Edwards maybe.
Then we could form a copy-editor caucus and candidates will come speak to us, promising to shorten their names or refer to themselves by their first names - “Congressman Dick, how are you? Have you met Senator Lieb?” - in order to win our vote.
After electing a president, we would use our skyrocketing political power to change all business hours so that we may attempt to have normal lives after work, as well. Happy hours start again at midnight. All grocery stores, bookstores and Target-type stores are 24-hour establishments. Restaurants serve food until at least 3 a.m. All concerts are late-night affairs. Express checkout lanes will say “10 items or fewer” under penalty of law.
Soon the world will be ours! [eds: Insert maniacal laughter here]
A few weeks ago I found this piece at the Guardian written by a novelist I never heard of. She tells how interviewing Johnny Cash changed her life. (And also how he played for her, which probably would be life-changing in and of itself.)
He looked at her and said, “You have to be what you are. Whatever you are, you gotta be it.” This inspired her to quit journalism and pursue a dream of being a novelist.
I realized reading the article that I’m still looking for my Johnny Cash moment … an experience so profound I know with all my being what it is I need to do with my life and gain the gusto to just drop everything to go do it. I have pretty strong hunches, but no soul-shaking IT that towers above all. Usually when people ask me what I want to do with my life, I just look down and mumble “I dunno.”

The “strong hunches” all are centered around creating, usually through writing. Poetry, fiction, essays, magazine articles … The irony of this is that I’m already in journalism, editing for many years now, and can’t push myself to take any steps. This probably is due to the alien implant I discussed earlier. Everything else is all self-made roadblocks.
I know, I know - most people do not get that BAM! striking moment where it all makes perfect sense and you’re so inspired by the path you see that you’ll leave your six-figure executive job to be a struggling artist or energy bar maker (not that I have a six-figure executive job to abandon). You have to go with your stronger hunches and hope they take you in the correct general direction. I also know that I’m not alone in my ever-draining struggle with this desire to write - I even remember a freshman writing studio teacher who always liked to say that “most writers will do anything to avoid the act of writing.”
But it still hurts. The anxiety, usually in the form of insecurity, has no trouble keeping up with the boosted levels of urgency and desire to create something.
I keep wondering … what moment must I experience for the inspired side of my brain to kick the crap out of the self-doubt side and set me free?
… that I learned something new in Battery Park.