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Oct. 8th, 2005 09:05 amSo I see my two yearly rituals are rolling around: Yom Kippur and my annual Stegner Fellowship application (cum subsequent rejection.)
I am the mongrel offspring of a Sicilian Catholic sailor and a German-Jewish obsessive-compulsive. I borrow religious practices from both my rich parental traditions, merrily scampering back and forth between the Synagogue and the confession booth, taking long walks by the ocean, arranging all my pens by color and length and width of nib in a neat row upon my desk.
Yom Kippur, though. That's a challenge. You have to ask forgiveness. Actually, it's a little more complicated than merely asking: you have to petition. And that means you have to make a list of all those people whom intentionally or unintentionally you've fucked over in the last year.
And this is hard for me because I have a victim mentality and thus a suitcase filled with rationalizations for why in every situation my less than perfect actions were appropriate, justified and entirely deserved. The good news is that I have five days to make that list and get the apologies over with, and then I'm free to begin the cycle of fuck or be fucked anew for another year.
The Stegner fellowship requires two short stories. One of them will be about Mark dying and long train rides. Not sure about the other – was thinking of doing one about my childhood friend Roberta and calling it Former Child Star, but since I haven't written very much about Roberta in my journals (from whence all my literary efforts are lifted), it will require actual composition effort. And I'm not sure I have enough time to go into that zone.
In other news, Circe the boa constrictor died this week. She had a long life as snakes go. Ben cried. Robin looked up from his video game and said, "Huh." I felt guilty – as though there was something I could have done, but did not do, to make her life more pleasurable. Even though I'm quite sure that the pursuit of happiness is not an issue for reptiles.
Also Robin went for his first commercial audition this week. It was a PSA about recycling. He would have had .3 seconds of screen time remonstrating sloppy old Dad for throwing that beer bottle in the trash. I think he felt intimidated by the video camera, and I didn't help things along by brightly exclaiming to the AD, "Yes, he's really excited – I've explained to him that if he plays his cards right he could be the male Lindsay Lohan and do rehab by fifteen."
I am the mongrel offspring of a Sicilian Catholic sailor and a German-Jewish obsessive-compulsive. I borrow religious practices from both my rich parental traditions, merrily scampering back and forth between the Synagogue and the confession booth, taking long walks by the ocean, arranging all my pens by color and length and width of nib in a neat row upon my desk.
Yom Kippur, though. That's a challenge. You have to ask forgiveness. Actually, it's a little more complicated than merely asking: you have to petition. And that means you have to make a list of all those people whom intentionally or unintentionally you've fucked over in the last year.
And this is hard for me because I have a victim mentality and thus a suitcase filled with rationalizations for why in every situation my less than perfect actions were appropriate, justified and entirely deserved. The good news is that I have five days to make that list and get the apologies over with, and then I'm free to begin the cycle of fuck or be fucked anew for another year.The Stegner fellowship requires two short stories. One of them will be about Mark dying and long train rides. Not sure about the other – was thinking of doing one about my childhood friend Roberta and calling it Former Child Star, but since I haven't written very much about Roberta in my journals (from whence all my literary efforts are lifted), it will require actual composition effort. And I'm not sure I have enough time to go into that zone.
In other news, Circe the boa constrictor died this week. She had a long life as snakes go. Ben cried. Robin looked up from his video game and said, "Huh." I felt guilty – as though there was something I could have done, but did not do, to make her life more pleasurable. Even though I'm quite sure that the pursuit of happiness is not an issue for reptiles.
Also Robin went for his first commercial audition this week. It was a PSA about recycling. He would have had .3 seconds of screen time remonstrating sloppy old Dad for throwing that beer bottle in the trash. I think he felt intimidated by the video camera, and I didn't help things along by brightly exclaiming to the AD, "Yes, he's really excited – I've explained to him that if he plays his cards right he could be the male Lindsay Lohan and do rehab by fifteen."
