Why Don't I Write (more)?

A monthly post is better than no post at all, right?

Let me tell you: I enjoy writing. That is to say, I enjoy writing the type of writing that I like to write. Some writing I don't like: quantitative analysis, filler for meeting page requirements, dry topics that don't interest me and that I can't imagine would interest anyone else, quantitative analysis, and quantitative analysis (to name a few types).

But some writing is fun. I like to tell a good story. I like to be excited about a good qualitative analysis I've done and then describe it succinctly. I like to rant sometimes, and occassionally to rave (sans ecstasy and glow sticks). Writing can be cathartic. Writing can make me learn more about a topic that I love. Writing can help me express myself. It keeps me connected to my friends. It broadens my views. It makes me happy when I feel I've done it well.

So why don't I write more? Why isn't this blog updated more often? Why hasn't "A Piece of Poetry" become a regular feature, as I imagined it would?

This post is incomplete because I don't have an answer for that. I have several partial answers, but none of them really address the bigger question from which "Why Don't I Write?" stems: what keeps me from making time for some of the things that I like? If writing (or anything) is important to me, what keeps me from it? Or why do I keep myself from it?

Feel free to wax philosophical. I await your wisdom.

Free Jared! And Tibet if you’ve got the time

Today, tomorrow, and Monday I am bound to a desk that is not my own. Part of my company’s contract with the Naval Treaty Implementation Program (NTIP) is to have an on-site contractor that remains, well, on-site. The man with this job is named Darnell, and he knows the ropes quite well. But what happens when Darnell takes leave?

Rather than go for one or two or, heaven forbid, three days without Johnny on the Spot, our liaison at NTIP insists on having someone fill Darnell’s chair. And fill his chair I can.

Unfortunately, I can’t do most of the other things associated with this particular job. Darnell has access to many things that required a lot of processing and account-making and approval. NTIP doesn’t want to bother with all of that for a guy who will only be here for three days, so I basically have a mouse, a keyboard, and a screen. The internet works (hooray!) but I have no email access, either business OR personal (boo). Nearly all of my business correspondence has to happen over the phone. Not that that’s inconvenient, it’s just not SOP.

Where is this all leading? To this point: I have nothing to do. I’m supposed to be performing Darnell’s duties, but I don’t have Darnell’s tools and resources. There are a few things that I can do, and do have access to. If I look hard I can find things to keep myself busy. But guess why I’m writing this post—I’ve already done them. I’m actually quite proud; I kept myself busy for four hours this morning. And now? I have a couple of things that I can look at, but nothing I can do. Thus I blog.

If you would like to donate to the Free Jared Fund (FJF), please post a comment to this or any other post on the blog, or put a new post on your own blog. You can make a Free Jared a reality.

Great Moments in Pointer History II

A week and a half ago my team lead called me up at my desk and said, "Would you happen to have an extendible, retractable pointer? We need one."

At first I was a little incredulous. I asked if he was serious; he was. Apparently a group of executives from other companies was in our little corporate conference room giving presentations. One of them had asked my company, their host, for a pointer to use in his presentation. One of our vice presidents offered him a laser pointer, which he declined. He wanted a reliable mechanical device. In a flurry, people were assigned to track down a telescoping pointer. Our employees called everywhere and could not find them. Even the clerks at Staples were unaware of their own pointers (same aisle as protractors, $3.50). Finally someone asked one of my coworkers, who had seen me pointing at something only days earlier. He told my team lead, who promptly gave me a call.

Needless to say, I happily loaned my instrument of pointing for the good of the company. They used it for a full three days. At the end of the third day, my company president brought my pointer back to me himself. He had placed it in a foam-rubber lined case. Inside, wrapped around my pointer, was a crisp twenty-dollar bill.

And people ask why I carry a pointer around.

For Great Moments in Pointer History I, see the other blog I contribute to: Salsa Night.

A Piece of Poetry

Wood
by Thomas Hornsby Ferril
(Trial By Time: Harper & Brothers, 1944)

There was a dark and awful wood
Where increments of death accrued
On every leaf and antlered head
Until it withered and was dead,
And lonely there I wandered
And wandered and wandered.

But once a myth-white moon shone there
And you were kneeling by a flower,
And it was practical and wise
For me to kneel and you to rise,
And me to rise and turn to go,
And you to turn and whisper no,
And seven wondrous stags that I
Could not believe walked slowly by

I'm no poetry/literature expert, but I do appreciate a little verse here and there. I thought I'd give a little web time to an under-appreciated 20th century poet named Thomas Hornsby Ferril. He was a Poet Laureate of the state of Colorado and a friend of Carl Sandburg. In fact, the Colorado Center for the Book's official bio of Ferril tells an amusing anecdote about their close friendship:

The Ferrils were known for their lively dinner parties with theater people, writers and photographers. Friends recall parties where Ferril played his mandolin and Sandburg played the guitar... Anne Ferril Folsom recalls coming home from school one day and being startled to find someone asleep on her bed, wearing her mother's negligee. It was Carl Sandburg, taking a nap.

So anyway, I'm interested in others' interpretation/applications/thoughts on the poem. Me? I think it's lovely. I'll withhold further comment until a few people post.

What I look like

You probably already know what I look like if you're reading this blog, but I needed to post a picture of myself somewhere on the internet in order to get it into my profile. So here I am. This is a headshot that was taken of me in 2003 for "publicity" for a production of The Importance of Being Earnest that I was in. Publicity is in quotation marks because it was a community theatre production in Springville, Utah. How much publicity can the Springville Playhouse get?

Although, now that I mention it, we did make it on The Tonight Show's Headlines segment. The local Springville newspaper published an article advertising our play and in the headline called it "The Impotance of Being Earnest." Yeah.

And who will train the trainers?

I was in a particularly boring training meeting at work last week. I spent a good portion of the time wondering why the people who give trainings don't have to sit through trainings of how they can be better trainers.

This line of wondering led nowhere, however, except toward a nodding head. So in order to stay awake, I started making a list of interesting words as they came into my mind. This not only proved to help keep me from nodding off, it also made it look like I was taking notes.

For your enjoyment, here is my list. Some of the words I had heard but I did not actually know the meaning of, so I looked them up later.

conglomeration
asphyxiated
amalgam
anachronistic
cahoots
cavort
lichen
liniment
licentiousness
capsicum
inebriate
myocardia
Constantinople
opal
serendipitous
archaic
malodorant
anthropomorphic
agrarian
appaloosa
einsteinium
cairn
mop
pernicious
carbuncle
ocelot
gnu
gnocchi
jocular
perturb
argyle
labrador
Cornish
limpet
ergonomic
cantankerous

"Jared," you say, "some of those words are not nearly as cool as others on the list." Maybe not at first glance. If a word seems less cool, try saying it out loud. Perhaps it's just fun to say. Or, think about it linguisticly: mop, for example, is an extremely labial word. Isn't that interesting?

Also try and catch the flow of words. They appear here in the same order in which I wrote them. Some are connected to the words previous, some are not. Which ones are? What are the connections? You can have fun with this post for hours.

Why did you grow a beard?

It's a valid question; depending on whom you ask, the responses can be extremely varied.

My friend Nick, for example, would simply respond that it's because he doesn't shave three times a day (I believe he had to explain that to BYU ultimate frisbee officials on several occasions). Some will blame it on sloth, others on the need to investigate their own masculinity. Some actually think it looks good. I have my own reasons.

The first beard I grew was for a mediocre, student-written play at BYU called Faking Reality. Personally, I think we were faking quality, but I did have a good time with it. My character was a rebellious BYU drop-out, so of course he had to wear a beard. Incidentally, this role required me to carry around the much-fabled "beard card" (not actually a card, but a form letter from the Honor Code office).

One year later, in the spring of 2004, I was alone in Europe and decided the beard would return. I was hiking around by myself and I decided that the beard fit the Hiking Around Europe lifestyle.

Fast forward one more year and I again found myself in Europe. Again I grew the beard. I had come to associate an extended stay in Europe with the growing of facial hair. It just seemed to fit. I was walking around small countryside towns, riding trains, and eating lots of granola bars.

Now it is spring again, one year later. Ridiculously enough, I feel like tradition mandates a temporary beard on my face. I've done it each spring for the last three years, so why stop now? I feel a little cool with the beard, especially because it's always a rarer chin-strap variety (the real reason for this is that my mustache doesn't connect well). It reaffirms my ability to grow it and allows me to try something different for a while.

Additionally, this year's They Might Be Giants tour is entitled "Why Did You Grow a Beard?" I'll be attending a somewhat intimate concert at a DC club downtown. I'm hoping that John or John will spot me and say, "Hey, why did you grow a beard?" to which I can respond, "Because I was hoping you'd ask."

Reminiscing on a 286

I got to work on 7 April this year and found that my mouse wasn't working.The day before I had to switch offices and I took my CPU with me in order to maintain my Outlook settings, keep the stuff I had on my hard drive, etc. However, I decided to use the other computer components left to me by the previous occupant of my new desk; among other things, he left me an optical mouse. I'm no techie, but I do enjoy the smooth glide of a mouse sans ball. No cleaning, no jerky motion, no troubles.

No troubles, that is, until the day after you get it hooked up and your computer decides that it doesn't remember having the hardware installed. To make matters worse, I don't have the administrative authority on my computer to perform the simple task of installing a mouse. Add to that the fact that our IT guy doesn't get in until 10:00, and you come out with the fact that I spent three hours yesterday operating my computer by keyboard. It took a while for it to come back to me, but slowly I began to remember my family's old 286, which gave the luxury of a mouse only on certain programs. "Alt+F+S = Save! Of course!" Pretty soon I was whizzing around Windows and having a jolly time of it. I felt sort of like a deacon on a youth conference pioneer trek: I was reliving the days of the desktop pioneers! My eyes welled up a little as I thought back even further to the Commodore 64 that used to occupy my brother's room.

Things are all right now. Todd the tech came in around 10:00, failed to negotiate the installation of hardware with my computer, and gave me the consolation prize of a brand-new Dell ball-based mouse, fresh from its wrappings. It may not be an optical mouse, but somehow I'm more grateful for it.

Life imitates art

There's a guy at my work who looks exactly like the Lorax, only taller. Every time I see him I want to pat him on the head and express my deepest regret that his habitat was destroyed. It's seriously all I can do to keep from asking him if he knows he looks like the Lorax.

So I've been thinking about this a lot lately, and it made me think of the Simpsons episode when Homer gets bypass surgery. Dr. Nick isn't fully prepared because he accidentally taped-over the surgery show about bypass operations with a talk show about People Who Look Like Things.

Pumpkinhead: All we ask for is a little dignity and a
            little respect.
     Host: [sly] And a new candle every now and then?
Pumpkinhead: Yes, and a new -- [realizes] no!

The ironic thing about the people on the Simpsons talk show is that they all could have greatly reduced their likenesses to pumpkins, brooms, etc. by changing superficial things. Which brings me back to Monsieur Lorax. Does he know? Does he realize that if he trimmed his bushy mustache and combed his hair and improved his posture he could look more like a human and less like some fantastic endangered species? Maybe he does know all this. Maybe he maintains his appearance in order to remind us all to be enviro-friendly. I have been recycling more since I met him.

A new creative outlet and a new way to waste time

That's what this is. I'm excited to be one more unknown author in a sea of amateurs that have delusions of a widespread reader base.

In spite of my cynicism: I enjoy writing and I don't do it enough. I also happen to think (this may be a bit presumptuous) that I'm a fairly good writer; at least I can entertain.

Nobody may ever read this. People may read this and then hate it, or think I'm a poor writer and a substandard blogger. It mattereth not. This blog is more for me than anyone else; if somebody likes what I wrote, that will be a bonus.

Read on then and bask in my presumptuousness, or get out.