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I fell down and sprained my Internet Meme: Seven Things About Me

4 Jan

So I’m sitting here waiting for the word that all is clear and we can hit the town for dinner. While I’m waiting, I think I’ll continue this little Internet-y thing going around (totally not an STD). Mike Scalise, a writer with whom I attended grad school, has just tagged me for a Seven Things. So here’s is my off-the-top-of-my-head version.

  1. I played high school basketball in Indiana, which was exactly like the movie “Hoosiers,” except fast-forwarded about 50 years later. My team–I swear to fucking God this is true–was named the Plainfield High School Quakers. The Fighting Quakers. My life has been one of confusion because of this.
  2. I’m going to Florida tomorrow. Fort Myers. And I’m not even over the age of 50.
  3. (Mike and Ryan Call talked about their wives within the first three things, so I think that’s a pretty good precedent.) I am living in sin with a wonderful woman, who makes things like sin extra fun. She loves the NFL and really should start a football blog. I even have a good name, which I’m not sharing because things like blog names are, in the words of Blago, fuckin’ valuable.
  4. I was the subject of a documentary my senior year of college. I also acted in three plays that year. During the last one, I got so far into character (asshole college student) that I flicked a lit cigarette into the audience. This displeased some.
  5. I went snowboarding for the first time this Christmas. Fell down a lot. As you do.
  6. I’m left-handed and born on August 9th. Take from that what you will.
  7. My secret dream is to do stand-up comedy once, just once. But I probably never will.

Okay then. Now’s the part where I have to tap seven other people, and this is really kind of embarrassing for me since the number of friends I have is roughly, like, two or something. So I’m going for some big-league taps, just to, you know, fill the list out.

Consider yourself tapped: Parsons, Paul Krugman, Matt Wood, Kenney Marlatt, Mark Titus, Rachael Daigle, and Brendan Fitzgerald.

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oh hey look … a poem

9 Dec

masthead1

Okay, I will seriously start posting interesting stuff soon, I promise. But check it out: It’s my poem, yo.

I should use this space to say thanks to Kevin Stein, who has a poem about working on a ladder, which inspired this one. I can’t remember the name of his poem off the top of my head, and all my poetry books are a’scattered across the office floor.

Ya’ll should check out Kevin Stein, by the way, because he’s the ma-fuckin man.

“Falling Off the Ladder” (I can remember the names of my own poems, it seems) opens up Stone Speak, my manuscript, which is MFA-speak for “dumb unpublished book.” It’s pretty cool The Brooklyn Review (which you should also check out, incidentally) decided to stick up my poem on its site. Thanks, ya’ll.

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December, a time for award-winning performances

9 Dec

Didn’t see this video on the C-VILLE site until yesterday. They usually do a video segment called “In the Newsroom,” in which Cathy Harding, the editor, talks to the person who did the week’s cover story.

Of course, I ain’t newsroom-bound anymore, so they did this, which I think was pretty hilarious. Cathy deserves some kind of daggone web Oscar for her performance. I  started to believe that I was on the phone.

And I thought, Oh no! What’s the matter with me?

You can check out more C-VILLE videos here.

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The Upside of the Downturn

3 Dec

02122008

Well hey there! Remember me?

Let’s pretend I haven’t posted anything here for like, one million weeks, and all turn our attention to this piece of mine that just ran in C-VILLE Weekly–The Upside of the Downturn.

Wherein I take numerous cheap but funny shots at our current economic mess, pointing out that even totally fucking financial collapses have, you know, their benefits and stuff. It looks like the staff over there in Charlottesville put together a nice art package with the story, which is not all that surprising, because that’s usually what they do.

Here are just some of the benefits our upcoming Greatest Depression Ever will bring you:

  • No more credit card debt
  • Better health and education
  • Better music
  • Less assholes in coffee lines, and …
  • The reemergence of the WPA

So if you haven’t figured it out, this story is kinda full of shit, but hopefully in a good way, like Ween or Divo or something. If you really want a good update on the mess that we’re in, I recommend This American Life’sAnother Frightening Show About the Economy.”

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Scott Weaver dot com

13 Nov

Between hunting for jobs, hunting for freelance writing assignments, and hunting for free internets, there will probably not be a lot of posting here until Tuesday when the broadband comes.

So I’m just going to throw up some shit in case you’re very, very bored.

Like my website, in which you can read stuff I’ve written, see sites I’ve designed, or read my resume, which, I should tell you, is all plot and no character but contains a spectacular twist at the end.

Oh, and if you want a website, I’ll make you one. I’ll even cut you deal. And it will look better than my shitty website, I promise, because I did that one in like two minutes or something, dude.

As you were.

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By the time I get to Idaho

11 Nov
Entering the state, to much fanfare

Entering the state, to much fanfare

Rolled into my new home around 4pm yesterday–Boise, Idaho. Currently sponging Internet off a coffee shop near Boise State U. I have a freelance piece due in less than a week, so I’m gearing up to attempt some humor here. Thought this ol’ blog might be a good place to start.

So, in true mixed metaphor fashion, please allow me to vomit some throat-clearing words here.

First reaction to Boise: Lots of white people. White people as far as the eye can see. Which is far. Ever been to Idaho? You can see a long ways.

The majority of which seem to be riding bikes, which is cool. But it is November. In Idaho.

Two days ago I saw my first tumbleweed. For real. Rolling across the damn road. And I thought: Tumbleweed! That night I watched the end of a Clint Eastwood movie in which he drew back his serape and pulled out a pistol for which to shoot a man dead. This is all true.

And now a memo to Christians in the continent’s middle: Do you really need all those radio stations? Because there are often just four stations in your wonderful states, two of which feature love songs to Jesus Harold Christ himself, the third a preacher telling me I’m going to go to Hell if I worry (thanks, Rev. Tautology), and the fourth the country station that plays two songs, one that uses “Chicken Fried” as a noun and the other a Kid Rock song about Lynard Skynard kicking ass.

Sarah Vowell can write a book about Puritans, theology in the New World, and Anne Hutchenson and make it really interesting. Bill Bryson can write a book about Shakespeare and make it very, very dull.

Boise State opens its basketball season this Friday. So that’s pretty cool.

Okay. Now on to this New Great Depression, which is totally going to be Great.

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Leaving the East

7 Nov

Today we’re set to cross the Mississippi, offically ending my time out East. Should make Boise by Monday.

Somewhere here, there is a country song.

Stuff journalists like

30 Oct

If you are a former colleague of mine, this is for you. Stuff Journalists Like.

It has the usual fare: scandals, free food, awards. And of course, this.

While the majority of journalists will never get to report on a “New Hamsterdam,” where drug use is legalized, they like to think such a story is right around the next corner.

However, as good as seasons one through four are, it is season five that journalists really love. Going inside the Baltimore Sun’s newsroom for season five, reporters feel smug hearing terms like “main art,” “double truck,” or “below the fold.”

Journalist like telling their non-journalists friends what these words mean, and that they really use those terms in their own newsroom.

The appeal of “The Wire” to journalists ultimately comes down to another like they have – journalists just like seeing themselves on TV.

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An apology and explanation to a Grandma in Illinois

23 Sep

This morning I read a letter to the editor in my old paper about a story I wrote on the Charlottesville Police Department’s gang task force. The writer is the grandmother of Det. Todd Lucas, the main cop in my story. And she had a problem with some of the langauge I used.

Here’s the letter in its entirety, since C-VILLE’s website shows all letters on a single page.

Recently, I had occasion to read your interesting publication in which my grandson was featured in the article, “Does Charlottesville have a gang problem?” [July 8, 2008]. Todd is a police detective and was accurately described by your reporter Scott Weaver, who appears to be a gifted writer. So, my question is this: Why muddy an otherwise interesting article with offending pornographic language? In the very first paragraph, G—d— (page 18) which is bad enough but then on page 20, he used the “f” word in its entirety. Is his vocabulary really so limited? The bigger question is—why weren’t these edited out? Responsibility goes along with free speech. As Camus noted in his novel The Plague, we must guard against little plagues so they won’t become huge plagues.

I assume your news weekly is read by families including young, impressionable readers. There is no excuse for such language at all but especially in a newspaper that has a 24,000 copies distribution. I sincerely hope that future contributors are warned about the language permissible and that editors will catch and delete inappropriate words that offend all decent readers.

I can honestly say that I feel bad when I offend readers with something I wrote. It’s the straight-A, approval-seeking grade school kid in me. So I want to apologize to the letter writer for offending her. It’s not a good feeling to learn about a reaction like this one.

But I also want to explain why, in this story, I used those word. I thought through using them; they weren’t thrown in on a whim. And I think I have good reasons to write like that, just as the letter writer has good reasons to be offended to read such writing. 

She asks why I would “muddy” a story with “offending, pornographic language.” I think here we get to a disagreement between the two of us. I don’t think either of the two words I used, “goddamn” and “fuck” are pornographic. Pornography related exclusively to exrotic and sexually stimulating behavior, and neither of the passages she points to have anything to do with sex.

The offensive part, well, that’s where we disagree. But maybe not completely. I don’t think those two words are offensive. I hear them every day, and while there are some contexts in which you wouldn’t expect to hear them, they are a part of our language. But the letter writer is offended by them, and that’s perfectly understandable. To take offense at something, be they words, actions, pictures, envokes one’s own ethics. It’s not against my ethics to say fuck. It is against the letter writer’s ethics though. 

And here’s where I feel bad, but in a very ambivalent way. Because I know those words offend some people, and I use them anyhow. So I know, before the story even runs, that I’m stepping on somebody’s moral, eithical toes. And I do it anyway. And I even feel bad about it, enough to offer an apology.

But I think those words are necessary to the story. Not to use them would change what I was trying to do. Looking at the two instances the letter writer mentions, here’s why. 

The first is the opening graph of the story where I introduce Det. Lucas, the letter writer’s grandson:

Todd Lucas is a difficult man to doubt. He is earnest and he is forceful and he is a person possessed of an electric personality channeled through a gleaming sledgehammer of a smile. So if Detective Todd Lucas of the Charlottesville Police Departmentsays that there are gangs operating in a fair city such as this, your tendency is to goddamn well believe him.

This is a story about cops, drugs, guns and gangs. And Det. Lucas is a tough, forceful guy. So I wanted the tone set from the beginning. That’s why I made the first two sentences simple and active. I also didn’t use commas in the run-on because I wanted the headlong rush of the “he is” construction. I tried to run the reader into the third sentence like a brick wall, with its delaying prepositional clause.

And then, after the pause at the beginning of the sentence, I wanted the door to slam at the end of it. So I used a collequial phrase, “goddamn well.” There were a couple of reasons behind it. First, that’s how most of the people I spoke with for the story talked. These, for the most part, were tough guys. So I wanted that tone, wanted a narrator that didn’t stand back and state fact, but instead shared a bit of the speech and rhythm the story.

Second, I wanted the end to be trochaic, that is, to put the stress on the first syllables in the last couple words: “goddamn well believe him.” I wanted the rhythm of the first graph to draw the reader forward. It’s a little thing, but I played with it until I got it how I wanted to it sound.

Here’s the second instance:

Lucas and his crew are about to run up into the South First Street public housing complex in unmarkeds, stomp on their breaks and jump the fuck out like some overproduced Michael Bay movie to see who runs. Then, they are supposed to stop whoever’s running and find out just exactly why it is they are running from cops in vests and black gloves, to see if these people looking for a quick way out of a tightening circle of cops are running for a reason that could possibly be felonious. [emphasis added]

At this point in the story, Lucas and crew are doing jump outs–driving into public housing complexes quickly, and jumping out of unmarked cop cars. I wanted to convey the sheer forcefulness of this act, the feeling of bigness, possible violence, and dramatic hyperbole in the sentence. Speeding into someone’s neighborhood on a Friday evening, squealing to a stop and jumping out with guns and bulletproof vests is an action, at its base, is aggressive, vulgar and unapologetic. And I wanted my language to convey those three things.

I also have to point out that I didn’t use all the bad language in the story. Here’s a direct quote from that night:

“This is exactly the shit we’re talking about,” the ATF agent says to the driver, a young man in his late teens or early 20s, “an assault rifle in the projects.”

Drugs and gangs aren’t pretty, and the people policing both don’t play. I think that a story about both shouldn’t shy away from this. And really, in the end, that’s all I was trying to do with this language–be true to what I saw and what I heard. I’m gratified that the letter writer said I got Det. Lucas right. Because in the end, that’s all I’m trying to do. Tell the truth in an interesting way.

Do I do that all that time? Not even close. But this story, with all its obvious flaws, is an attempt at that.

I also want to address a couple other points in the letter. Way back in the day, I wrote an essay about why I think cursing is valid in writing. It started with an anicdote about my grandmother (who, incidentally, lived a state over in Indiana) telling my that only dumb people curse because they have limited vocabulary

This never made sense to me. Not cursing limited my vocabulary, giving me a whole list of words I wasn’t allowed to use. So, respectfully, I have to take the opposite position from the letter writer. I think limiting yourself to certin words show a lack of creativity. That’s, of course, just my opinion.

And finally, the language certainly didn’t sneak by my editor. She is one of the best I’ve worked with. And in the past, she did rein in some of my language, cutting profanity she found to be unnecessary or overly harsh. The fact that both these words were OK’d by her and appeared in print backed up my feeling that they serve a purpose in the story. It’s not just me that thinks so.

Anyhow, this has gone long and kind of preachy and a maybe desparately personal, to steal a phrase from an old friend. I started by apologizing, and let me end that way:

I’m sorry that I caused offense, but I believe I had a good reason to do so. That said, I feel bad that I’ve caused you to feel bad.

A poem of mine

18 Sep

… is on the front page of Rattle’s website. It was a weird moment when I accidentally came across it.

My first thought was, “Hey, I didn’t make this website.” Because, let’s face it, that’s really that only time my poetry goes online.

So, sorry for the self promotion, but I wanted to say a quick thanks to Rattle.

Carry on.

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